How To Host a Seduction, page 18
“She’s trying to eat the guy for dinner. And whose idea was it to dress up in these getups, anyway?” She tugged at her skirt with a huff. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. And you’re standing on my hem so I can’t move.”
Mac caught Ellen’s gaze and winked. “Forgive me, angel, but I think you look lovely. Who’d have guessed? Have you ever worn a dress before?”
Harley tipped her nose in the air and turned her back on Mac in a pointed gesture. She forced a smile, then lifted her skirt and swept off into the hall.
Mac shrugged. “Hope you all have better luck than we’ve been having.”
He strode off in the same direction.
“Well.” Ellen couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Well, right back at you.” But Christopher wasn’t smiling. “Josh should start looking at severance packages for those two. And Miss Q, too, if that actor takes Tracy up on her offer.”
“I don’t think the guy stood a chance. You heard how she badgered him. She’s into romance, not relationships, which I assume accounts for her propositioning a stranger.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
She didn’t disagree and found his attitude another testimony that while Christopher might be proficient at bending the rules, he wasn’t the wild man she’d accused him of being. They’d both gotten caught up in the library yesterday, but that didn’t make him any more impulsive than she was.
“On the upside, at least we’ve learned that Mac doesn’t think their investigation is going well,” he said. “He’s a private investigator, so that’s got to count for something. But Harley really hates that costume.”
Christopher shrugged. “Some people don’t get into role-playing.”
Before she knew what he was doing, he’d dropped a kiss onto the top of her head.
“But I’m glad that’s not a problem you have, love, because you look good enough to eat.”
“Christopher.” Ellen danced away. After all, they were standing just outside the hall where anyone could walk through. “No, that’s not my problem.” She had quite a few others at the moment, but fortunately that wasn’t one of them. “I think the historical costumes are charming.”
But Christopher had already known that, she decided, remembering a conversation they had had while dating. She had thought Félicie Allée was the perfect romance novel setting and that the only thing missing was the costumes….
The costumes.
She glanced at Christopher, found him taking the treasure map from his pocket. He smiled absently as he unrolled the parchment, considering where they should go next, now that her idea of following Harley and Mac hadn’t yielded anything productive. He looked so handsome in his double-breasted shirt, the suspenders emphasizing the breadth of his chest, the leanness of his waist….
Costumes weren’t missing at Félicie Allée this weekend.
Neither was corn for the ducks.
Ellen walked the distance into the hall, needing to extract herself from the confines of the hallway. Christopher followed without comment, clearly absorbed in the map, and Ellen took a deep breath, concentrated on what it was that was bothering her about the costumes.
And whose idea was it to dress in these getups, anyway?
Harley’s complaint rang in her head, and then suddenly pieces began falling into place, pieces to another mystery that had been right under her nose…the costumes.
Ellen thought she knew whose idea the costumes had been. The same person who’d filled the suite courtyard with all her favorite flowers.
And the menu with all her favorite foods. Filet. Tiramisu. Beignets. French coffee and espresso.
A Pinabel in the second-floor hall.
Even a vis-à-vis mirror, a piece she’d admired at a museum exhibition with Christopher.
All coincidences?
Ellen didn’t think so.
Suddenly there was another mystery that needed to be solved, one far more important than what had driven a noble pirate captain to murder the young woman he loved.
Was Miss Q the only culprit involved in this weekend’s setup or had the little matchmaker had a partner in crime?
13
The Drawing Room
“WHERE CAN I FIND Miss Q?” Ellen popped her head inside the office door and caught sight of Olaf, who sat behind the desk, looking the part of an old world plantation owner in his black cutaway jacket.
She’d parted company from Christopher, leaving him in the conservatory on their continued search for the diary.
“Miss Q said she was going to the drawing room to catalog the statuary and other pieces for the insurance company. She’s been trying to make time for the past month.”
“And you didn’t offer to help, Olaf? I’m surprised.”
He flashed her a smile that was dazzling against his dark skin. “I offered to do it for her, but she enjoys handling the pieces herself. She’s a collector at heart, and getting Southern Charm Mysteries off the ground hasn’t left her enough time to fully appreciate the acquisition of the plantation.”
“I can only imagine. From what Lennon has said, you’ve both been working ’round the clock.”
“We’ve been juggling historical restoration contractors with corporate attorneys and an advertising company. And then there was coming up with the scripts and training the actors.”
“You’re making me tired just listening to all that work.” Ellen laughed, her gaze sliding to the full-scale floor plan of the plantation on the wall above Olaf’s head. “Christopher has our map. Would you mind pointing out the drawing room for me?”
“Of course.”
As Olaf stood behind the desk, she caught sight of a small, framed newspaper item hanging beside the map. Dated in June of 1820, it announced the marriage of a California luxury liner heiress and a successful hotelier. Ellen hadn’t realized luxury liners had been around that long ago.
“Here it is.” He pointed to another room on the ground floor in the east wing. “Just head straight down the hall. It’ll be on your right.”
“Thanks, Olaf.” She waved and started on her way.
She found Miss Q alone, admiring what appeared to be a small trinket box.
“Hello, dear,” she said, glancing up at Ellen’s intrusion. “Christopher actually let you out of his sight? I’m surprised.”
“Not willingly, trust me.”
“Attentiveness is a good quality in a man. It means he’s interested. My Joshua was always attentive to me, bless his soul, and Josh Three is the same with Lennon. Look at Christopher’s parents. They’re the love match of their generation.”
Ellen wouldn’t argue that point. She’d met Christopher’s parents on numerous occasions and they were clearly very comfortable with public displays of affection. Christopher, too—though in all fairness while he’d always been attentive, he was never clingy, which was a quality that drove her crazy.
Miss Q held out the box she had been admiring, and Ellen drew near, realizing there were two companions of different sizes on the table.
“Aren’t they lovely?” she asked. “They’re Russian lacquer boxes that Julian brought home to Brigitte. I don’t know that he actually acquired them in Russia, more likely he met up with some Russian smuggler in his travels.”
Ellen traced the mother-of-pearl inlaid swan on the lid. “Seems likely,” she said, then got to business. “I was hoping to speak with you alone.”
“Certainly, dear. Have a seat.” Miss Q motioned to the sofa before replacing the box beside its fellows.
Ellen did as she bade, waited until Miss Q arranged her taffeta skirt and settled beside her. Then she took Ellen’s hands in her own and asked, “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like some answers.”
“I won’t be able to help you much with the mystery. I’ve told you all I can.”
“I’m not asking about Away with the Tide, Miss Q. I’m more interested in The Devil and Ms. Talbot.”
Her blue eyes twinkled and, in that moment, Ellen couldn’t help but compare the little whirlwind with another adventurer whose eyes, albeit a deeper shade of blue, twinkled in a very similar manner whenever he had mischief in mind, or sex. Those blue eyes always made her heart beat too fast.
“I want to ask you why you colluded with Christopher to set me up for this training.”
Rule number six of sound business strategies: Always make it appear as if you have more information than you want.
“I told you, dear. I can spot grand passion a mile off. In your case, all the way across the eastern seaboard. You two are perfect for each other.”
“How involved was Christopher in planning for my arrival?”
“Very involved.”
“He told you…things about me, didn’t he. Things that helped you tailor my arrangements.”
“Well, of course he did, dear. He wanted Félicie Allée to be a place where you could feel safe and comfortable. He wanted you to relax and have fun while you were here. But he didn’t tell me anything too personal. Christopher’s a gentleman. You know that.”
“He talked to you about the menu?”
She nodded.
“What about the garden in our suite?”
“He mentioned some of the varieties of flowers you like. It was no trouble to include them when the landscapers were laying out the arrangement for the courtyard.”
Right. “And the costumes?”
She nodded again, her smile growing.
Ellen wanted to ask about the vis-à-vis mirrors, but found the memory of their reflection while making love snatched the question right from her lips.
“The Pinabel?”
“Isn’t it just exquisite?” Miss Q squeezed Ellen’s hands tightly. “Can you believe he acquired it?”
“And what…he just lent it to you?”
She nodded happily.
Sheesh. Ellen couldn’t even imagine what that painting must have cost. And she supposed that answered her question about the mirrors, too.
“You went along with all this, Miss Q. You arranged your grand opening to accommodate me?”
“Of course I did, dear. I care about you and Christopher. He wants to seduce you and that’s so very romantic.”
She was smiling dreamily, and even though the controlled left side of Ellen’s brain shrieked at the absurdity of this entire situation, the too-romantic right side couldn’t help but appreciate how much effort he’d put into making her visit to Félicie Allée perfect.
“It’s rather heroic, actually.”
Miss Q actually giggled. “But of course he’s heroic, dear. With a name like Byron, what else could he be?”
That statement stopped Ellen cold. “Excuse me? Did you just say Byron?”
“Yes, dear. Byron Christopher. You are familiar with the poet Lord Byron? He was a great romantic. Christopher’s just like his namesake.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve read his work. I just didn’t realize Christopher’s first name was Byron. He never mentioned it.”
“Byron after the poet and Christopher after his grandfather. His mother loves Lord Byron’s poetry and simply had to name her son after him. And you know how his father dotes on her.” Miss Q leaned forward and said in a whisper, “Between you and me, dear, Christopher can’t stand the name, though he’d never tell his mother that. Luckily for him, his grandfather couldn’t stand the name, either, and refused to use it. From the time Christopher was old enough to talk, he would correct anyone who did.” She smiled. “He’s always had a mind of his own.”
Well, that news certainly came as no surprise, and Ellen had no trouble envisioning a black-haired, blue-eyed little boy informing his entire family that he’d choose his own name, thank you very much.
She’d thought Christopher was impulsive, crazy even, but he was simply a man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t timid about making sure he got it. Even when he was two years old.
And now he wanted her. Enough to talk Miss Q into planting gardenia and wisteria and having costumes designed. He’d even purchased a Pinabel.
Christopher possessed all the qualities she admired—on the written page and in real life. Yet she’d run screaming, telling herself that heroes didn’t exist outside of romance novels and that she didn’t care for him.
She’d been lying, to Christopher and to herself. She cared that she’d never seen a childhood photo of him, could only guess at the beautiful child he’d been, with that charming smile and those big blue eyes.
She cared that she hadn’t known his real name.
No doubt her mother’s handlers had known. But she apparently hadn’t paid close enough attention to the details of their preliminary report. And she hadn’t allowed Christopher close enough to easily share something so little, yet so significant about him.
Why was she so afraid to abandon herself to the way Christopher made her feel? Why couldn’t she trust herself to make the right choice?
Glancing down at the paper-thin hands still holding hers, Ellen couldn’t help but think that here she was, sitting face-to-face with a woman who’d lived a life filled with passion, a woman who hadn’t been afraid to trust herself and take chances.
“How did you know when you’d met the one, Miss Q?”
Those withered hands held hers firmly. “I knew when I’d met the man who made me feel more alive when I was with him than without him. Being together became more important than playing life by the rules.”
A choice.
Through Lennon, Ellen knew enough about Miss Q’s life to know that she’d been forced to make some very hard choices to be with the man she loved. Something in her kindly blue eyes suggested Miss Q wouldn’t mind answering another personal question. “Did you ever regret your choice?”
“Not once in fifty-five years. I shared my life with the man I loved. What greater aspiration is there? I let myself believe it would all work out, and it did.”
Another choice.
“Lennon chose to believe it would work out with Josh.”
“Yes, she did, dear. I don’t mind telling you that I despaired she ever would. But she finally found the courage to let go of her silly notions that romance heroes belong in the bedroom. Look how happy she and Josh Three are now.”
Ellen nodded. She was well acquainted with Lennon’s views regarding the differences between heroes and husbands. Then Lennon had met Josh, who’d blown all those ideas right out of the water. She’d taken a leap of faith to be with the man she loved and was living the rewards right now.
Ellen only had to look at Lennon and Josh to see they were both happy with their choices. Especially when she compared them to Tracy, who hadn’t found a man to believe in yet, who’d taken to propositioning a stranger for a fling on a corporate training weekend so she wouldn’t be alone.
Sleeping with a stranger wasn’t an option for Ellen, which meant she would wind up alone.
Did she want to live her life alone?
Miss Q smiled thoughtfully. “So what’s stopping you from believing in your romance hero, dear?”
That question arrowed straight to the heart of matters.
I am.
Christopher loved her. He’d colluded with Miss Q to make sure Ellen knew how much he still loved her. No man had ever made her feel the way he did, and it wasn’t just about lovemaking. Although there was no denying their sex was awesome.
“I’m stopping myself,” she finally said, although her answer sounded beyond pathetic when she voiced it.
Miss Q only squeezed her hands reassuringly and Ellen suddenly understood that for all her outrageous behavior, Miss Q was a woman with more courage than anyone she knew.
I let myself believe it would all work out, and it did.
“You need to get out of your way, dear,” Miss Q said honestly. “Why shouldn’t you marry the man you love?”
Love. She’d agonized about the way Christopher always made her lose control, about the way he pushed her past her comfort zone, but she’d never had the courage to think about why he was able to do those things. She’d never allowed herself to admit how much he meant to her.
Why?
You’ll find many people who would rather deal in denial than face their fears, her mother had once told her. It’s safer.
Had Ellen been afraid?
She claimed to be a woman who knew what she wanted, but when it came to love, she’d been in serious denial. For three months she’d told herself she was over Christopher, only to have her authors force her to face the truth. For the past two days, she’d told herself she just needed to get him out of her system.
Gazing into Miss Q’s knowing blue eyes, she admitted, “I need to take a hard look at what I want for my life.” At whether I have the courage to stop playing it safe.
Miss Q smiled. “Now you’re talking, dear. That’s exactly what you need to do. Should I mention that Félicie Allée is the perfect place to puzzle out that particular mystery? After all, we specialize in mysteries here.”
“Lucky for me.”
She kissed the dear lady on the cheek, thanked her for her candor and left the drawing room with Miss Q’s voice still echoing in her head.
I let myself believe it would all work out, and it did.
Could Ellen find the courage to believe?
She didn’t know. But she was determined to find out, because she loved Christopher. She had from the first time he’d shown up at her office during lunch hour with a loaf of freshly baked bread for the ducks.
CHRISTOPHER MANEUVERED THE skiff off the shore and hopped in, smiling when Ellen grabbed the sides as the boat rocked beneath his weight. “I won’t let the gators get you.”
She drew a deep breath, visibly steeling herself until the boat settled into an easy motion.
“Explain to me again why you think the diary might be out on the island?” he asked. “And why we have to look now.”
It was midnight, dark except for a sliver of moon and a thousand stars jeweling the sky with an unearthly glow. Christopher would have preferred to be in their suite right now, in bed, but Ellen had insisted. So he’d aimed to please….
