Gypsy

by Carole Mortimer

  An angry flush darkened his lean cheeks. ‘God damn you!’ His voice shook forcefully.

  ‘He did that the moment I set eyes on you,’ dismissed Shay coldly. ‘Goodbye, Lyon.’

  ‘The car will be here for you in two days’ time,’ he told her in a controlled voice. ‘Don’t embarrass Jeffrey by making a scene.’ He wrenched her chin up, purple clashing with tawny. ‘You should know by now that I always get what I want!’ He gave a disgusted snort as she continued to look at him unblinkingly, flinging away from her to stride over to the door. ‘I will see you in two days—at Falconer House,’ he warned before closing the door forcefully behind him.

  Shay turned as the door was opened again only seconds later, smiling her relief as a middle-aged nurse bustled into the room, crossing to straighten bedclothes that were already perfectly neat as far as Shay could see.

  ‘Your hubby seemed a little—tense, when he left just now.’ the woman plumped up the pillows. ‘I shouldn’t let it bother you, they’re all like that when they’re worried.’

  This friendly nurse was the second person today to assume Lyon was her husband, and this time she didn’t bother to correct the assumption. No one, especially this kindly woman, could possibly guess at the savagery of the scene when Lyon had convinced her she would never, ever, be his wife.

  They had spent the weekend at Falconer House, a rather unpleasant time for Lyon, Marilyn there too with one of her men. She and Lyon had been due to return to London Sunday evening, but at the last moment Lyon had decided they would stay over another night and drive back to London in the morning. The thought of spending yet another night under the same roof as the woman who was still legally Lyon’s wife had completely unnerved Shay.

  She was agitatedly drinking the cup of coffee brought up to Lyon’s rooms by one of the maids when he returned from the adjoining bathroom, affected as she always was the his near-nakedness, only a towel wrapped about his waist after his shower. She knew that soon, very soon, they would be in bed making love with an intensity that always shook her, each time better than the last, each night better than the one before. But at this precise moment she didn’t want to think about that, was too disturbed by Marilyn’s presence a short distance down the corridor.

  She flinched away from him as Lyon bent to kiss her throat. ‘Lyon, I can’t go on like this!’ she snapped emotionally. ‘How much longer before you’ll be free of her?’

  Lyon became suddenly watchful, straightening slowly. ‘Free of whom?’

  ‘Marilyn, of course.’ Shay stood up to pace the room. ‘I realise that while she’s still your wife she has a perfect right to stay here, but once you’re divorced—’

  ‘Divorced?’ he cut in sharply. ‘Who said anything about divorce?’

  Shay blinked. ‘It’s public knowledge—’

  ‘You mean public gossip,’ Lyon corrected harshly.

  She swallowed convulsively. ‘You—you mean it isn’t true?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But I—I love you. And I thought you loved me!’

  His mouth was tight, his eyes glacial. ‘Did I ever say that I did?’

  No, he never had, not even at the height of their intimacy. But they had been together six months now, she had assumed Lyon’s emotions were as deeply involved in the relationship as her own were, that it was only a matter of time before he asked her to marry him.

  ‘Is that the reason you had an affair with me, Shay?’ he scorned. ‘Because you thought I loved you and would eventually marry you?’

  An affair? Just another of his temporary women. And she hadn’t even guessed!

  ‘You surely didn’t think I was going to divorce Marilyn to marry you?’ Lyon said disbelievingly. ‘My God, Shay, you didn’t even know how to touch a man until I taught you!’

  And how he had taught her! She suddenly felt like a courtesan who had been tutored by her master.

  ‘Admittedly you’re better at it now, but—Shay, put that cup down!’ he thundered as the article was raised like a weapon, her eyes blazing with anger. ‘Shay—’ His stern warning was cut off as the cup flew through the air like a missile, landing against his temple, the delicate china smashing into a dozen pieces.

  Shay watched in horror as blood spurted from the gash on his temple. She had always had a temper, quite a vicious one as a child, but she had thought she had it under control until Lyon spoke about her performance in his bed as if she were a whore he had hired to entertain him. She was no man’s whore, not even the one she loved! But the cut looked quite bad, bleeding profusely, dripping down on to his chest now.

  ‘Lyon, let me—’

  ‘Oh I’ll let you, all right,’ he ground out, advancing on her menacingly.

  ‘Lyon …? Lyon!’ she gasped as he pushed her back on to the bed, ripping aside her robe even as the towel fell from about his own waist, his arousal already hard with need. God, he couldn’t want her now!

  But he did, grinding his mouth down on hers, not caring that they were both covered in his blood now, not caring whether she was ready for him or not as he pushed her legs apart and thrust inside her. But to her shame she was ready for him, the primitive savagery of his lovemaking arousing her as never before. She was moist and hot, taking him deep inside her, arching her hips to meet his thrust, their bodies slicked with perspiration, Lyon biting painfully at her breast, the nipples peaked and hard.

  With the pain came the pleasure, again and again, for both of them, Lyon insatiable, allowing no respite between the pleasure they reached together, his body moving constantly over and inside hers until he hardened with desire once again, gritting his teeth as her nails raked down his back and buttocks before once again spilling himself convulsively inside her.

  It was wild and primitive, and it went on hour after hour, both intent on pleasuring the other until they could take no more. It was morning before exhaustion claimed them both, Shay packing her things when Lyon finally woke up just before lunchtime.

  He sat up on his elbows to look at her. ‘What are you doing?’

  As that had to be perfectly obvious, she didn’t bother to answer him, packing her clothes methodically, her movements slower than usual, every bone in her body seeming to ache from their hours of feverish lovemaking.

  ‘Do that later,’ he frowned. ‘Let’s order lunch and eat it in bed.’

  At the mention of food she turned and ran into the adjoining bathroom, instantly bringing up the contents of her stomach, continuing to heave even after that meagre amount had gone. She was aware of Lyon standing in the doorway, and she retched anew. ‘Don’t touch me.’ She flinched away from him as he reached out for her.

  ‘Shay, it’s all right,’ he soothed, misunderstanding the reason for her aversion. ‘You’re ill—’

  ‘And you make me ill!’ She quickly washed her face, rinsing her mouth out. ‘It’s over between us, Lyon, don’t you understand that?’

  His mouth twisted. ‘It didn’t seem that way last night,’ he taunted.

  ‘Don’t remind me,’ she shuddered, moving past him to close her suitcase in agitated movements, shaking as she turned back to face him. ‘But it is over, Lyon. You love your wife—’

  ‘Nowhere in our conversation last night did I ever say that,’ he grated.

  ‘You have to, why else would you stay married to her?’ Shay derived.

  ‘There can be many reasons for a marriage, Shay,’ he replied scathingly. ‘And love is usually the least of them. I respect Marilyn for what she is, and she respects me in the same way. The marriage we have may not be everyone’s ideal,’ his mouth tightened at Shay’s snort of disgust, ‘but it suits us.’

  ‘Then it’s a pity you don’t make that clearer to the people that get involved with you!’

  ‘Shay—’

  ‘I hope you and Marilyn remain suited to each other,’ she spat the words at him. ‘Because I want no further part of you!’

  ‘You told me that you love me!’

  She nodded jerkily. �
�And that hasn’t changed. Unlike you, I’m not able to control my emotions. But I want my self-respect, and I can’t have that if I continue to see you.’

  ‘Look—’

  ‘I said don’t-touch-me!’ She froze as he once again reached out for her. ‘I’m leaving now—and I think perhaps you ought to see a doctor about that cut on your temple; it’s started bleeding again!’

  He absently touched the trickle of blood on his cheek. ‘That can wait, you can’t. For God’s sake, Shay, what we have is good—’

  ‘What we have is sex, fantastic sex!’

  ‘And you love it,’ he grated.

  ‘It isn’t enough!’

  ‘I can’t give you any more than that,’ Lyon bit out. ‘The vows I made to Marilyn—’

  ‘Vows you both constantly break!’ she accused.

  ‘They were for a lifetime.’ He looked harsh. ‘If she ever wants to end our marriage that’s a different matter, but I’ll never do it.’

  She knew that, had known from the finality in his voice when she asked him about a divorce the night before that Lyon would never seek one, not for any woman.

  * * *

  SHE HAD LEFT HIM that day, had married his brother a year later, and now it was Ricky’s child she had to think about, its future.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘YOUR MORNING TEA, Mrs Falconer.’ The quietly soothing voice of Mrs Devon woke her from her deep sleep, the subdued bedside lamp turned on in the darkness, the heavy curtains at the window keeping out the late autumn sun. ‘I’ll just go and run your bath.’

  Shay was sitting up in bed drinking the tea when the housekeeper returned from the adjoining bathroom, giving no indication of the struggle it had been to get into the sitting position. She had found when she got out of the hospital bed yesterday ready to leave that although none of her cuts and bruises were serious they were certainly very painful, especially the cut on her inner thigh.

  Jeffrey had duly arrived at the hospital yesterday to take her to Falconer House, only to be told she had already left—for her own London home. When he arrived at the house she had told him she wanted all her things returned; he had promised to pass on the message to Lyon. But as she had gone to bed just after seven last night, her beside clock telling her she had more than slept the clock round, she had no idea if her clothes had been returned.

  Not that it mattered greatly now, not all of her things had been taken, and she had enough here to last until she could get out to the shops for more. Which, from the way her body ached, wouldn’t be for a few more days yet!

  ‘Did my things come back last night, Mrs Devon?’ she asked hopefully, not holding out much hope; Lyon was going to be far from pleased that she had disobeyed him. In fact, she was surprised he wasn’t here now, ranting and raving.

  ‘Yes, they did.’ The older woman pulled back the curtains slightly now Shay was completely awake. ‘I haven’t unpacked everything yet because I didn’t want to disturb you last night; you seemed so exhausted,’ she said in a concerned voice.

  ‘I think I was,’ Shay acknowledged. ‘But I feel perfectly rested today.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ The other woman was genuinely relieved. ‘You had us all worried when you took that tumble.’

  ‘I worried myself for a while,’ she admitted with a grimace. ‘But I feel fine now.’

  ‘That’s what I told Mr Falconer—’

  ‘Lyon?’ Shay prompted harshly, her fingers clasped tightly around the handle of the cup she held. ‘Has he telephoned?’

  ‘No—’

  ‘He hasn’t been here?’ The thought of him entering the peaceful serenity of her private domain was very disturbing, especially if he did it without her knowledge.

  ‘Mr Falconer was the one to bring your things back.’ Mrs Devon frowned as she saw how tense Shay had become. ‘Is everything all right, Mrs Falconer?’

  She must get control of herself, banish this almost pathological dislike she had of Lyon or be destroyed by it. ‘Of course.’ She forced herself to relax, although her smile lacked its usual warmth. ‘I’m sure you made Mr Falconer very welcome.’

  ‘Well, I tried.’ Mrs Devon poured her another cup of tea from the pot. ‘But he wouldn’t have any dinner last night, and he only had coffee this morning. I don’t know how—’

  ‘This morning?’ Shay echoed in a hushed voice, her hands beginning to tremble. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded shakily—although she had a feeling she already knew. Lyon had dared to carry out his threat without her knowledge! ‘Did Mr Falconer stay here overnight?’ she asked in a controlled voice.

  The housekeeper nodded, seeming unaware of Shay’s tension this time. ‘I think it’s very sensible of you to have him staying here with you. I know I’m only in the flat upstairs, but I really wouldn’t be of much help if I’d finished for the day; I can’t even hear you up there. I’ve been a little concerned about that ever since Mr Falconer asked me to take care of you. It was all right while Mr Flanagan was here, I could always be sure he would listen out for you at night, but since he left—’

  ‘Mrs Devon, when did Lyon ask you to take care of me?’ Shay asked woodenly, once again having that feeling of losing control of her life that was so common when Lyon was involved. If Lyon had dared, my God, if he had dared …!

  ‘He called round one day while you were out shopping with your grandfather.’ Mrs Devon moved about the room tidying things away. ‘He was so concerned about you. Of course, that’s very understandable. I assured him that he had no need to worry, that Mr Flanagan and I would look after you.’

  My God, he had! Lyon hadn’t carried out his threat to have a private detective follow her at all, he had managed to persuade her own housekeeper to spy on her. No wonder he was so aware of Mrs Devon’s capabilities! The bastard, the lousy bastard!

  ‘Mrs Devon,’ she said in a controlled voice, ‘could you please pack everything Mr Falconer brought with him last night and see that it is delivered to his office. I’m sure you know the address,’ she added hardly.

  ‘Mrs Falconer …?’

  She felt sorry for the poor woman; her face was stricken as she realised all was not well with last night’s arrangements. But she didn’t relent; she would not have Lyon staying here in her house. And she also intended seeing that Mrs Devon knew she risked losing her job if she took any further instructions from Lyon about her welfare.

  ‘Mr Falconer isn’t welcome in my home,’ she told the housekeeper with chilling clarity. ‘Neither will I have you spying on me for him—’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t do that!’ Mrs Devon gasped, shaking her head emphatically. ‘I had no idea—It didn’t seem such a strange request—Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs Falconer!’

  Shay couldn’t help but feel regret for the tears of distress she had caused in the troubled brown eyes. ‘I realise that my brother-in-law can be very persuasive,’ she sighed. ‘And now that you know of the—rift, between us, I’m sure you will deal with him accordingly in future.’

  ‘Well of course I will, Mrs Falconer.’ The housekeeper seemed bewildered by her vehemence. ‘I’ll see that he gets his things immediately.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Shay accepted with quiet dignity.

  ‘I really didn’t know,’ Mrs Devon turned to tell her regretfully as she reached the door.

  ‘I know you didn’t,’ she assured her gently, realising the woman was genuinely upset. ‘Mr Falconer and I have never got along, but unfortunately he now considers his brother’s widow his dependant.’

  ‘These family differences can be awful, can’t they,’ the housekeeper sympathised. ‘I know my husband couldn’t understand my father; the two of them never did become friends,’ she added sadly. ‘It can cause a lot of friction.’

  Shay nodded dismissively. ‘As long as you remember in future that Lyon is not welcome here.’

  ‘I’ll remember,’ the other woman nodded vigorously. ‘About Mr Falconer’s things, how shall I—’

  ‘Put them in a taxi,’ Shay tol
d her sharply. ‘Or out in the street.’ She ignored the housekeeper’s shocked expression. ‘I really don’t care what you do with them as long as you get rid of them,’ she said wearily.

  Her bath water had cooled somewhat by the time she got into the bathroom, but she was too agitated to do more than take a quick wash anyway, forgoing her usual long soak in the bubbling, scented water. ‘Think of the baby’ that swine had told her; when did he ever think about it! How dare he sneak into her home once she was asleep and take up residence in her guest-room? Guest! She was more likely to invite Attila the Hun to stay than Lyon!

  The third draft of her book, polishing all the rough edges, was what saved her sanity, becoming so engrossed in what she had been assured by her editor would be her sixth block-buster, that she even needed Mrs Devon to remind her to eat lunch.

  ‘I dealt with that other matter,’ she told Shay when she came to collect the empty tray a short time later.

  ‘Thank you,’ Shay accepted stiffly.

  ‘Why don’t you go outside for a short walk before your rest?’ the housekeeper suggested. ‘You’re looking a little pale, and some fresh air might put some colour back in your cheeks.’

  Shay knew the suggestion was only made out of concern, and she did feel better as she walked in the brisk autumn wind, feeling invigorated by the crisp air, Lyon briefly forgotten.

  She gave the housekeeper a serene smile as she entered through the kitchen, handing her the full blooms she had bought to brighten up her study for the little time they had left to live. ‘It worked, Mrs Devon,’ she glowed. ‘I could go on working for another couple of hours now.’

  ‘Rest,’ she was told sternly. ‘Oh, I almost forgot, a parcel came while you were out. I left it on your desk in your study.’

  ‘It was delivered?’ Shay frowned, knowing the post had come earlier.

  ‘A young boy brought it.’ Mrs Devon was busily arranging the roses in a vase.

  Shay picked up a freshly baked biscuit that was cooling on a tray, a thoughtful frown to her brow as she went to her study. She didn’t remember ordering anything that had to be hand-delivered.