Free Gypsy Lady by Shirlee Busbee Page A

snapping with temper. "If you want me to find out
anything for you, you'll have to let me do it my own way. He certainly didn't mind my big eyes and pouting mouth. There was
a time that you found them very appealing I might add, but it's his reaction
I'm worried about—not yours!"
    Clive's
thin lips tightened, and he said grimly, "You had better worry about my
reaction, m'dear—I'm paying your bills, remember. Speaking of which—how much
did you drop the other night at Mrs. Everett's? Five
hundred—a thousand?"
    Sulkily
Elizabeth answered, "Over a thousand."
    "I
thought as much. Is your father going to cover it?" he asked coolly.
    "You
know he won't. Clive, don't be mean! If I don't pay my debts, my father will
send me to rusticate in the country at Mountacre. You know what a storm he created
when he settled my debts the last time. I couldn't bear to go through it again,
and I would die if I had to remain in the country away from all the excitement
in London. God, how I hate Mountacre!" she spat venomously. Then she pleaded, "Please, don't be
wicked. I've never failed you before, have I?"
    "No.
And see that you don't," he threatened. But then reaching into his side
pocket, he handed her a sizable leather pouch that bulged with gold coins.
"That should hold you for the present. But remember. I want to know what
Savage is up to."
    Frowning,
Elizabeth asked. "What makes you think he's up to anything? He's done
nothing but buy horses since he arrived."
    Clive
smiled tightly. "Not quite. He paid an extremely prompt visit to Rufus
King, and since that time Roxbury, who is a clever old fox if there ever was
one, has held
    at least one intimate dinner
at which King and Savage were the only guests. I'd give much to know what they
spoke of. My instincts tell me that there's something afoot that Napoleon would
pay dearly to know. And as you well know, I live by my wits—which also enables
me, I might add, to pay you handsomely for the snippets of conversation you
pass my way. You might remember that and try just a little harder to capture
Savage's interest —but not to the extent that everyone knows what you are
doing."
    "Oh,
very well. But I think you're wrong. Savage can't know anything."
    "As you say, I could
be wrong, and it wouldn't be the first time. But it is never wise to overlook
any source, and I would like to learn more of Savage before I dismiss him as
harmless."
    Conversation lapsed for a
mile or two, and then it was Elizabeth who quizzed slyly, "You talk of my
being obvious. Weren't you rather obvious in choking
off Tom Harris when he mentioned Catherine?"
    "Not
at all. I wanted to know where he had met her— and I found out."
    "Have you hopes in
that direction, Clive?" Elizabeth asked archly. Not waiting for his
answer, she added smugly, "They're doomed you know. Catherine, or Tamara,
or whatever those beastly gypsies called her, can't abide the sight of
you."
    Clive's hands tightened on
the reins he held, but that was the only sign he gave that Elizabeth's shaft
had gone home. His voice was cool as he said, "Catherine's liking of me
has nothing to do with marriage. Rachael finds me acceptable, and I'm quite
certain I can bring Catherine round, one way or another. And if I can't, I'll
see to it that no one else marries her, either. I won't be done out of a
fortune a second time!"
    His words seemed to
engender in Elizabeth a feeling of being ill-used, for she cried angrily,
"That infamous, infamous will! Who would have guessed that so little would
come to my father. I never realized that the title and
Mountacre were the only items entailed. And now that wretched, wretched gypsy
brat has everything else— the estates in Leicestershire and a fortune to boot!
Why couldn't Uncle Robert have willed something for me? God knows he was rich
enough! And you, his godson, were also ignored. What I couldn't have done with
even a small remembrance from him." She laughed bitterly. "We're a
sorry pair, Clive, expecting all those