My Fair Gentleman

by Jan Freed

  It burst open and she looked beyond Joe to the two cats.

  “No,” he said before she could open her mouth. “And you better not’ve asked Catherine if you could take them home with you. You didn’t, did you?”

  “I said I wouldn’t, and I didn’t. But Jo-oe, look at them.”

  He cast a reluctant glance over his shoulder at the two felines staring at him as if their last fish stick on earth was walking out the door.

  “They’ll be all alone for at least a month until a fall-semester student rents the apartment. I don’t want them for keeps, I just want to…borrow them,” Allie’s chin jutted forward, the obstinate angle hardening his resolve.

  He stepped out into the morning sunlight. “Check to see that you haven’t left anything behind, then shut the door good. I’ll meet you at the Bronco.”

  Damn, he thought, descending the stairs with the image of Allie’s mutinous expression for company. As if it wasn’t hard enough leaving without her badgering him about the cats.

  He opened the rear of the truck and slid the two suitcases into the spot he’d cleared for them. Amazing how much more stuff they were taking home than they’d originally brought.

  The apartment door opened and closed. Allie’s heavy stomps on the cedar stairs alerted him to the fact that her mood hadn’t improved. .

  Well, neither had his.

  He slammed the tailgate shut and turned to face his daughter. “Ready?”

  “Why can’t we take them, Joe? I’ll clean the cat box, I promise, and you know they don’t eat much. Just let me ask Catherine—”

  “Listen to me, Allie. Those cats don’t belong to. you. And no matter how much you love them, Catherine loves them more. Do you think she’s gonna let her babies get hungry or lonely? Not a chance. So quit nagging me and let’s get this show on the road.”

  “But here she comes. It won’t hurt to ask her.”

  He began to wonder if those straight A‘s on her report cards had been forged. “Cats get upset when they’re moved. Do you really want to tear them away from their home and take them to a strange place just so you’ll be happy? Sounds pretty selfish to me.”

  “What’s this I’m hearing?” Catherine asked from behind Joe, sending a bittersweet spike through his heart. “Allie, why didn’t you tell me you wanted to take Romeo and Juliet home with you?” She moved forward and draped her arm around the girl’s shoulders.

  “Joe told me not to ask you. He says I’m nagging him.”

  Ignoring his daughter’s fmgeraail-on-a-blackboard whine, Joe transferred his irritation to Catherine. If she’d said yes to his marriage proposal, this wouldn’t be an issue. Allie would have the pets she’d always wanted and the mother he’d only recently learned she’d “give anything” to have. And what would he have?

  “If your father didn’t want you to ask me, he must have had a good reason,” Catherine said firmly.

  I’d have a lover who’s also my best friend.

  Allie made a face. “He’s just in a bad mood. He’s been grumpy ever since I got back from Galveston. Please, Catherine? Could I take them with me for a few weeks?”

  Joe had been on the receiving end of those pleading spaniel eyes enough times to know how tough they were to resist.

  Catherine removed her arm from the girl and stepped back. “It’s up to your father.”

  Quickly masking a spark of triumph, Allie dragged her soulful gaze to Joe. “C’mon, Joe, it’ll be fun.”

  The magic phrase, the one he’d used for years to wheedle cooperation from her. His temper snapped. “I’ve had about all the manipulation I’m going to take from you, Allie. When I tell you no, it doesn’t mean maybe, or ask me twenty more times, it means respect my judgment and keep your complaints to yourself. Is that understood, young lady?”

  Her eyes grew huge. “But Joe—”

  ”Is that understood?”

  As father and daughter stared at each other a long measuring moment, there was a subtle shift in the balance of power between them.

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Good. Now tell Catherine goodbye again and hop in the Bronco.”

  Allie moved into Catherine’s open arms and hugged her fiercely. “You’ll help me shop for school clothes like you promised? You won’t forget?”

  Catherine’s lids squeezed shut briefly. “Of course I won’t forget. We’re talking shopping here.”

  Allie pulled back and grinned. “Thanks, Catherine. Guess I’ll see ya soon, then.” She jogged to the passenger side, climbed in and slammed the door.

  Fumbling for his jeans pockets, Joe shoved his hands deep to keep them from doing something stupid. The goodbyes in his life had always been filled with guilt. This vise squeezing his ribs, this knowl-. edge that walking away would rip out his heart and leave him hollow and bleeding…well, if this is what Vicky and Allie had endured, he was surprised they hadn’t hated him.

  He looked down and toed a crack in the driveway. “So I’ll show up Saturday night at about eight-thirty, right? I’ve gotta admit I’m kind of nervous.” Kind of? Ha!

  “You’ll do great. I’m very proud of you.”

  His head came up. Moisture glinted in her eyes like dew on spring grass. He waited until he could trust himself to speak.

  “Don’t jump the gun. I haven’t convinced your father yet.”

  “I’m not talking about your party manners, for heaven’s sake. Don’t you realize what happened a minute ago?”

  He stared at her blankly.

  “Allie called you Dad. How long has it been since she last called you that?”

  Lord have mercy. “Not since she was about six.”

  “Welcome to fatherhood, Joe. It might not be as much fun as never-never land, but with Allie for a daughter, the magic will never end.”

  CATHERINE SLIPPED into the Wilsons’ downstairs guest bathroom, locked the door and set her beaded bag by the Italian marble basin. She’d orchestrated the evening with unnatural calm, but now that it was time to conduct, she was a bundle of nerves. So much could go wrong.

  Turning the cut-crystal faucet, she held her wrists beneath a stream of cold water and prayed for courage; She’d agreed to masquerade as Carl’s adoring bride-to-be, thus saving his parents the social embarrassment of their lifetime, on two conditions.

  First, he must not under any circumstances reveal that either the bet or their engagement was off. Second, he must facilitate the surprise she had planned for her father.

  She’d confessed everything regarding her flawed pedigree, including the vaulted Dr. Hamilton’s lowly character. Shocked and subdued, Carl had readily consented to her terms. Especially after she’d threatened to stage her surprise in front of their guests should he not cooperate.

  She switched off the water, patted her hands dry and vowed to give Joe his chance to mingle as Sebastian Doherty, intellectual and social equal to society’s darlings. Maybe after tonight her student could be comfortable with the real Joe Tucker—the man somewhere between dumb jock and aristocratic snob. The man she loved.

  Catherine met her own stricken eyes in the mirror and shook her head.

  No, she wouldn’t think about that now. Not when she needed to be strong for the upcoming confrontation with her father. Her stony aloofness since she’d picked him up from the airport yesterday had prompted more attention than he’d shown her in years. But she’d purposely kept up the silent treatment. If all went according to plan, he wouldn’t dare interfere in her life again after tonight.

  Fumbling in her bag, she withdrew a gold tube and freshened her lipstick, drawing confidence from knowing she looked damn good. The bright red cocktail dress she’d seen on her shopping trip with Joe actually looked better on her than it had on the storewindow mannequin.

  High-necked, cap-sleeved and form-fitting to three inches above the knee, it whispered expensive and classy—from the front. She turned slightly and eyed the expanse of white skin narrowing to a point below her waistline. A rhinestone bow perch
ed on the dip just before her buttocks swelled.

  From the back this dress said, “Follow me, big boy,” and earned every penny of its outrageous price tag.

  Okay, Catherine, you’ve stalled long enough. Time to put up or shut up.

  Squaring her shoulders, she left the sanctuary of the bathroom and headed for the formal living room, amazed at the number of guests who’d arrived during her short absence. Lilting music from a string quartet softened the geeselike chatter of humans. She immediately spotted her father among the flock.

  Tall and white-haired, with sharp angular features and the bearing of an eagle among lesser fowl, Lawrence Hamilton stood next to Carl, pontificating about something or other. Two distinguished-looking couples in their fifties completed her father’s enthralled audience. Catherine accepted a glass of chardonnay from a passing waiter and headed for the performance.

  “Consider a recent study conducted at Stanford Business School to determine the best predictors of success in business,” her father was saying. “The scholastic records of graduates were compared with their positions in the business world ten years later. The only consistent variable that could predict success was verbal fluency.”

  As Carl made room for her in the semicircle, the others smiled a quick greeting.

  “So you’re saying that most successful men are good communicators?” Dusty Black asked, throwing his wife, Dawn, a smug look.

  “That’s right. They’re able to sell themselves, their services and their companies—all critical skills for running a corporation. The designers, researchers and programmers of the world will never get paid as much as the Lee Iacoccas…”

  Catherine tuned out her father’s voice, refusing to listen to such a narrow-minded view of success. How many CEOs were happy with themselves and their lives? How many of them had a positive impact on the people around them?

  She sipped her wine and glanced toward the foyer for the third time in as many minutes. Charlotte and Jeffrey Wilson opened the door to more arriving guests, none of them familiar to her. She and Carl had been excused from front-door duty in honor of her father’s brief visit. He was heading for an airport hotel after the party and would fly back to England tomorrow.

  Lowering her glass, she winced as her fingers slipped on the condensation. Wine sloshed over the rim and hit her father’s polished dress shoes.

  He stopped in the middle of a sentence and looked down his long Hamilton nose at the offending liquid. “And then there’s the nonverbal form of communication.” His gaze slowly lifted. “If I’m boring you, Catherine, surely you could find a less dramatic way to tell me?”

  His charming smile swept his audience and prompted chuckles, but not before Catherine had seen the unguarded flash of displeasure in his hazel eyes. A month ago it would have devastated her.

  She patted his arm and offered the group her own falsely bright smile. “Father loves high drama. He’s too modest to admit it, but he was an excellent actor in his younger days.”

  “Really, Lawrence?” Dawn’s dark eyes lit with speculative interest. “You know our Hospice House fund-raising ball is staging a melodrama prior to the dancing. We could certainly use a volunteer with experience.”

  “I’m afraid my daughter is mistaken.” He glanced warily at Catherine. “I don’t know where she got the idea I was in the theater.”

  “Who said anything about the theater? I said you could act.” Catherine turned to the attractive older woman and forced a teasing note into her voice. “According to an old friend of the family, Father wasn’t always the proper professor. It seems he could talk a courtroom judge into believing anything.”

  Smiling nearly cracked her face, but it cued her audience to laugh along with her “little joke.” She risked a glance at her father and met his shocked stare.

  He suddenly looked every one of his sixty-seven years, and her reflexive desire to make him happy, to please him at any expense to her own pride, both shamed and angered her.

  “Carl, dear?” Dawn said, the odd edge in her voice capturing Catherine’s attention. “Who is that arriving just now?”

  As one, they all turned and looked toward the front door. Despite the fact that there were three men and two women crowding the foyer, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who Dawn meant.

  He stood alone and apart, a sophisticated pirate preparing to conquer and claim.

  His charcoal gray Valentino suit would have made an ordinary body seem athletic. On Joe’s powerful physique, the double-breasted jacket and full legged trousers made him a feast for feminine eyes, an irritation to those of his own sex. A snowy white shirt and peach silk tie were the perfect foil for his bold dark eyes and hard-planed face.

  She wanted to rush over and let every woman know he was her sophisticated pirate. He could have been hers if only she hadn’t been so damn noble. And, oh, it hurt. It hurt so much!.

  Catherine dragged her gaze away and noted Carl’s bristling hostility. Definitely not a part of their deal. She pulled herself together and smiled.

  “Isn’t that Sebastian Doherty?” she asked Carl pointedly. “You introduced me at the country club last week. He’s visiting Houston on business, and you invited him to our party. Remember, darling?” She grasped his arm and sneaked a hard pinch.

  “Ah! So it is, Catherine.”

  “Any relation to the Philadelphia Dohertys?” her father asked.

  Carl continued staring at the foyer as if ready to unsheath his sword. Her elbow found his ribs.

  “Urn! I believe he is, Dr. Hamilton. Rumor has it he’s looked at several large pieces of commercial real estate. Very hush-hush about his intentions of course, but relocating Doherty Enterprises does seem a logical assumption.”

  If he’d been a dog, her father’s ears would have been standing straight up. From the others’ expressions, Joe’s fictional prestige would spread faster than the common cold among the gossiping crowd.

  “Excuse us, please, while we make Mr. Doherty feel welcome,” Catherine said, drawing Carl with her totheentryway.

  Charlotte looked up with a relieved expression as they drew near. Her Grace Kelly poise and blond beauty held a hint of censure. “Ah, here they are now, Mr. Doherty. Carl, shame on you for not letting me know you’d invited a special guest.”

  Catherine added warningly, “Yes, shame on you for forgetting something so important. Sebastian must have felt extremely awkward.” She turned and extended her hand to Joe. “We’re so glad you could squeeze us into your busy calendar, Sebastian. Thank you for coming.”

  His ebony gaze swept over her and glittered with appreciation. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

  Their hands met, and everything female in her merged with his heat and strength. The connection pulsed with life. She looked into his eyes and almost hated him for making her heart hammer, her mind sharpen, her senses vibrate as no other man ever had or, she suspected sickly, ever would again.

  She jerked back her hand. “Do let us introduce you to our friends, won’t you?” Had he noticed her slight breathiness?

  The satisfied curve of his mouth said he had. “I’d be delighted.”

  Delighted, she thought, marveling that a word so foreign to Joe could sound so natural from “Sebastian.” With the two men in tow, she set out to introduce her prize student to the Wilsons’ friends and protect his true identity from discovery.

  Tight clusters of guests flowered open at their approach, offering obligatory congratulations to Carl and Catherine before focusing swiftly on Joe. His role gave him free rein to use his extensive vocabulary, to practice his dry wit on an audience that appreciated rather than ridiculed such things. He collected admiration like pollen, moving on to each new group a bit more dusted with confidence.

  In a circle including the Prewitts, talk of a successful dove hunt animated the men. Joe steered the conversation to bird dogs, segued into show dogs and walked away with Laura’s heart and an invitation from Brad to flush up some south Texas quai
l in the fall.

  A protective unit consisting of the Andersons and their two bodyguards loosened up as Joe discussed physical-fitness regimens. Interested eavesdroppers drifted into the group and asked questions pressconference style. Years of training camps and injury rehabilitation lent credence to Joe’s advice. Catherine had to cut the questions short and physically drag him away in order to move on into the dining room.

  They joined a slow-moving line leading to the buffet table where Charlotte, true to form, stood ready to reprimand the caterer should trays not be replenished immediately.

  The woman’s perfectionism rivaled her father’s, Catherine realized. She would have spent her entire marriage to Carl trying to measure up to Charlotte’s standards—and failing. At least loving Joe had saved her from that.

  Riding a crest of gratitude, she hugged Carl’s arm. “Isn’t Sebastian amazing? The way he fits into this crowd, you’d never know he was from Philadelphia, would you?”

  As Joe would say, Carl looked as if he’d just sucked on a lemon. “Maybe not. But then, I’m not as perceptive as your father, and I don’t believe Sebastian’s had a chance to visit with him yet…have you, old chap?” He turned to the taller man with feigned innocence.

  Joe appeared distracted by someone at the buffet table. “Hmm? Oh, I haven’t had the pleasure, no. Will you excuse me please?”

  He left the line and approached a pinched-faced elderly woman who was walking with a distinct hobble, trying with obvious difficulty to balance her plate. Speaking in her ear, Joe took the plate from her hands and began piling it with this and that, consulting with Charlotte and following his companion’s gnarled pointing finger until there wasn’t a smidgen of china showing.

  Catherine and Carl weren’t the only ones to gape. Martha Kendall’s wealth was equaled only by her abrasive personality. Carl had once admitted she terrified even his mother.

  Joe held out his arm, escorted Martha toward a row of occupied chairs lining one wall and stopped in front of a portly man stuffing shrimp into his mouth at a rate faster than he chewed. Whatever Joe said brought the man clambering up from his chair, his round face flushed. Joe proceeded to seat Martha as if she were the most important woman in his life.