Gypsy

by Carole Mortimer

  He lay beside her for long timeless minutes, just holding her as she slept, trembling with the knowledge that she belonged to him again now. They would soon be a family, he, Shay—and Richard.

  * * *

  SHAY WOKE SLOWLY, disorientated for several minutes as she lay in the bed, the ivory silk nightgown soft against her skin, the small bedside lamp the only illumination in the room.

  It was the red rose lying on the pillow next to hers that altered her to what had happened that afternoon. She threw back the bedclothes, rushing into the adjoining room. The fire still burned, the decorated tree still glittered, and her earlier discarded mauve nightdress had been folded neatly and placed in one of the armchairs.

  Her stricken gaze returned to the rug in front of the fireplace. She and Lyon had made love there—she gave a hasty look at her wrist-watch—two hours ago! God, Richard would want feeding any moment!

  A knock sounded on the door, and she went to unlock it, suddenly realising Lyon must have done that to leave the room. She looked about the room guiltily, searching for any sign of what had happened there not long ago, giving a nervous start as the door opened after the second knock, Patty entering with a tray of tea.

  ‘Mr Falconer—Mr Lyon Falconer,’ she explained softly, ‘thought you might like some tea after your afternoon rest.’

  Rest? She had been almost unconscious! ‘Thank you,’ she accepted abruptly. ‘That was—thoughtful, of him.’

  Patty smiled. ‘Can I get you anything else?’

  ‘No—thank you,’ Shay added to soften her harshly given refusal.

  The tea remained untouched long after Patty had left. Shay found it hard to believe she had actually undressed and made love with Lyon! If she had been seduced—or forced!—that would have been different, but she had been the one to initiate their lovemaking.

  No regrets, she had said! And she wouldn’t have any. She had wanted Lyon, badly, and no matter what he might think, she hadn’t pretended it meant anything more to her than that. She had nothing to reproach herself with, had used Lyon as he had used her and other women in the past, to assuage a physical need. That need had been satisfied now, and she had no further use of him. God, what had she become—

  ‘Somebody said something about—Good Lord, so it’s true.’ Matthew grinned up at the Christmas tree. ‘We haven’t had a real Christmas tree in the house since Mother died.’

  He didn’t exactly look as if having one now displeased him. ‘Lyon bought it,’ answered Shay flatly.

  ‘Where is my big brother?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘He had to go out for a while,’ Neil absently answered Matthew as he too came into the suite to look at the tree everyone seemed to be talking about.

  ‘He said something about seeing you later, Shay,’ her grandfather added as he came in too.

  She knew what Lyon meant by that, and she had no intention of leaving him with the impression that he could now come into her bedroom any time he felt the impulse. She would soon disabuse him of that fact, and as cruelly and bluntly as he had once told her she had no part of his life.

  Lyon hadn’t returned to the house by the time they had dinner, a hilarious affair that Shay insisted on joining the other men for, although she didn’t put up too much of a fight when her grandfather suggested it was time for bed, even her sleep this afternoon not alleviating the weariness she felt since the blow to her head.

  She had just settled Richard down in his cot when she heard Lyon moving about in the room next door. The sooner she informed him that this afternoon wasn’t a permanent arrangement the better!

  She could hear him singing as he took his shower, and it wasn’t too difficult to guess the reason for his light-hearted mood. She would be waiting here in his bedroom for him as he had once waited for her.

  But not on the bed, as he had done. She had come here to tell him there would be no further physical relationship between them, not encourage him to believe otherwise!

  She wandered over to the window, gazing out at the strategically-lit grounds, one of the big fir-trees at the front of the house seasonally draped with huge coloured lights. They had had a light sprinkling of snow earlier in the day, and everywhere looked very beautiful. It was difficult to believe there was so much ugliness surrounding them when everywhere looked so clean and bright, but someone was definitely trying to harm the family, and the hate she felt for Lyon hadn’t diminished even as she shuddered to satisfaction in his arms. Was it possible to love and hate a person at the same time? She knew she hated Lyon, but she didn’t think she was the type of woman to sleep with a man if she didn’t feel some genuine affection for him. The only two men she had ever made love with were Lyon and Ricky, and she had loved both of them. She didn’t believe she could love Lyon now—

  Her thoughts came to an abrupt end as the papers lying on top of the table in front of her caught her eye. Ricky’s name leapt up at her from the print, and she couldn’t stop herself from picking up the top sheet of paper. It was a report on Ricky’s accident, and from the date at the top of the letter attached, she knew this had to be the report Lyon had personally commissioned. And he hadn’t even told them of its arrival!

  Her mouth set angrily as she began to read what she had a perfect right to know, her face having paled dramatically by the time she reached the end of the report.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  LYON froze in the act of towelling dry his hair as he emerged from the bathroom, his attention all on the sickeningly pale woman who stood across the room from him. Shay looked so vulnerable, as if she couldn’t take any more blows without cracking. Which was precisely the reason he hadn’t told her about the report straight away! It hadn’t even occurred to him that she would come to his room in this way, although after this afternoon he didn’t see why it should be such a surprise to him to find her here.

  She had been more fiery that afternoon, more responsive than he had ever known her. His body still tingled from the passion he had known with her, and he still ached to have her again. He had wanted to make love to her again for such a long time, years it seemed, that it had come as a shock to him when she had finally been the one to give herself to him.

  But if she gave completely with her body then he knew she held back just as completely with her mind and emotions. What they had shared this afternoon had been physical—and it wasn’t enough, not for him.

  He straightened his shoulders as if for a fight, his mouth setting determinedly before he smiled. ‘Hello, darling,’ he greeted the shocked woman lightly, bending to kiss her lingeringly on the lips, hers too numb to do anything else but move pliantly beneath his. ‘You’re looking beautiful.’ She couldn’t know how beautiful she looked in the clinging black dress! ‘Sorry I had to leave you like that.’ He ignored the dullness of her eyes as he began to towel his hair once again, glad of something to do with his hands, sure they were shaking. If she didn’t say something soon—! ‘I had to put in an appearance at the impromptu company party. Obligatory.’ And he would have gladly missed a hundred such dull parties to be with Shay if he hadn’t been unsure of how she would feel if she woke up to find him beside her in her bed. So he had gently carried her into the other room, helped her into her nightgown, before leaving her alone in her bed, only the red rose on the adjoining pillow to show her his thoughts would all be of her.

  And now he knew he was never likely to know what her reaction had been when she woke up to realise what had happened between them, the report she held in her hand blocking anything else from her mind—but especially any idea of a continued relationship with him!

  ‘When did you get this?’ she asked between stiff lips, not even looking at him directly but at some point over his right shoulder.

  ‘Shay—’

  ‘When?’ she bit out tautly, the coldness of her voice like a whip cracking across his bare back.

  ‘It came this morning,’ he sighed. ‘But I already knew what it contained.’

  ‘You knew!
Why didn’t you—’

  ‘Shay,’ he reasoned at her anger. ‘It’s only a report confirming that Ricky’s crash was a genuine accident and not—’

  ‘Only?’ Fury glittered in deeply purple eyes as she looked at him fully at last. ‘ “Only confirms it was a genuine accident”!’ she repeated with icy accusation. ‘I’ve been worried out of my mind that Ricky might have been a victim of this senseless vendetta, and you have in your possession the means to alleviate that terror and yet you do nothing!’

  ‘The written report only arrived this morning—’

  ‘But you’ve known about it for days, haven’t you?’ she accused heatedly.

  ‘I—’

  ‘You have!’ she flared. ‘And yet you’ve said nothing to any of us.’ She shook with anger. ‘You arrogant bastard,’ she stated coldly. ‘You—’

  ‘Shay, I was going to tell you!’

  ‘When?’ she demanded icily, her eyes the only colour in her face now, deep pained pools of despair.

  ‘This afternoon. I—’

  ‘Oh no, Lyon,’ she scorned with distaste. ‘I’m not accepting that.’

  ‘It’s true,’ he rasped, hating her distrust of everything he said. ‘Even though it was good news—in a way—I knew the report would upset you, so I got the tree and decorations to divert you.’

  ‘Except that we decorated the tree and you still didn’t tell me,’ she dismissed hardly.

  He grimaced at the truth of the accusation. ‘You got upset about Ricky, and I—Well, you know what happened next.’ He watched her anxiously.

  ‘Yes,’ Shay confirmed with self-disgust. ‘Instead of you telling me about the report I made love to you.’

  ‘It wasn’t one-sided—’

  ‘I know what it was, Lyon!’ She held herself proudly. ‘And above all it was a mistake.’

  ‘You said there would be no regrets,’ he reminded her harshly.

  ‘I didn’t say I regretted it, Lyon.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘Only that it was an unrepeatable mistake.’

  He had known this would be her reaction, had known it was too soon for her, that even though she had wanted him she had hated him too.

  When he spoke to the expert in Los Angeles a couple of days ago and the man had told him what the report he had sent off contained, Lyon had been filled with relief to know Ricky hadn’t been killed because of this senseless vendetta against the family. The report clearly stated, without doubt, that the small plane had gone down because it had been struck by lightning. But although the report was a relief, he hadn’t known how to break the news to Shay; she had already been through so much the last few months. And it wasn’t the sort of thing you just blurted out over the breakfast table, and so he had gone out and bought the tree in the hope of somehow softening the blow. He realised now it had been a stupid thing to do, that it would have been kinder just to have told her what he knew as soon as he had known it.

  ‘Shay, whatever the report contained, it wouldn’t have altered the fact that Ricky is dead, no matter how quickly you had been informed,’ he pointed out gently.

  ‘It might have stopped me from making a fool of myself with you this afternoon!’ she replied hoarsely.

  He didn’t say it, didn’t think she could take it right now, but they both knew it; telling her of the report and its conclusions might have had exactly the same effect as not telling her had done.

  ‘I’d like a copy of this report for myself.’ She flung it down on the table. ‘Merry Christmas, Lyon!’ she said with obvious insincerity as she turned and walked away.

  He let her go, knew there was nothing he could do—or say—to stop her.

  * * *

  THE FAMILY TRADITION of opening Christmas presents after lunch was broken the next day when Shay insisted Richard couldn’t possibly wait until then before seeing what was in his many, and varied-shaped, parcels beneath and beside the tree. Neil and Matthew indulgently agreed it wasn’t fair, while Lyon remained silently brooding, as he had been most of the day. Shay pointedly ignored him, was determined to enjoy Richard’s first Christmas in spite of Lyon’s presence.

  ‘As Richard was only just focusing, and occasionally giving a windy smile, he showed little or no interest in the numerous toys Shay unwrapped for him. A big car and trailer from Matthew that he wouldn’t be able to peddle for at least another year! A teddy-bear six times his size from Neil, and a rocking-horse from Lyon. Considering Lyon had already stocked the nursery there with enough toys for a toyshop, she hadn’t expected him to get Richard anything else. Her own gifts to her son were a little more practical; toys for him to play with in the bath in a couple of months’ time, safe toys that he could chew on during the painful time of teething—and a train-set.

  ‘Ricky said the first thing he was going to buy for the baby was a train-set—whether it was a boy or a girl,’ she explained gruffly at Matthew’s mocking raise of eyebrows after she had teased the men about the impracticality of their gifts.

  ‘So that he could play with it,’ Neil nodded, setting it up on the dining-room table.

  ‘I expect so,’ she acknowledged softly. ‘I think all men must be little boys at heart,’ she derided as Matthew, Neil, and her grandfather worked on setting up the track so they could have the train running. ‘With the odd exception.’ She looked hardly at Lyon before trying to gain Richard’s waning attention with the squeaky duck Mrs Devon had sent him; Richard just lay on the floor and blew bubbles at her.

  ‘Your Christmas present.’

  She gave a startled jump as Lyon spoke quietly beside her, turning to him resentfully. ‘Do you have to creep about in that awful way?’ she snapped.

  His mouth twisted. ‘I wasn’t creeping. It must be a guilty conscience, Shay,’ he taunted.

  ‘Not mine!’ she bit out.

  ‘Your present.’ He held out a flat package to her from beneath the tree, gaily wrapped in Christmas-tree decorated paper with a pretty silver bow in one corner.

  ‘Yours,’ she returned abruptly as she placed the big flat parcel in front of him, feeling as if they were in a private cocoon, the other three men now arguing about whether the track for the train would be more effective round or oval. If she had known it would give them this much pleasure to play with trains she would have bought them all a set, it would certainly have saved on arguments! Although she didn’t doubt that all three would deny wanting one if she suggested it!

  Lyon looked at her with compelling gold eyes. ‘Open yours first; I have a feeling that after I’ve seen mine we may not be on good enough terms for me to sit and watch you open yours!’

  She blushed at the truth of that, ripping off the bow and paper to her present, groaning inwardly as she saw it contained a jewellery box, the jeweller’s name more than familiar to her. Lyon had always bought her jewellery in the past, and although she had returned it after they broke up, Ricky had continued to spoil her in the same extravagant way. The last thing she needed—or wanted—was more jewellery.

  ‘It isn’t what you think it is,’ Lyon encouraged throatily.

  She gave him a quick glance before gingerly opening the velvet lid. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at the necklace nestled against the blue velvet. She had expected the usual jewels, but this—! It had obviously been especially made, gold moulded into the shape of a book, a diamond set in engraving in the shape of a star decorating its front.

  ‘If you open it there’s an inscription,’ Lyon prompted softly.

  She lifted the gold book and chain from the box, gently separating the folds of the book. ‘My talented woman’, it read, signed ‘Lyon’. And it did actually look like his signature! It was the most thoughtful and beautiful gift she had ever received.

  ‘I wanted you to know that I’m very proud of your writing,’ Lyon told her sincerely.

  Shay frowned up at him. ‘But I thought you hated it.’

  He grimaced. ‘I thought I did too. But I read all the books, and you have a gift with words, Shay. You make
your characters come alive, make them real.’

  She swallowed hard at this unexpected praise. ‘Thank you.’

  He nodded abruptly, looking down at the huge flat parcel that lay beside him. ‘I suppose I had better open this now, hadn’t I?’ he said ruefully.

  She didn’t regret buying the painting, but she also knew it would have the effect Lyon had predicted it would. It was a pity to cause this dissension at Christmas, but it couldn’t be helped.

  She watched his face closely as the last of the wrapping-paper fell away, but she could read nothing from his expression, not anger, not frustration at the message it conveyed, not even appreciation for what was also a work of art.

  At last he looked up at her, compassion in his eyes. Compassion? It was the last emotion she had expected!

  ‘I know what you’re telling me with this, Shay,’ he told her huskily. ‘I understand it—’

  ‘You can’t!’ she denied dazedly, shaking her head.

  He smiled a gentle smile. ‘I can. But I also know that after yesterday you belong to me—’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Against your will,’ he acknowledged. ‘But you do belong to me, because we both know I could make yesterday happen all over again any time I want to.’

  Her mouth twisted. ‘Perhaps you could, but it wouldn’t get you what you really want.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed heavily. ‘It wouldn’t do that.’ He looked down at the painting once again. ‘You’re telling me this is the only “purple-eyed pixie" I’ll ever have, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she bit out. The painting wasn’t exactly of a pixie, more a mischievous-looking fairy as she sheltered from the rain beneath a mushroom. Predominant in the heart-shaped face were deep purple eyes. As soon as Shay had spotted the painting at the back of the shop she had known she had to buy it and give it to Lyon.

  ‘I’ll hang it in my bedroom,’ he told her huskily. ‘Over my bed.’

  ‘Lyon—’

  ‘Come and look at this, you two,’ Neil called to them excitedly as the train was finally set up and running; Richard had fallen asleep in his great-grandfather’s arms long ago.