Chapter 3
Three
He watched her storm off, unwilling admiration warring with his definite annoyance.
She was easily riled, which surprised him.
He’d gathered from the people who’d known Susan Abbott all her life that she was an abnormally even-tempered young lady.
Even Louisa had assured him that her unknown goddaughter had the temperament of a lamb.
Like a lamb to the slaughter, and realizing just how badly she was trapped, he thought Maybe it was just nerves—he figured brides were supposed to be edgy.
But anyone with half a brain could see that she and Edward Jeffries were no decent match.
And while he had his doubts about Susan’s serenity, he had no illusions about her intelligence.
She was heading straight for dear old Edward, and her fiancé was flashing his perfect smile at her, tucking her hand on his Armani-suited arm. Jake knew Armani when he saw it, despite his preferred life on the outskirts of civilization, and Edward wore it well.
Jake turned away, oddly bothered by the sight of them, surrounded by their neighbors and well-wishers. The terrace was only a few feet off the ground—he had every intention of jumping down rather than making his way through the perfumed crush once more.
He’d thrown one leg over the stone balustrade when someone loomed up out of the shadows beneath him. “Are you stealing the Andersons’ silver?” the man drawled, “or are you just making a quick getaway?”
Jake landed on the soft ground. The lights from the house spread out over the lawn, illuminating the middle-aged man who stood there watching him. “Who wants to know?”
“I’m not security, if that’s what you’re worried about. I couldn’t care less if you ran off with everything Taylor Anderson owns. I’m just an uninvited guest.”
“I thought everyone and his brother was invited to this shindig,” Jake said bitterly. “Though I can’t imagine why anyone would choose to go if they didn’t have to.”
“Well, since I’m a party crasher I obviously disagree with you,” he said pleasantly.
“Not much of a party crasher if you’re down here and the party’s going on up there. Trust me, you’re not missing much. The champagne is too warm and the food is too cold.”
“I’m not particularly interested in eating. How are the happy couple?”
Jake snorted in derision. “Happy enough,” he said. “After all, they’re a match made in blue-blood heaven.”
“So they are,” the man said thoughtfully. He held out a hand. “I’m Alex Donovan, by the way. Outcast from blue-blood heaven.”
“I never belonged in the first place,” Jake said, shaking his hand. “Why don’t you go on in? There are so damned many people they’d never notice an extra one.”
“I don’t need to get any closer. I prefer it this way.” He glanced at Jake. “Are you a friend of Edward’s?”
“No.”
“Then you must be a friend of Susan’s.”
“Not particularly. I’m a friend of her godmother’s, here under duress.”
“Louisa? How extraordinary,” Alex murmured. “I can’t believe she’d turn up after all these years.”
“She didn’t.”
“She was smart I should have kept my distance, as well,” he said. “Are you going back in there?”
“Not if my life depended on it.”
“Then let me buy you a drink,” Alex said.
“Why? A sudden longing for company?” Jake had survived a rough thirty-five years by never taking anything at face value. He’d also survived by using his instinct, and his instincts told him that though Alex Donovan might have some secrets, he was a decent man.
“No. I just want to find out anything you know about Susan Abbott.”
“I don’t know much. Why should you care, anyway?” For some reason he liked him. Better than almost anyone he’d met since he’d come to Connecticut.
Alex Donovan smiled wryly. “Because I haven’t seen her in twenty-nine years, and she’s my daughter.”
“Well, I think that was very successful, don’t you?” Susan said breathlessly as she followed her mother into the house. “All the right people, excellent food, decent champagne.”
“Mmm.” Her mother made a noncommittal sound.
“Even Jake Whatsisname looked halfway presentable.” She kicked off her fiat shoes and sprawled on her mother’s chintz sofa.
She never wore heels around Edward—they were the same height, and while he’d never complained, she suspected he didn’t like it when she towered over him.
Unfortunately it put her at a disadvantage with Jake Wyczynski—he positively loomed over her and she would have given anything to be able to look him in the eye.
“Wyczynski, darling, and you know it,” Mary said gently. “Actually I think he looked quite gorgeous, and so did every single one of your bridesmaids. Laura Hayden was practically drooling over him.”
“Deb was worse.” Susan stretched out her long legs, yawning. “I told her he was married, but I don’t think even that discouraged her.”
“Why on earth did you do that? He isn’t, is he? I’m sure Louisa would have mentioned it.”
Susan jerked her head up. “You’ve talked with her?”
“She sent me a little note, explaining about Jake and the wedding gifts. Not that I needed any explanation. Louisa can always be expected to do the unusual.”
“What did she say about him?”
“Why do you care?”
Susan produced an airy shrug that should have managed to hide her momentary guilt. “Just curious. I’m not used to having Indiana Jones show up at my doorstep bearing gifts from my mysterious godmother.”
“I think he looks more like that man in The English Patient.”
“Before or after he was burned?” Susan drawled.
“And you haven’t told me why you lied to Deb. She’s between beaux right now, and there’s no reason she shouldn’t entertain herself with Jake. I think they’d make a lovely couple.”
“It would be disastrous. Deb’s much too vulnerable?—”
“Deb Stover is entirely capable of taking care of herself. Are you sure you don’t have another reason for scaring her off Jake? You seem far too interested in him.”
“I’m not the slightest bit interested in him. I’m not someone out of a screwball comedy, about to run off with a mountain man on my wedding day.”
“No, you’re a nervous bride who’s not absolutely convinced she’s making the right decision.”
The gently spoken words were like a slap in the face. Susan stared up at her mother in shock. “I’m thirty years old, mother. Edward is everything I’ve ever wanted in this life—security, comfort, friendship. We’ll have a good life together.”
“What about love? What about passion?”
“I saw where that got you. I can do very well without it, thank you very much. You’ve lived the past thirty years quite happily, and you didn’t miss it at all.”
“Who says?” Mary started toward the bedroom door, looking suddenly older than her fifty-nine years, and Susan stared at her in shock and guilt.
“You gave it up because of me,” she said, stricken. “I just assumed you were happy, when all the time you were sacrificing?—”
Mary whirled around. “Don’t be silly, darling. I didn’t make any sacrifices I didn’t want to make. I didn’t give up on love and passion for your sake. I just never found anyone I cared about Not the way I cared about your father.”
“Then why didn’t you try to work it out with him?”
Mary shook her head. “That was in the past No need to belabor it now. I just don’t want to see you making the same mistakes I made.”
“That’s why I’m marrying Edward. I don’t want to marry the wrong man like you did.”
“Oh, Susan,” she said gently. “I didn’t marry the wrong man, sweetheart. My mistake was leaving him.” She shut the door behind her with quiet firmness, and Susan sank back on the sofa.
It had never occurred to her that her mother might have regretted her choices. That her own choices might not be the wise, rational decisions she’d prided herself on.
And she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that her mother was lying to her, trying to spare her feelings. That she’d spent the past thirty years living like a nun for the sake of her ungrateful daughter.
She’d deny it, of course. Susan pushed herself off the sofa and headed for the kitchen, looking for something to calm her nerves.
Prewedding jitters, of course. All brides had them.
Doubts and second guesses were an occupational hazard.
And the unexpected appearance of Jake Wyczynski didn’t help things.
Though there was no particular reason why she should find him so unsettling. She’d seen dangerously good-looking men before and she considered herself impervious to their dubious appeal. But the fact of the matter was that this time, this man, was different.
Four more days until the wedding, and every single minute was crammed with things to do. She hadn’t been sleeping well, even though she usually prided herself on being unflappable, and if she had any sense at all she’d head into the bedroom and go right to sleep.
However, she’d learned the hard way that sense and sleep had no connection whatsoever. And she knew that despite the bare five hours of intermittent sleep she’d had the night before, she was far from ready to go to bed.
She made as little noise as possible when she went to her room, stripping off the perfect little black dress and pulling on an ancient pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt, shoving her bare feet into a pair of sandals.
She washed off the makeup, shoved her fingers through her short hair and headed out into the cool night air, taking in a deep breath.
She’d been feeling oddly stifled all night long, surrounded by people and demands, and the quiet stillness was balm to her soul.
The streets were empty, quiet, as she set out at a leisurely pace, stretching her long legs. She had no particular destination in mind, but it came as no surprise to her when she ended up on Forrest Street, just down the block from Winnie’s All-Night Cafe.