The Right Man

by Anne Stuart

  “What do you suppose it could be?” She carried it into the living room of her mother’s neat little house and sat on the floor with it. One of the first things Susan planned on doing after her marriage was to move her mother to better, more elegant surroundings, preferably the sprawling faux Tudor mansion that Edward had bought for them. She didn’t expect to run into any opposition from her new husband—Edward was in awe of his delicate, future mother-in-law, and he was as practical about their marriage as Susan was. The house was huge—there was no reason why they couldn’t share it.

  “Something interesting, I have no doubt,” Mary said, handing her a pair of scissors.

  It took Susan less than a minute to rip off the layers of wrapping to expose the box beneath it. It was a dressmaker’s box, very old, with a card taped on top of it. Even though she’d never met her legendary godmother, Susan recognized her handwriting.

  She opened the note. “A token of your family’s past, my dear. Despite what they tell you, good things happen to those who wear this.”

  “Cryptic as ever,” Mary said, reading it over her shoulder. “Let’s see what she’s sent you. Probably some East Indian shroud of some sort.”

  Susan opened the box, pushing away the layers of tissue paper to expose yards and yards of creamy white satin.

  “Oh, my heavens,” Mary cried, and sank into a nearby chair.

  Susan cast a curious glance at her mother as she pulled the dress out. It was a wedding dress made of rich, glossy satin, cut like a gown for a medieval princess, with laced-up sleeves and bodice and a long sweep of skirt. It had to be the most beautiful, unsuitable dress she’d ever seen, and she loved it.

  She turned to her mother. “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

  “It’s Tallulah’s wedding dress,” Mary said in a faint voice. “I always wondered what happened to it.”

  Susan rose, holding the dress up against her long body, unable to resist the impulse. It flowed against her, draping in graceful folds. “She must have been tall.”

  “She was. Tallulah towered over almost everyone. She looked so beautiful in that dress.” Mary’s voice caught for a moment. “Imagine Louisa having it all this time.”

  Susan stared at her reflection for a long, meditative moment. “It’s obviously a sign,” she said finally. “I’m meant to wear this dress.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Susan!” her mother protested, shocked. “You can’t possibly! It’s bad luck. There’s too much history....”

  “Why? She didn’t die in the dress, did she? You told me she was killed in a train wreck on her honeymoon.”

  “Her honeymoon hadn’t even started,” Mary said quietly. “They were on their way to New York to begin their trip to England. They were going to spend several months just touring Europe when it happened.”

  “You mean she didn’t even have a wedding night?”

  “No,” Mary said shortly.

  “She died a virgin? How completely depressing!”

  Her mother cast her a stern glance. “Your generation didn’t invent sex, you know.”

  “You mean Aunt Tallulah did the nasty with Neddie Marsden? Hard to believe, looking at him now. I can’t believe anyone would want to sleep with him.”

  “Your aunt Tallulah was an original, Susan. She always followed her own heart, and if she loved someone, she loved them wholeheartedly, without reservation,” Mary said. “She was never one to be bound by the restrictions of society.”

  “Even though she was an Abbott of Connecticut?” Susan asked, running a reverent hand along the rich, creamy satin.

  “Most particularly because she was an Abbott of Connecticut.”

  “I still can’t see a free spirit like her married to a stuffed shirt like Ned Marsden. Or maybe it was her premature death that turned him into such a turnip.”

  “I’m afraid Neddie Marsden was always a turnip,” Mary admitted. “His second wife is much better suited to him. He’d probably prefer to forget all about Tallulah.”

  “His lost love,” Susan murmured. “It’s so romantic.”

  “I was a nine-year-old who lost her beloved older sister,” Mary said. “I didn’t find it the slightest bit romantic.”

  Susan bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Mother. I’m not usually so self-absorbed. I know you still miss her.”

  “Never mind, dear.” Mary came and stood behind her, staring down at the dress with a faraway expression. “It’s in the past, where it belongs. But how extraordinary that Louisa would have this dress.”

  “You told me she was Aunt Tallulah’s best friend. That was why you made me her goddaughter, even though she’s never even seen me.”

  “Exactly,” Mary said. “So it shouldn’t come as any surprise, really.” She touched the thick satin. “Are you going to try it on, then?”

  Susan hesitated, torn. “I shouldn’t...”

  “Of course you should. I think you’re right—it’s a sign. Why else would it show up today of all days? If it fits, you have my blessing. I’m sure it’s what Louisa had in mind, the old devil.”

  “But what about the rest of the family?”

  “No one will remember. Most everyone at that wedding is dead by now—after all it was fifty years ago. And I think Tallulah would want you to wear it.” She reached down and picked it up, shaking out the folds. “I don’t think it even needs pressing.”

  It slid over her body like warm water, accentuating her slender curves, flowing down her long legs. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, and she looked like a lost princess, wistful and serene. She looked like someone she’d known, long ago, a secret girl inside her woman’s heart.

  “It fits,” she said. She picked up the soft drape of the skirt and let it fall through her fingers. “I’m wearing it.”

  And she imagined, somewhere in heaven, her wild aunt Tallulah laughed.

  Chapter Two

  The tumbledown garage was all that was left of the once-sprawling Abbott estate that had dominated the small, elite town of Matchfield. The mansion and most of its outbuildings had burned in the early sixties, and the rest of the acreage had been developed into tasteful little town houses and a few select enclaves for the very wealthy. The garage had been off at a distance, and it remained, on its island of land, deserted and abandoned in the overgrown forest that bordered the neatly landscaped lawns of Matchfield Commons.

  Jake Wyczynski was used to roughing it, and this was the height of elegance compared to some places he’d stayed recently. The roof was mostly intact, as were the windows, there were only a few steps missing on the stairs, and the few pieces of furniture seemed basically sturdy. He threw open the windows, beat several pounds of dust off the thin mattress on the old iron bed and tossed his sleeping bag on top of it.

  It would do for the next week. He’d promised Louisa, and he was a man who kept his promises. Besides, he owed Louisa more than his life, and he’d walk through fire for her. Attending a society wedding was almost as torturous, but for Louisa he could endure it.

  He wondered what she would have thought of her goddaughter. Jake himself had been reluctantly impressed, which made his short exile in society both easier and more difficult. Susan Abbott was an amazon, tall and strong and graceful, even in that monstrosity of a dress. He would have been half tempted to rip the thing off her even if she’d professed to love it. Such a piece of tasteless fluff was an affront to his sense of beauty. Susan Abbott was a magnificent creature, and she needed magnificent clothes to show her distinctive looks to advantage. Magnificent clothes, or nothing at all.

  She’d had smooth, creamy skin beneath that silly dress. He wondered what her fiancé was like, whether he would appreciate her, or whether he’d want her in polyester and ruffles. She looked a little like a sleeping beauty, chaste, elegant, unawakened. He couldn’t imagine a red-blooded male who wouldn’t want to waken her with something a lot more potent than a kiss.

  It wasn’t his business, of course. He was here for Louisa, here as a me
ssenger boy. As soon as the wedding was over he could get back to wherever the spirit moved him. He wondered if cool, straitlaced Susan Abbott had ever done a spontaneous thing in her entire life.

  He was passing judgment, something he hated. People made their own choices, lived their own lives. It wasn’t up to him to decide whether they were doing a good job of it or not.

  Still, she looked as if there might be fire beneath her still exterior. She looked as if all her passion was carefully banked within that long, leggy body of hers. Maybe she was just waiting to be awakened.

  Dangerous thoughts, and once again, none of his business. He didn’t need to get emotionally involved with the Abbotts, and he certainly didn’t need to get physically involved with a woman on the verge of her wedding.

  He’d never been particularly interested in poaching on other people’s relationships. But there was something about the calm clarity of Susan Abbott’s eyes that called him.

  He wasn’t a man who noticed tiny physical details, but her vivid green eyes lingered in his mind. As did the small mole just below her shoulder blade, just above the lacy band of her skimpy bra.

  He shook his head in disgust. Louisa would be sorely disappointed in him, for letting himself be distracted by her little goddaughter.

  Except there was nothing little about Susan Abbott. And Louisa knew him too well to be surprised by anything. She had always had a healthy respect for natural human lust.

  He threw himself down on the cot, and a cloud of dust rose beneath his sleeping bag, gold-flecked motes floating peacefully in the late-afternoon air. Sooner or later he’d go find himself some good old American fast food, maybe a beer as well. He might as well enjoy his exile for the short time it would last. Society had a few things to offer, including burgers and fries.

  He could even indulge his fantasies, just a little bit, and no one would be any the wiser. He could stretch his body out and think of Susan Abbott. Whether she’d ever had anyone kiss that perfect little mole. What she’d look like when she came.

  He lay back and grinned lazily. It was a harmless pastime, and she would never have the faintest idea he viewed her with anything more than dispassionate curiosity. He could carry the image of her back with him on his travels, standing there in the midst of her mother’s living room, that mass of white lace falling off her creamy body. He had every intention of enjoying those memories thoroughly.

  He sighed, tucking his arms behind his head as he surveyed the cobweb-festooned ceiling of the old building. Whichever of the Abbotts’ faithful retainers had lived here, a generation ago, they obviously hadn’t been interested in creature comforts. Neither was he.

  The only creature comfort that lured him right now was a faint, betraying flash of lust for another man’s bride.

  SUSAN HAD PLANNED on telling Jake Wyczynski how grateful she was, both for his handy disposal of Vivian’s wedding dress and the delivery of her late aunt Tallulah’s gown, but he was nowhere to be seen the next day. It upset her plans. She found him slightly unsettling, and a friendly, formal meeting would put things back on the right footing.

  But he didn’t appear. A package showed up at her mother’s doorstep, along with the latest offerings from FedEx and UPS, but Susan didn’t waste her time with the traditional gifts. She went straight to the small, battered package, knowing instinctively it was from her godmother.

  “What’s she sent you now?” Mary looked up from her carefully ordered list of gifts. She’d been brought up to follow the niceties of society to a tee, and she wasn’t about to fail at this critical juncture, the marriage of her only child.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.” Susan held up the intricate mesh of silver. It looked somewhat like a spiderweb, with beads scattered through it.

  “Maybe Jake will know. We’ll have to ask him next time we see him.”

  “I suppose,” Susan said doubtfully. “You don’t know where he’s staying?”

  Her mother shook her head no. “He told me Louisa arranged something for him.”

  “Maybe he’s camping somewhere. He looks the type.”

  “I thought you used to like camping.”

  Susan squashed down the little trickle of guilt at her mother’s hurt expression. “I liked camping with you, mother. Just the two of us, in the woods, not being Abbotts of Connecticut. I guess as I’ve gotten older I’ve learned to appreciate the glories of running water.”

  “Have you? Or is it Edward’s civilized effect on you?”

  Susan grinned. “I can’t really see Edward roughing it, can you? I think he was born in a three-piece suit.”

  “I expect you’ve seen him without it at least on occasion,” Mary said, a note of a question in her voice.

  She could ignore it. She and her mother had an unspoken respect for each other’s privacy, combined with a deep concern. Their lives had been so entwined, with no husband or father to interfere, that they’d almost developed a kind of mental shorthand. Mary had to have guessed, and she might as well be honest.

  “I thought you knew,” she said in a careless voice. “Edward thinks we should wait until we’re married.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “To sleep together. I thought you would have figured that out.”

  Mary Abbott’s expression was blank, but Susan knew her mother far too well. “If that suits you, darling,” she said. “I’m sure you’re old enough to know your own mind.”

  Susan managed a careless little laugh. “It’s not as if we both hadn’t tried it in our misspent youth. And we’re so attuned on everything else, we can’t help but be compatible sexually.”

  “If you say so.”

  “You don’t approve. I would have thought you’d be pleased. Edward is every mother’s dream.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t approve, Susan.” Mary set the legal pad aside. “You know I love Edward dearly. I just want you to be very certain you know what you’re doing.”

  “We’re not going to end up like you and my father,” Susan said, unable to keep the defensiveness out of her voice.

  Mary’s smile was rueful. “I’m sure you’re not. Your father and I were completely at odds about everything. He liked the country, I liked the city, he was an intellectual, I was athletic. He liked to read, I liked to shop. It was a disaster from the word go, and no one was surprised when we divorced a few months after you were born.”

  “Did your parents approve?” Susan sat back on her heels, surveying her mother curiously. Mary Abbott could seldom be persuaded to talk about her short marriage, and Susan had been angry enough at her father for abandoning her not to push things. But now, as her life was about to change, she found she was curious.

  “They approved of the divorce, not the marriage. Once I changed my name back to Abbott and refused to have anything to do with Alex then everything was fine.” She sighed. “It’s ancient history. I don’t know why I even brought it up.”

  “Because we were talking about incompatibility. How Edward and I are made for each other,” Susan prompted.

  Mary’s smile was faint. “Yes, darling. But no matter how far apart your father and I were in everything else, the sex was absolutely amazing.”

  “Too much information!” Susan said, covering her ears. “I don’t want to envision my mother having sex, thank you very much.”

  “I didn’t find you under a cabbage leaf, you know.”

  “You might as well have, since I had no father,” she said frankly. Mary didn’t even flinch. “Is that why you married him? Because the sex was good?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

  “No, darling. I married him because I loved him, irrational as it was. And that’s why the sex was good.”

  “Then I should have no problem,” Susan said blithely.

  “Because you love Edward.” There was just the faint trace of a question in Mary’s gentle voice.

  “Of course. I’m marrying him, aren’t I?”

  “I thought it was more a practical th
an an emotional decision.”

  “Marriage should always be a practical decision,” Susan said firmly. “It’s too important an issue to let your emotions or your heart get in the way.”

  For a moment Mary looked stricken. “And you wouldn’t want your heart to get in the way, would you, sweetheart?” she said softly.

  She recognized the troubled tone in her mother’s voice. “I love Edward,” Susan repeated firmly. “Trust me.”

  “Always, darling. What are you going to wear to the Andersons’ party tonight? They’ve invited just about everyone, I’m afraid, even though I told them that this week was hectic enough already.”

  “We’ll survive. At least I’ll have some time with Edward.” She said it almost defiantly. She loved Edward, truly. If it wasn’t the mad, passionate desire of a teenager, well, they were both too mature for that. She loved him in a calm, rational manner, secure in everything the future held for the two of them. She rose, heading toward her mother, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Trust me, mother. I know what I’m doing.”

  Mary smiled up at her, but there was no missing the real doubt in her warm blue eyes. “Of course, dear.”

  HER MOTHER WAS RIGHT: the Andersons’ sprawling Tudor mansion was crammed with people. Susan had been trained by her mother in the fine art of social intercourse, and she survived a good three hours of chitchat, shrimp hors d’oeuvres, distant glimpses of Edward, and enough French champagne to fell a lesser woman. She’d learned how to sip, making one glass linger, she’d learned how to smile and look as if every word was utterly fascinating.

  For some reason tonight it all felt particularly hollow.

  She must have been overtired, she decided, making an automatically sympathetic response to Taylor Anderson’s gastrointestinal woes. She’d been brought up for this sort of thing, she was good at it. Across the crowded room she could see Edward thriving, charming everyone who came within his orbit, and he was counting on her doing the same thing. For some reason she wasn’t quite sure why she should.