"All right, then, a last resort-does he like dogs and cats and babies?"
"Babies, and that's all that matters." She was enjoying herself immensely by this time. They laughed lightheartedly, then Joseph threw a hand at the mohair upholstery overhead and barked in mock self-castigation, "God, is there anything the man hasn't got?"
She simpered, knowing she shouldn't. She gave him a coy pout, knowing she shouldn't. And even as the answer escaped her lips, she knew beyond a shred of doubt that she was shamelessly flirting. She peered up from beneath her darling hat brim and replied, "Yes… a 1923 Haynes."
Chapter 3
T he wedding reception was held in a beautiful restored turn-of-the-century house with three stories of corniced gingerbread, wraparound porches, upstairs verandas, cupolas and a grand total of eight bay windows. It was called the Victorian Club, and inside was as evocative of a bygone era as was its immaculate white exterior and latticed backyard gazebo.
Arriving at the Victorian Club where all the wedding guests were waiting, Winnie experienced afresh the phantasmal sensation that for this day she was someone other than Winnifred Gardner, contemporary woman, careered, affianced. Indeed, everything today seemed to tug at Winnie's heartstrings and urge her into a fanciful state of deja vu, as if she'd been dressed for the part intentionally by some omnipotent force so it could sweep her back to a time she formerly knew.
The four cars pulled to the curb in front of the stunning architectural eye-catcher, and as the wedding party disembarked from the high old-fashioned seats, laughter and gay badinage spilled into the warm afternoon.
Winnie reached for her door handle, but Joseph was right there to stop her with a quick hand on her arm. "Wait!" Immediately he was out his side and around to hers. The foot block was narrow, and as she turned in her seat to search it out with her high heel, Joseph's hands came up, catching her about the waist and swinging her down beside him. His hands were sure and lingered a bit longer than prudent. Was it her imagination, or had he intentionally swung her down too swiftly so her hip collided with his stomach? If so, he took scarcely a moment to savor the contact before turning her by an elbow toward the walk.
Merrymakers had noted their arrival, and a throng of them rushed from the house to encircle and accompany the bride and groom inside beneath a shower of rice, while Winnie and Joseph ran at their heels.
The house was decorated with lush antiques, its oaken floors varnished to a high gloss, and its ceiling-to-floor casement windows topped off by eyebrow sashes and decorated with antique sheer lace curtains that let the daylight stream inside. An elegant staircase curved up from the enormous central entry hall, and wide sliding double doors were rolled back on either side of the generous area, vastly expanding the space where the dancing would be done later. The dining room was at the rear of the house just off the kitchen, which was the only room closed off to guests, for it had been converted to meet modern standards of efficiency for the accommodation of large groups such as today's.
As Winnie stepped inside with Joseph's hand at the small of her back, she caught her breath at the setting. Something here called to her heart, and she turned to Joseph with an appreciative gaze in her eye. "Isn't this place-" she glanced up the thick red runner on the curved stairway "-evocative? I was with Sandy when she first came to see it, and I was so afraid she might not choose it."
"Yes, it's really beautiful." But his eyes made only a cursory swing past the ballroom-width entry and sweeping stair before returning to her as he spoke the words.
"Now, Joseph, you promised."
"I did? What did I promise?" His hand moved caressingly on her back.
"You said you had to watch yourself today, didn't you?"
"Ah, yes, but does that mean I can't admire the scenery?"
She laughed into his glinting eyes, then the two of them turned and ambled toward the rear of the hall, his hand still riding the shallows of her spine. "Do you know what my first impression of you was when I met you last night?" she asked, gazing at the ceiling's domed windows.
"No, what?" He admired the arch of her neck as she looked up.
"That you are a consummate flirt, and that I should take everything you say with a grain of salt."
It was his turn to laugh. "Define the term consummate, if you will."
She shrugged, thought about it for a second and made a vague gesture toward the heavens. "Consummate… you know." Again she beamed him a grin. "Perfect."
"The perfect flirt? Is that how you see me?"
"You see? You're doing it again. Perhaps the word I should have chosen was incorrigible flirt."
"I think I like consummate better. It sounds sexual, and it's nice to think one woman finds me perfect in some way."
Just then a voice spoke behind them. "Winnifred, dear, there you are."
At the sound of Paul's voice Winnie spun around, pressing a hand to her thumping heart, wondering if he'd heard Jo-Jo's last remark, certain he'd seen Duggan's hand lingering on her waist. It took an effort to keep her voice light and lift her cheek for Paul's kiss while Jo-Jo looked on.
"Oh, hello, Paul. I'm sorry I missed you in the church lobby, but things were so hectic. We were swept outside before I could catch my breath."
Jo-Jo Duggan watched as the tall perfectly groomed man slipped his hands around Winnie's ribs and dipped his head to kiss her briefly on the cheek. "You… look… sensational, darling." As he straightened, his head caught the brim of her hat, and her hand flew up to hold it on.
"Do you like it?" She smiled at the prepossessing man whose blond head towered above hers by a good ten inches.
"Like it!" Hildebrandt backed off and ran his eyes down to her hem and back up again. "I love it. The hair and the hat-" he captured her hands and squeezed them for emphasis "-and the dress." Once more his eyes dropped to assess her more feminine points while she wished Jo-Jo would politely refrain from watching every place Paul touched her and looked at her. "You look ravishing."
From the corner of her eye she saw Jo-Jo grimace, and felt a thrill ripple along her skin. She returned the pressure of Paul's hands and turned him toward her escort. "Paul, I want you to meet the best man, Joseph Duggan. Joseph, this is my fiance, Paul Hildebrandt."
They shook hands. "Hildebrandt." Joseph nodded.
"Hello," Paul greeted simply.
"So you're the lucky guy, huh?" Jo-Jo transferred his amiable smile from Hildebrandt to the woman on his arm. "She's been talking about you a lot while we were out doing the after-wedding joyride."
"Oh-oh. I'm probably in trouble."
"Not at all. Everything she said was highly complimentary."
Hildebrandt's eyes rested on his betrothed, then made another tour of her appealing hairdo and hat. It suddenly irked Joseph Duggan to watch the man assessing her as if she were a pink-and-white striped parfait in a stem glass, and he'd just been given a spoon. Hildebrandt surprised Duggan by returning, "Today it looks like you're the lucky man, escorting her when she's dressed like that." Then with scarcely a glance at Jo-Jo the suave executive type turned the maid of honor away by her arm. "I'll bring her right back. I have to talk to her for a minute."
Joseph watched the "computer man" commandeer Winnifred Gardner's elbow and appropriate her. Hildebrandt was dressed in an impeccable three-piece suit of proper navy blue, accompanied by the expected baby blue shirt and striped tie of muted wines and gray blues. His haircut looked like something out of Gentleman's Quarterly, and his shoes were polished like mirrors. As the pair turned away, Hildebrandt's arm slipped around Winnifred's shoulders, and he pulled her up tightly until she was tipped against his ribs and hip. Her face was raised and wearing a radiant smile as he spoke down at her, then she replied and together they laughed.
The sight of them that way made Duggan want to drive his fist into the wall.
"There's got to be some private corner where we can hide for a minute," Paul was saying.
"To what end, Mr. Hildebrandt?" Winnie teased coquett
ishly.
He hauled her hip against his, and his hand rode higher up her side, almost to the armpit, fingertips extended toward her breast. "Find me that corner and I'll show you."
She laughed and they rounded a corner, then walked down a broad central hall and eventually came upon what must have been a butler's pantry in its day. Pushing open a swinging door, they found a long narrow room with built-in glass-doored cabinets on their left, bearing wide storage drawers for linens and silverware. There was another swinging door at the far side of the walk-through and to their right a broad window rising from a waist-high counter top to the twelve-foot ceiling. The blue sky beyond was framed by an arching tangle of ivy vines, bare of leaf now, but swollen with buds.
When the door swung closed behind them, Paul confiscated her basket of flowers, set it aside with careful deliberateness, then circled Winnie with both arms, pulling her securely against his body as he dropped his head to kiss her and pressed her hips back against the rounded edge of the ivory-painted cabinet below the window. "Mmm…" he murmured as his tongue slipped seductively into her mouth, which opened willingly. His head moved, and his hand pressed the side of her breast, then kneaded it firmly.
"Mmm…" she echoed into his mouth, smiling beneath his open lips, running her hands over his smooth back.
He lifted his head and backed away only enough to see her but still held her prisoner between himself and the cabinet. "If you look even one-quarter this tantalizing on our wedding day, I'll have a hard time keeping my hands off you in front of the entire congregation."
She ran her fingertips demurely under both of his lapels. "Well, now, wouldn't that be something? The unflappable Paul Hildebrandt, losing control. I think I'd like that."
"I'm far from unflappable where you're concerned, and you know it."
She kissed his chin. "Not in public, you're not. Otherwise you would have kissed me back there in the entry instead of sneaking off into this pantry with me." Was it a subconscious wish to show Jo-Jo Duggan her fiance desired her that made Winnie voice that comment? She pushed Duggan from her mind and lifted up on tiptoe, seeking Paul's mouth again. But in the middle of the kiss her hat began slipping, and she jerked free, both hands flying up to the long pearl-headed hat pin.
"Oh, shoot. We're not done taking pictures yet, so I have to keep this thing on and make sure my hair doesn't get messed. But I'll be able to get rid of it at the dance tonight, then we can take up where we left off here."
With characteristic seriousness Paul backed away from her and slipped a hand into his trouser pocket. "About the dance, Winnie…"
Already her hands were on her hips-angrily. "Paul Hildebrandt, if you tell me you're not staying for the dance, I'm going to throw a fit right here and now!"
"Winnie, quiet down before somebody finds us in here. It isn't that I won't stay for the dance. I'll just have to leave a little bit earlier than I expected."
She tucked her lips against her teeth and made a pair of tough fists. "So what is it this time? Did the Almighty decree that he needed the lowly Mr. Hildebrandt to process some data before-"
"Winnie, you're being shrewish again."
"Shrewish!" She spun to face the window, presenting her back. "I have a right to be shrewish after you promised." She whirled again to face him. "You promised. You said we'd dance until the last dog was hung, and that nothing would make you miss it. So what came up?"
"Must you sound so antagonistic?"
She considered his question seriously. "Yes. Yes, I must, because I'm sick and tired of taking a back seat to your computers and your incessant late hours. It is your contract work again, isn't it?"
"They need it by Monday, and this extra money is going to come in so handy when we move into the house."
"Paul, how many times do I have to tell you, I don't care about the house. I can live with a card table and two chairs and a pair of fifteen-dollar bean bags! I don't need four thousand dollars' worth of carefully chosen decorator furniture. We'll have the rest of our lives to buy furniture. Now-especially tonight-I wanted to be ours."
"I know." His voice was repentant, and he slipped his hands inside the bell-shaped sleeves of her lace overdress, running them up past her elbows. "I know, Winnie, but I have… ideals. Goals. And one of them is seeing that you start with nothing but the best. Everything you deserve. You know I've given my solemn promise to your mother that I'd see to it."
But the subject of her mother was one Winnifred could not quite confront head-on in relationship to Paul Hildebrandt. If she voiced her true feelings on that score, she feared she'd sound neurotic, or at the very least, petulant. She dropped her head forward, staring at the crisp crease in Paul's trousers as she sighed deeply.
"Yes, I know," she replied wearily. She lifted her head. "I'm sorry I complain about it, but I… you…" How was it she always ended up feeling the one in error when this argument erupted between them again and again? His motives seemed very noble on the surface, and her complaints so juvenile, as if she were a spoiled child who demanded more attention after getting her just dole.
She circled his neck loosely with both hands. "Paul, I just wanted today to be special. I feel special, dressed up this way. And I know you'd like to see me dressed up more often than you do. I thought you'd want to be with me."
"I do. And I am." He kissed her nose and looped his hands loosely behind her back. "I can stay for a couple of hours."
"During dinner?"
He brightened and smiled. "Yes, during dinner and for a few dances."
She studied him with a new, disturbing insight, recalling Joseph Duggan's words: "That's the first sign of a healthy relationship between you and your fiance that I've seen yet." Paul Hildebrandt was all the things a sane woman wanted in a husband. Hadn't her mother reiterated the fact time and again during the past two years?
She sighed again and leaned back against the cabinet edge, pulling him with her. His weight felt secure, pressing against her hips again. She pulled his head down, forgetting about the hat, commanding him to kiss her with a full exchange of tongues that grew into a greedy seeking of body pressure. Her hat fell off. She raised up higher, forcing her curves into his coves, wishing to assure him she would and could be content with a couple of hours with him.
"Paul, I love you," she said ardently against his neck. He smelled of Pierre Cardin cosmetics, as he always did-nothing but the best when it came to image, he always claimed. The clothes make the man. First impressions last longest. He was always clean, flawless and fragrant.
"I love you, too," he said, bracketing her face with his long tapered hands that were ever as immaculate as those of any dentist.
What's the matter with me tonight, she wondered. Why am I assessing him so caustically when he has no outstanding faults? Am I searching for some all of a sudden, after what Jo-Jo Duggan intimated?
"It's time I got back. They'll be seating the wedding party at the main table soon. I can't hold things up."
"Oh." A shadow crossed his handsome green eyes. "I guess that means I can't sit with you during dinner."
"I'll be seated next to the best man. But we can dance the first dance afterward, all right?"
"I'll mark your name on my program." He grinned, handed her her basket, and turned her toward the swinging door.
The main hall was emptying, but Joseph Duggan was waiting near the archway to the dining room.
"Ah, there you are. They're seating the guests first, Hildebrandt, and they've already sent out the call." He noted Winnie's flushed face and that unmistakable swollen look of a woman who's just been well kissed. She'd had a faint sheen to her lips before slipping off with the computer man, but it was all gone now. He noted also a coolness as she told her fiance, "I'll see you after dinner, Paul."
Hildebrandt left them and disappeared into the dining room. Winnie felt Duggan's eyes assessing her, missing nothing. He wore no grin this time as he advised, "You got a little bit messed in there. There's a hank of hair hanging from u
nder the side of your hat, and you could use a touch of lipstick-for the camera, of course," he finished sardonically.
She felt a surge of color mounting her chest and bathing her chin, and bit back the sharp retort that it was none of his bloody business. "I left a small makeup bag in your car. Would you mind terribly running out to get it for me?"
"Not at all. What does it look like?"
"It's a lavender-flowered zipper bag about so big."
"Be right back." He turned and crossed the entry, but just before the door closed behind him, he paused and looked back with a frown on his face. It made her sizzling mad to feel his skewering eyes were reprimanding her.
When he returned, the crowd in the front hall had thinned even more. He thrust the bag into her hand, and she thrust her flower basket into his. Then he stood behind her shoulder-very, very close-watching her reflection as she faced a long ornate pier glass hanging on a wall to the left of the door.
She fished in the bag for a wand of lipstick, but when she found it, her hand trembled on its way to her lips. Joseph Duggan's brown eyes were relentless as they followed each move she made. She opened her mouth, pouted her lips toward the glass and began carefully outlining them.
"You have very beautiful lips. I like them better when they don't have that red crap on them and are left in their own natural shape."
The wand with its red tip trembled two inches from her mouth. Her eyes met Duggan's in the mirror, and she wanted to ask him please to forgo any further compliments tonight. She just wasn't in the mood anymore.
"Go ahead, princess, put it on, anyway. It'll take away that puffy look that tells what you and Hildegard were doing in the butler's pantry."
"Hildebrandt!" she spit and continued slashing the red hue on her lips.
"I beg your pardon," he returned silkily. "Hildebrandt." He raised his eyes to her hat. "And fix that hair, too… for the time being."
Rather than ask the obvious question, she jerked the hat pin free and handed him the hat by swatting it across his belly. He grinned as he added it to his collection of female frippery. It was beyond her why a frilly hat and a basket of pink hyacinth should enhance a man's masculinity as he held them in his wide blunt hands. She dropped her eyes from the reflection, feeling betrayed by two inanimate objects.
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