by Anne Stuart
“I repeat. Go...to...hell.” And she strode off down the path to the party, her back straight, bristling with fury.
Chapter Twelve
Susan was so intent on escaping from Jack that she failed to notice someone.looming up at the edge of the woods, and it was too late to avoid barreling into them. At least it wasn’t Neddie or Ridley.
Unfortunately it was Elda.
She caught Susan by the arms, inadvertently squeezing where Neddie had already bruised her. “Where are you running off to, precious?” she purred. “The blushing bride is the center of the party, and no one’s been able to find you for ages.”
“Did they really notice?”
“No,” Elda said with an airy laugh. “But I did. I was worried you might be trying to run away. You’ve always had an almost saintlike sense of responsibility, but I know the lure of an attractive young man, and it’s common knowledge you’ve always been desperately in love with Jack McGowan. Is that who you were meeting in the woods?”
“I didn’t meet anyone in the woods.”
“You look well kissed, and I’m a woman who knows the look. If it were anyone else I’d say you’d been doing a lot more than that, but we know Saint Lou is planning on being a martyred virgin bride, so she’s unlikely to indulge in a little prenuptial hankypanky. So tell me, did Jack pledge his undying love?”
Susan was tired, frustrated and angry. She looked at the smug, elegant woman who was taunting her, and something snapped. “Doesn’t this wicked stepmother thing get a little old after a while, Elda?” she drawled.
She’d managed to startle Elda out of her mocking complacency. “Have you developed claws, my dear? It’s a little late for that. Your fate is sealed.”
“Lord, Elda, what kind of books do you read? My fate is sealed? Don’t be ridiculous,” Susan snapped.
Elda was looking at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted horns and a tail. “It’s a little late to regrow your backbone. You aren’t thinking of backing out of our agreement, are you? The family—”
“The family is counting on me, yes, I know,” Susan said. “If I don’t marry Neddie the family is disgraced and ruined, including my little sister. It sounds like something out of a melodrama.”
“Life can be very melodramatic. And you forgot one important point. Your father’s being investigated by the government, and I’m afraid his...involvement in the issue of faulty machinery was a bit more than Neddie’s. Neddie has been covering up for him, but the price must be paid. And you, my dear, are going to pay it.”
She’d heard the phrase, having one’s blood run cold, but she’d never actually experienced it before. “What exactly did my father do? Did people die because of Ridley’s greed? Did soldiers die?”
“Soldiers always die, and greed is always part of the cause. Grow up, Tallulah. Time to put away childish things like idealism and get on with life. It’s almost the 1950s. Time to face the future.”
Face the future. Save Tallulah. Protect her mother. Stop the wedding. The choices flew at her head like crazed bats, and she wanted to strike at them, driving them away.
“Message received, Elda,” she said calmly. “What are you doing out here besides delivering dire warnings? Were you looking for me?”
“Actually I’d forgotten. Cousin Ginny’s misplaced her ridiculous baby. You’d think she’d know infants aren’t welcome at a social occasion like this, but people are so selfish,” she said with an absolutely straight face, the epitome of self-absorption. “If anything happens to that child I’ll be devastated!”
Susan blinked. “You will?”
“We’d have to postpone the wedding.”
“Would we?” It was only momentarily tempting. She could bribe Hattie to take the baby off for a couple of days. Or bribe Ginny, whose heavydrinking husband seemed to be causing all sorts of financial woes.
Nice idea, but impractical. She couldn’t save Tallulah’s butt by risking a baby’s security. “I’ll go look for her,” she said wearily, starting back toward the woods.
Elda grabbed her arm, swinging her around. “No, you won’t,” she said flatly. “You’ll go back inside the house and keep Neddie company. You’ve been ignoring him all evening, and we don’t want people to get the wrong idea, now do we?”
“That we don’t actually like each other? Heavens, why would they think that?” Susan said in a mocking voice. “Why isn’t Neddie looking for the baby?”
“He isn’t the outdoors type. Besides, everyone else is searching madly—there’s no need for him to bother himself.”
“He’s all heart, isn’t he?”
“He’s a determined man, Tallulah. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating him. He’ll win.”
“So he tells me,” Susan said. “That doesn’t mean he’ll win without a fight.” She yanked her arm free, turning her back on the house and her fiancé. Heading into the gathering darkness, in search of a lost child.
The night grew still and dark around the sprawling Abbott mansion. Even the band members had abandoned their instruments to join in the search for the missing child, and the night air echoed with a myriad of voices, calling the baby’s name.
She wasn’t afraid to go back into the woods, wasn’t afraid that she might run into Jack again, with his seductive mouth and his clueless soul. Neddie might sit in comfort while a child was missing—Jack would do no such thing. He’d be off searching as well, and whatever complicated agenda drove him would be superseded by the greater need.
Apart from the fact that he seemed to have no idea that Lou Abbott was desperately in love with him, he was everything a hero should be.
Odd, that whenever he touched her she didn’t feel like Susan anymore. The past, or was it the future, faded, and she became Tallulah, completely, body and soul.
But he didn’t recognize that they belonged together. He didn’t believe in love or happy endings, and she wasn’t sure she could blame him. If she’d had to go through a war she might not believe in happy endings, either.
The night grew thick and dark around her, the lights from the house warring with the newly risen moon. The distant cries had faded, and she could hear the soft strains of music from the band once more. She looked down at the thin watch on her wrist, but she’d forgotten she had to wind the stupid thing, and it had stopped hours ago, probably during the rehearsal.
She wondered whether the baby had been found, or whether Elda had simply decreed that a party was more important than a lost child.
She skirted the edge of the lawn, staying out of the glare of lights, and went into the house through the French doors on the lower level, hoping to avoid Neddie. She found herself in the deserted library, lit only by the faint glow of a desk lamp that spread a pool of light throughout the walnut-paneled room.
She wasn’t alone. Someone was sitting in the darkness, a mere shadow in the cavernous room, and she started to tiptoe out when the oddly familiar sound of heavy breathing stopped her in her tracks.
She took a few tentative steps toward the sofa, her eyes accustomed to the dim light, and then stopped. Her instincts had been right—Jack McGowan sat sprawled on the sofa, sound asleep. With a towheaded baby nestled comfortably against his shoulder.
He was snoring softly, which didn’t seem to disturb the sleeping baby one bit. He’d loosened his tie, his hair was ruffled and he was in need of a shave. He was the best thing she’d ever seen in her life.
She could see the mark of her hand where she’d slapped him, just faintly against the tanned skin. She let herself linger on his mouth, which had kissed her with such devastating tenderness.
With an instinct that belonged to someone else, she sank into a chair behind her, one she hadn’t even seen in the first place, and stared at him. It was sentiment, of course. There was nothing sexier than a big strong man cradling a helpless baby—she’d seen enough perfume ads to know it.
But this was before the time of evocative perfume ads. This was a man who’d simply gone out and fou
nd the missing baby, no muss, no fuss. The kind of man a baby trusts instinctively.
Shouldn’t she trust him, as well?
She looked at him, and knew she loved him. She didn’t even know who or what she was anymore, but she loved the man sprawled on the sofa with a baby in his arms, and would love him until she died.
She shut her eyes, fighting the tears that wanted to squeeze past. She was so tired, so uncertain. She felt more lost than the baby who lay snuggled against McGowan. And she knew, instinctively, that that was where she belonged. Sleeping safely in his arms, home at last.
She swallowed the tears determinedly. Neither Lou nor Susan Abbott were the kind of women who cried easily, and they weren’t about to start now. She opened her eyes, to find Jack was watching her.
“You found Krissie,” she whispered.
“It was easy enough, if you know kids. I’ve got a bunch of nieces and nephews, and besides, I like them. I know how their minds work.”
“Does anyone know you found her?”
“Her mother does. She’s busy dealing with her husband at the moment. The rest of the guests lost interest in the search.”
“Pigs,” she said.
“Yeah.” The baby shifted on his chest, making soft, snuffling noises.
“I’m sorry I hit you,” she said after a moment.
“Hey, I’m sure I deserved it. As a matter of fact, anytime I get slapped it’s probably long overdue.”
Another silence fell between them, oddly comfortable. “You’ll make a good father,” she said. “Babies trust you.”
“Dogs do, too,” he murmured wryly.
“I want lots of children.” She didn’t know where that came from, but it popped into her brain and onto her tongue.
“I’m sure Neddie will be more than happy to oblige,” he drawled. “And he’ll have plenty of money to support you and your brood. Of course, I can’t vouch for what your children will be like. If they’re half Neddie then the prospect isn’t too encouraging. I hate to think of this world being populated by more Neddie Marsdens.”
“Why do you hate him so much?”
He looked at her across the tousled white-blond curls of the sleeping child. “He’s a war profiteer, making money off the blood of dying soldiers. He’s a peace profiteer, putting up tacky, shoddily made houses for people who deserve better. He’s a bully with a mean, sharp, narrow mind, and he’s everything that’s bad about this country. But that’s not why I hate him.”
“Then why?”
“Because of what he’ll do to you. He’ll take every spark of life out of you, he’ll turn you into some kind of perfect wife, and everything you ever were or cared about will be lost. You’ll be as dead as Jimmy. And I don’t want to see that.”
“You won’t be seeing it, remember? You’re going back overseas.”
“Yeah,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I decided I’d had about enough of these festivities. I figured I owed it to Jimmy to warn you, and if you didn’t listen at least to see you married in style. But I changed my mind. I can’t stand by and watch you throw your life away, not after so many people lost theirs. I’m leaving tomorrow before the wedding. I’m due in Singapore by mid-July, and it’s gonna take me a while to get there. There’s no reason to put off going. Unless you can give me one.”
She could, a powerful one. Though whether he would want to be passionately loved by Lou Abbott was another question entirely.
But it wasn’t up to her. Not until she made sure Mary was safe.
She rose, crossing the shadow-filled room. In the distance the band played “Sentimental Journey.” In the room the baby slept on Jack McGowan’s chest, her tiny fist caught in his rumpled white shirt.
“Do you want a reason?” she asked him in a level voice.
“No.”
His answer surprised her. He looked wary, almost afraid, and she never thought Jack would be afraid of anything.
“Why not?”
He took a deep breath. “Do you know what guilt is, Lou? How it crawls onto your back, digs its talons into you and holds on, draining everything from you? It’s a vampire, sucking away life and happiness and hope. It’s no way to live. And that’s what kills me about Marsden. He deserves to be writhing in the flames of hell for what he did, and he’s going to spend his days rich and comfortable.”
“What have you got to feel guilty for?”
“A million things...nothing at all. You don’t need to hear my confession, Lou. I’m going to Singapore, not dying. And my sins aren’t all that unusual.”
“What are they? Did you do something cowardly during the war? It’s nothing to be ashamed of—you’re only human. Everyone gets scared sometimes.”
“I was scared spitless most of the time, Lou, but no, I didn’t do anything cowardly. Besides, I was a war correspondent—my job was to report, not to kill. It made things easier. Maybe.”
“Or maybe it made things harder,” she said, kneeling down by the sofa. She needed to touch him. She didn’t want to wake the baby, but she needed to feel the warmth of his flesh beneath her hand. She was so cold, so very cold.
“So why the guilt, Jack? If it was guilt that you didn’t kill people, get over it.”
She startled a reluctant grin from him. “No, it’s not guilt that I didn’t kill people. I’m damned grateful I don’t have to live with that.”
“Then what is it?”
“None of your damned—”
“I need to know, Jack. Don’t you think you owe me that much?” She wasn’t sure how he’d react. She wasn’t sure why she thought he owed her anything, or why he might think he did.
“Jimmy’s dead,” he said finally, “and I’m alive.”
His bleak tone silenced her for a moment. “Survivor’s guilt,” she said finally. “It’s understandable...”
“Spare me that crap,” he said harshly, never raising his voice. “I could live with Jimmy’s death. I lost too damned many friends as it is, and I can live with it.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I can’t live with wanting Jimmy’s girl. I won’t take what he can’t have, I won’t steal his happy ending.”
She sat back on her heels, staring at him. “You sexist pig,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Obviously you’ve never heard that term before,” she said caustically. “If you weren’t running away, I’d give you plenty of chances to get used to it.”
“What are you so mad about?” he snapped. “I just told you I...wanted you. You should be flattered.”
“Flattered that you’re lusting after me? Thanks, but I’ve got a mirror. Tallulah Abbott is definitely lust-worthy material—why do you think Neddie wants to marry her?” She didn’t stop to consider how odd that sounded, referring to Lou in the third person.
She rose to her full height, the high heels killing her ankles, and stared down at him in cool disdain. “What I object to is you considering me some sort of war trophy. To the victor goes the spoils—at least, to the survivor. I’m not someone to be passed around to the most deserving war hero, dead or alive. I’m not a household decoration, I’m not a teenage sweetheart, I’m not a madonna and I’m damned well not a whore. I’m a woman, Jack McGowan. My own person, belonging to no one. A woman with brains and talents and needs and love. And I don’t care how guilty you feel—you can learn to live with it. You can learn to live with—”
“There you are!” Cousin Ginny, harassed and grateful, rushed into the room, stopping her in the midst of her declaration. “I can’t thank you enough for watching Krissie for me, Jack. I was so terrified when I couldn’t find her, and no one else seemed to care.” She reached down and carefully scooped the sleeping baby from Jack’s chest and tucked her in her arms. The baby slept on, dead to the world.
“They cared, Ginny,” he said gently, pushing himself off the sofa. “I’m just a little better at finding lost souls.”
She wanted to escape. It was one thing, looming over him
as he lay sprawled on the sofa, another to have him on his feet, towering over her. Making her feel small and needy, reminding her of how vulnerable she was. To him. Ginny was still babbling her thanks, blocking the doorway to the rest of the house, but the terrace door was still open, and she took a surreptitious step backward. He moved around the mother and child quite deftly, catching her arm before she could make her escape.
Everyone was always putting their hands on her. But it was only Jack’s hands that felt gentle, comforting. The others were trying to grab her, force her to do what they wanted. Jack’s hands were strong but tender. Forcing her to do what she wanted.
And then Ginny and her baby were gone, and she was alone with him in the darkness. “I can learn to live with what, Lou?” he said softly.
In the distance she could hear Neddie’s voice, loud and blustery, and Elda’s musical laugh. The band was playing “Night and Day,” and she wanted to moan in protest. There was something undeniably erotic about “Night and Day,” and she’d never been able to resist it.
She said nothing, staring up at him in the darkness, wanting him so badly her knees felt weak.
“I can learn to live without you?”
She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. He reached up and cupped her face, tilting her head back. She could feel tears slipping beneath her closed eyelids, and she held her breath, waiting, her heart pounding, waiting, needing, wanting.
She felt his thumbs brush her tears. The almost imperceptible brush of his lips against hers. “I guess I’ll have to,” he whispered.
And she was alone.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The morning of Tallulah Abbott’s wedding. The morning of the last day of her life, unless she could change history. She lay very still in bed, her eyes tightly shut. She had no illusions that she’d somehow managed to return to her own time and place. The bed beneath her was still too soft, the smell of cigarettes in the air was inescapable, and the bias-cut silk nightgown had slid around her body into an awkward, binding position.
