Authors: Sandra Chastain

The Judge and the Gypsy (24 page)

BOOK: The Judge and the Gypsy

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His face was taut, his eyes blazing, as he gazed down at her. “I’m not about to be dismissed. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m involved in Naldona’s plot. If you die, this war may go on for another six months. I’ll be damned if I’ll let you send me away with a polite thank you.”

“James and I will be leaving the day after tomorrow.” To her surprise she found herself trying to placate him. “Now that I’ve been warned, I’ll surely be able to avoid any danger until then.”

“Will you?” He gave her a shake that wasn’t exactly gentle. “And how do you think you’ll do that? Do you know how many ways there are to kill a person? Well, I do. I’ve become an expert on the subject in the last few years.”

The fresh scent of soap and a woodsy fragrance reminding her vaguely of burning leaves clung to his body. She shook her head as much to rid herself of this new sensual impact as in rejection. “Let me go. We’re talking about my life. No one tells me what to do with it.” Their eyes were almost level as she glared at him. “Damn you, take your hands off me.”

He glared back at her for a moment before his hands reluctantly released her. He muttered a shocking expletive before he stepped back. “This isn’t the end of it. Until Bruner leaves Tamrovia, your continued good health is very much my concern. There’s no way I’m going to let Naldona murder you because you’re too stubborn to accept help.”

She turned away. “Go back to your war, Karpathan. I refuse to involve myself in the games you and Naldona play with other people’s lives.”

“Games!” She could hear the roughened sound of his breathing behind her, and it sent an involuntary thrill of fear through her. She felt as if she’d turned her back on an enraged puma. “War is no game, Miss Ballard.”

“Isn’t it? Perhaps not to the victims, who act as pawns in your political quarrels. I’m afraid your romantic, folk-hero image doesn’t impress me any more than Naldona’s ‘man of the people.’ In your own way you’re just as ruthless as he is.”

“I know.” The words were softly menacing. “However, I didn’t realize you were aware of that aspect of my character.”

Perhaps it had been a mistake to antagonize him by pointing out that she knew how ruthless he could be. She was usually more diplomatic, but her physical response to him had caught her off guard, and she had reacted with instinctive defensiveness. But it was too late now to worry about regrets. She squared her shoulders as she reached for the knob of the door. “I’m fully aware of it. You even put Fontaine in danger to deliver your message tonight. If you’d been wrong in your gauging of my reaction, he very well could have been
killed. You knew that and did it anyway.” She glanced over her shoulder and met his eyes challengingly. “What would you have done if you’d seen me take your message across the room to Naldona?”

He returned her gaze unflinchingly. “I would have shot you,” he said simply. “I had my pistol trained on you from the minute Fontaine approached you. You would have been dead before you opened your lips.”

“You would have murdered me?” she whispered. “Shot me down in cold blood?”

“I wouldn’t have wanted to do it. It would have come down to a question of choices.” His voice was suddenly weary. “If you had spoken to Naldona, Fontaine would have died and Naldona still would have found a way to asassinate you. If you’d died without revealing his complicity, there would have been only one death. I’ve had to make a number of unpleasant choices in the last two years. This would have been just one more.”

And these decisions had left their mark on him. He looked both disillusioned and soul-sick. For a fleeting instant she felt a surge of sympathy, before she recognized the emotion and quickly crushed it. Good Lord, the man had said he would have shot her and she was feeling sorry for him. “You wouldn’t have to make choices like that if you weren’t set on becoming the great revolutionary hero.”

“You’re wrong. I have to make these choices now because I made the wrong choice two years ago. It’s my hair shirt.” His lips twisted. “And I have an idea you’re going to be a hair shirt, too, Miss Ballard.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He turned and crossed the terrace, fading once more into the shadows.

Alessandra drew a long, quivering breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them, smiled determinedly, and opened the French door. Fontaine was standing at discreet attention beside it. She nodded politely, and her smile took on added brilliance as she quietly slipped back into the ballroom.

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