She looked puzzled by the question and stood uncertainly by the sofa bed. “Not entirely. Why?”
He shrugged, folding his arms, intrigued by the careful way she kept her distance. “Well, I just assume since you got a two-by-two to help you out, you’re no longer feeling confident about your abilities in hand-to-hand.”
“Ah.” She nodded understanding. “I thought the danger was immediate, and I was never that good anyway.”
“I kept telling you that you just have to put more aggression into your approach. If we could just get your body to react with the same conviction your mouth does, you’d do very well. Want to try a few moves?”
She took a step backward. “No.”
Drifter, considering her too close, ran off.
He looked into her eyes and understood her reticence. She didn’t want him to touch her, but it wasn’t fear of him, it was fear of herself. He closed the distance in two steps. “Why not?”
She swallowed. “Because…we’ll wake your aunt.”
“I can attack in absolute silence.”
She nodded, laughing nervously. “But you know me. I’ll scream bloody murder. I’ll just forget in the exertion of the moment that it isn’t…real…combat.”
Oh, but it was.
He waggled his fingers at her invitingly, circling her. “Come on. Surely, if you get to attack me, you’ll be able to be quiet about it.”
“I don’t want to attack you,” she insisted, backing away.
“Why not?” he taunted. “Can’t do it without a stick?”
“Can’t do it without provocation,” she replied.
That stopped him an arm’s length away from her. She was now halfway between the bed and the love seat, with her back to the bed.
“I thought you considered that you have a lot of provocation. I cheated on you, embarrassed you…” He drove her backward with the words. “Caused you to have that breakdown.”
She put her hand to his chest and held it firmly there. “I’m…I…” Her eyes brimmed with tears, filled with confusion and sadness. “I’m trying to remember that night,” she said finally, her voice hoarse.
The playful mood of their encounter was changing. He’d been enjoying trying to deal with the obvious desire emanating from her over their adventurous evening. He didn’t want this to turn into a serious discussion of the wall between them.
But a tear fell down her cheek and the mood change was complete. He drew a breath to switch emotional gears.
“Really. Why?”
“Because,” she said breathlessly. He could feel the warmth in the hand with which she held him away. “The man you are now seems incompatible with the man who’d have done that. I’m trying to remember if I…if I misinterpreted something, or…”
The old anger tried to move in on him.
“You can spare yourself the trouble,” he said. “You saw what you saw. Claudia Hackett was in her underwear and sitting on top of me. The picture’s not going to change.” Instead of letting the anger take him over, he held it at bay. If he was going to get her back, he had to stay cool. “What has to change,” he continued, “is your analysis of what you saw. Do you really believe I’d have done that to you?”
“I saw it,” she insisted, then on a ragged breath, shook her head and dropped her hand from him. “But…was I wrong?”
That was halfway home, he thought wearily. “When you can answer that for yourself,” he said, “we can talk about it. Take the bed, I’ll take the love seat.”
“No, it’s a foot shorter than you are.” She climbed into the bedspread envelope then leaned over to turn off the light. “I’ll be fine. Good night.”
Too tired to argue, he went to bed.
Gideon awoke to the sound of someone rapping on the door to the loft. He flipped on the bedside lamp and sat up to find Prue also sitting up on the love seat, looking confused.
Drifter, sleeping on the other side of the bed, opened one eye.
The clock read just after 5:00 a.m.
“Yes?” Gideon called.
“Gideon, it’s Georgette. Does your master bath have a tub?” she asked.
“Ah…yes,” he replied. Prue was already on her feet, balling up the bedspread and tossing it at the bed.
“Darling, I hate to be a beast at this hour of the morning, but my legs are all crampy, probably from the flight, and the only thing that helps me is a soak in the tub. And all I’ve got downstairs is a shower.”
Prue fought with the love seat, which seemed to refuse to close. He scrambled up to help her, found the latch she’d neglected to loosen and put away the love seat’s alter ego.
He and Prue ran for the big bed together as Drifter scrambled off and ran under it. Prue reached down to pull the bedspread up as Gideon shouted, trying to hide his breathlessness, “Sure, Aunt George. Come on in.”
As the doorknob turned, he hauled Prue into his arms and pulled the coverlet up high so that it looked as though they’d made a burrow out of the blankets.
He could feel Prue’s heartbeat as she snuggled into him.
“Thank you, darlings,” Georgette said, hurrying past their bed. “Much as I try not to notice, I think I’m just an aging old broad with all the usual ailments. I hate it!”
“Relax, Aunt George,” Gideon said. “It’s okay.”
“Go back to sleep,” Georgette encouraged, tapping his blanketed feet as she went past. “I’ll just have a little soak and I’ll be good as new.”
“Take your time,” he said lazily.
The moment the bathroom door closed behind her, Prue moved out of his arms, her hand to her heart. “Geez!” she whispered.
The bathroom door opened again and Prue fell back against his shoulder.
“Any bath salts?” Georgette asked.
Gideon opened his mouth to say no, but Prue put her hand over it and lifted her head to reply. “In the drawers under the sink, Aunt George. Bottom right.”
Gideon blinked his surprise at her.
“Thank you, sweetie.”
When the door closed, Prue dropped her head to his shoulder again. “I put my aromatherapy in there when I moved in,” she whispered.
He was grateful. A bathroom shared by a woman would probably not seem normal without bath salts in it.
Gideon pulled the blankets up over her shoulder. “You’d better relax. No telling how many times she’ll be in and out.”
She huddled closer. “It is nice and warm in here.”
“Nothing like body heat. Feels better to me, too.”
Then an ice floe somehow crossed their path and collided with his shins.
“Holy…” he began to exclaim.
Again, Prue covered his mouth with her hand. “My feet are frozen!” she complained, withdrawing them from him. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m no longer entitled to…”
His feet went out in search of hers and found them. He caught them in his and drew them back to the middle of the bed. “The coldness just startled me. God, do you have any circulation below the knees?”
“It’s just simple cold feet.”
“I remember.”
He felt the slight inclination of her weight against him and guessed her feet were warming up. For him, it was like having ice-cube trays strapped to his legs. But he was happy to put up with it as her nose nuzzled into his throat and she heaved a sigh that probably meant she wasn’t too unhappy to be there.
For an hour, while Prue slept against him, he heard Georgette add more hot water to the tub. Drifter jumped onto the foot of the bed to give them one more chance to enjoy his company.
Gideon was unable to move or think. He simply lay there, Prue next to him, and absorbed the bonus granted him by his aunt’s postflight distress.
At one point, Prue shifted her weight, flung an arm around his neck and hitched a leg over him. His control strained to the absolute limit of his endurance, he made himself lie quietly while his body tried to riot, tried to prepare him for what would normally be the o
utcome of such an exercise.
The moment Georgette tiptoed out of the bathroom in a thick yellow terry cloth robe, Gideon slipped out from under Prue. Drifter watched him leave, but curled up again near Prue’s feet.
Gideon jumped into a cold shower.
PRUE FELT CHEERFUL, even effervescent. She wasn’t sure what accounted for it unless it was that hour of deep sleep she’d enjoyed in Gideon’s arms while Georgette was in their bathroom, and the fact that Drifter had let her pet him without shrinking away.
Gideon, however, seemed curiously subdued this morning. He was quiet while they picked up Bruno and Justine, and said little during breakfast. Georgette had done most of the talking, and Bruno and Justine had eaten with their arms linked. Justine, fortunately, was left-handed.
Gideon didn’t seem angry or out of sorts, just quiet. As the five of them wandered over the Maple Hill common, he and Georgette talked. And Bruno, whose skill as a photographer seemed to be overcoming his desire to be a lover, left Justine behind him as he examined the square from various angles.
“Is this your first trip to the States?” Prue asked as they wandered along behind the trio.
“No,” Justine replied. “My father lives in Seattle. I’m here once, sometimes twice a year. He’s a photographer, too. He has a portrait studio.”
“So you come by your interest in photography naturally.”
She rolled her eyes in self-deprecation. “My mother was a model, and it became pretty clear early on with these curves and lack of height that I wasn’t going to go in that direction, but my father is so in love with looking for the light in his clients that I started to think in those terms. I helped him in his studio when I stayed with him over the summer. So when I started taking photography classes after college, I wanted a job in that field and found Bruno’s help-wanted ad.”
“He seems to really…appreciate you,” Prue said.
Justine smiled beatifically. “We hit it off immediately. He’s even helping me pay for my photo classes.”
“What’s your favorite subject?”
“Oh, I love back roads and country lanes, and England has so many, you know. I entered a contest sponsored by the London Tourism Board using a series of photos I’d taken in Yorkshire.”
“Well, good luck. Or have you already won?” Prue asked eagerly, then remembering that could have had another outcome, asked with a wince, “Or lost?”
Justine laughed. “It’s being judged this week. I don’t have high hopes because the competition’s really stiff. I don’t think anyone loves the work more than I do, but I’m certain many photographers are better at taking pictures.”
Everyone climbed into the van again, and Prue and Justine resumed their conversation when they all got out to walk around the lake to consider it as a backdrop.
“I understand from Georgette that Bruno’s very well respected here and in Britain,” Prue said.
Justine nodded, her eyes going to his tall form pointing something out to Gideon and Georgette. “He is. I’ve always admired his confidence. I suppose that comes from experience.”
“He looks as though he’s only a few years older than you are.”
“Yes, but he worked for a studio right out of high school. And he’s been on his own for seven or eight years.”
Prue did appreciate the respect Georgette and Justine had for him, but he seemed more arrogant than confident to her. Or maybe that was because he thought she was too short.
“When you finish your classes in photography,” Prue asked, “you’re probably going to want to work as a photographer rather than as an assistant.”
Justine spread her arms as though anticipating that eventuality. “Bruno will make room for me at his studio when that happens.”
“So you’ve talked about it?”
She shook her head. “Not much. He’s always so busy with his work. But I’m sure when the time comes, he’ll be happy to have a partner rather than an assistant.”
Prue couldn’t help but wonder if that was true.
They stopped for coffee at the Perk Avenue Tea Shop, where Georgette thought a sumptuous background of decadent desserts might be a possibility, went back to the Yankee Inn and looked it over because Bruno liked the lobby, checked out the white church with its classic steeple, explored the very old shops on the square.
They went to Prue’s studio to look over the clothes Georgette had seen only in a faxed image. Prue uncovered the rack on which she kept them, and Georgette studied them one by one. She selected several garments—a red dress, a green casual outfit with a crop top, a little black dress and a cloak—which she hung face out to study them more closely.
“The fabrics are wonderful,” Georgette said reverently, running a thumb over the rich wool of the cloak. “And the cut…” Her fingertips followed the side gather at the waist of the red dress. “I’ll bet that looks like a dream on a shapely body.”
Prue nodded. “Paris looked wonderful in it.”
Georgette turned to study Prue’s curves. “I’m sure you do, too.” She turned up the hem on the red dress. “Have you shortened this for yourself since Paris wore it?”
“I’ve hemmed a few things since you called to say you were coming. I’ll take the others home with me and do them as we go. Except for the wedding dress.” She smiled widely. “Paris is getting married Saturday and asked if she could wear it.”
“Well, how lovely! Will she let us photograph her, do you think? It’d make a nice element in our scenario.”
“I don’t think she’ll mind.”
“Good. Well—these four pieces definitely,” Georgette said, touching the garments she’d selected. “And the green wool dress and the beige pants with the white shirt and the vest. Oh! And look at this!”
She found a white cat suit at the back of the rack. It had sophisticated beading at the neckline and sleeves. “This is wonderful! Let’s do this, too!”
Prue shook her head. “I made that some time ago, but its just too revealing. That would require Kate Moss’s body.”
“But it’s stunning,” Georgette wheedled.
Prue held firm. “I can’t wear it, Aunt George. Makes me look pudgy.”
“Okay.” Georgette put it back, finally accepting her refusal.
“First of all—” she walked around her nephew, standing to the side “—we have to pick up a few things for our handsome prop here.”
“Prop?” Gideon complained mildly with a raised eyebrow.
Prue patted his shoulder. “I like to think of him as my security force, my furniture mover…” She grinned at him. “My foot warmer.”
“Are we going to be able to find the clothes we need in this town?” Bruno asked doubtfully. “It is charming, but will it have a tuxedo? There won’t be time to wait for one to come in.”
Georgette smiled at her nephew. “He used to be a senator. I’m sure there’s a tux in his wardrobe.”
Prue felt her smile waver. She wasn’t sure what was in his wardrobe at the moment, but she knew he’d come to Maple Hill with only an overnight bag.
“I have one in storage in Albany,” Gideon said easily. “I didn’t think I’d need it in Maple Hill.”
“We have a friend who owns one,” Prue put in, relieved at his logical explanation. “We used it for the fashion show. Gideon’s a bit bigger than he is, but I think we can make it work.”
Georgette nodded. “We can always pin it in place or leave the back of the shirt open, or something. If we’re shooting from the front, it doesn’t matter how it looks in back.”
“Pin it in place?” Gideon questioned. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Not to you, sweetheart,” Prue assured him, the endearment slipping out in her relief and excitement. “To itself or to the jacket.”
“And he’ll need a business suit.” Bruno said. “Something gray to balance the black dress. And the red one.”
“I left those, too,” Gideon replied.
That wasn’t quite as
convincing, Prue thought, but no one seemed to notice. “There’s a wonderful men’s shop on the square,” she said, “where we can get a suit.”
They had lunch at the tea shop, then went shopping for Gideon’s wardrobe.
Gideon headed for the round-neck sweaters, but Georgette redirected him to the turtlenecks.
“They make me feel like I’m going to suffocate,” he complained.
“It won’t if you get one that fits you,” she argued. “And there’s a lot of drama in a black turtleneck.”
“Isn’t that a little casual to go with all her dressy stuff?”
“No. We don’t have to give you the same image we give her.” She was obviously thinking through the idea as she spoke, walking up and down a rack of sports coats and frowning. She stopped suddenly and turned to Bruno.
“Prue said she thinks of him as her security force.”
Everyone nodded, remembering that.
“That’s the drama I want to go for in the shoot,” she said, her eyes sparkling, her excitement mounting. “While it’s true that the third-millennium woman is competent and confident and completely capable of taking care of herself, these are tough and scary times. I think having a strong man in her corner speaks to something elemental in her, something that harkens back to the days when women allied themselves with a man who could hunt, hold his own in the tribe and protect her and her children from harm.”
“Today’s woman might be offended,” Bruno said.
Justine frowned at him. “No, she wouldn’t. Protection in today’s world is a practical consideration. And it’d be subtly presented, anyway.”
“I’m afraid it’ll detract from Prue as the focal point.”
“No, it won’t,” Georgette insisted. “He’s always beside her or behind her. Partially hidden, but very much there. She’s strong because she’s got backup.” She swept a casual hand in the air. “And in today’s world, having muscle at a woman’s side just frees her up to do what she has to do. What do you think?”
Bruno shrugged. “I’m outnumbered, I guess, but I think we should go for the romance.”
“Isn’t that romance?” Gideon asked. “A man standing by to defend his woman—not because he considers her inferior, but because she’s the most important thing in his life?”
The Man She Married Page 13
