How To Host a Seduction (9 page)

“You should take one, too.”

“I am.” She plucked the phone back out of his hand, pressed the power button on and dropped it into her purse. “A vacation from work. I won't take one from my family.”

On their way through the suite, Ellen glanced at the antique wall clock, and stopped short. “Three-fifteen? I've never slept this late in my life,” she said. “What did you do, knock me out when I wasn't looking?”

He glanced down at his wrist, frowned. “That clock's not right. Let me grab my watch.”

“Don't bother.” She already had her phone. “Eight forty-five. Oh, thank goodness. Owning up to last night is bad enough without having to explain away a whole day, too.”

Miss Q was the least of her worries. Ellen had no doubt the little whirlwind would be delighted if she sacrificed all the sleuthing to stay sequestered in the garden suite making love with Christopher. But Susanna and Tracy were participating in this event, too, and unlike Lennon, neither was privy to the details of her private life.

Maintaining a balance between professional and personal during this event was something Ellen had just assumed she'd manage with no trouble. But she hadn't counted on Christopher being her partner. She didn't want her professional image to suffer as a result, especially when it had already suffered a dent from her recent lack of objectivity regarding heroes.

“I need coffee,” she said. “Badly.”

Christopher only nodded and led her out the door.

He appeared to have familiarized himself with the plantation, because he led her easily back to the great hall, where a magnificent gothic clock read three-fifteen.

“What's up with this?” Christopher asked. “Two clocks broken at exactly the same time seems strange to me.”

Before Ellen had a chance to comment, an accented male voice said, “Definitely not a coincidence.”

Turning, they found a dark-skinned, perfectly exotic-looking man emerging from the office. Miss Q's companion, Olaf.

Ellen swallowed back a sigh, grateful that the first person they faced after last night's faux pas was one who wouldn't call them on their poor manners.

While there wasn't anything remarkable about Olaf's
brown suit aside from the proportions, his strapping size and bald head emphasized the elaborately brocaded vest and made his bow tie look like a shoestring tied beneath a bowling ball.

“You intentionally set the clocks for three-fifteen?” she asked. “What for?”

“I get it,” Christopher said. “Old Southern custom.”

Olaf smiled, a bright flash of white in a face as dark as a savage's. “Whenever the master of a plantation dies, all the clocks are stopped at the time of death. A memorial of sorts.”

“Okay. This Yankee isn't familiar with that custom,” Ellen said. “But, Olaf, you toured me here last year. Why don't I remember all the clocks set at three-fifteen?”

“Félicie Allée wasn't hosting murder mysteries then.”

Christopher held her arm linked close when she tried to pull away. “So the master didn't really die at three-fifteen?”

Olaf shot them an enigmatic stare from beneath coal-black brows. “We've had to bend the rules to fit our mystery. Come on, I'll walk you to the gallery where the others are having breakfast, and tell you what I can.”

“See, I'm not the only one who bends rules,” Christopher whispered as they followed Olaf down another hall.

Ellen remembered having toured this hall before but today she barely noticed the furnishings.

“There was a body found at three-fifteen,” Olaf said. “The body of a young woman who was visiting the plantation with her father, the governor of Louisiana. When the staff went to report her death to the captain, they discovered he'd vanished without a trace. So he did die, in a manner of speaking.”

“How'd the governor's daughter die?” Christopher asked.

“Don't know for sure. She was found dead in front of the fireplace in the parlor. She appears to have
fallen
and suffered a fatal blow to the head on the outer hearth.”

There was no missing his attempt at drama. “Fallen?”

“Or pushed,” he said, clearly pleased she'd taken the bait. “It's assumed the captain murdered her and ran away.”

“The captain murdered a young girl and ran away? But he was a pirate.” Ellen frowned when both men looked at her blankly.

She'd gone into romance editing because she loved to read romances, stories where good triumphed over evil and ended with happily ever after. From the time she'd been thirteen years old, she'd never been able to resist a knight in shining armor, a dashing highwayman, a royal spy or a charming cowboy.

And pirates…Ellen had a thing for pirates. There was just something about a man tackling the whimsy of the sea, commanding a ship the way he commanded his lady's attention.

“Who wrote this script?” she asked. Clearly the author, and these two obtuse men, didn't understand the fundamental rules for romance heroes. “Murdering a woman is not heroic. If any of my authors wrote a hero who behaved that way, she'd end up revising.” And those revisions would not cast doubt on the editor's objectivity.

Ellen glanced up at Christopher in time to see him exchange an amused look with Olaf. Pity revision couldn't whip him into shape, too. As far as she was concerned, the entire male species would do well to read a few romances to get a clue about what women were looking for in a man.

Glancing up at him as he held the door open for her to exit the house, she found him watching her boldly, as
though he could somehow pluck the thoughts from her head and know she was measuring him against a real hero. She refused to acknowledge the way her sex gave one poignant throb when she gazed into his thickly fringed eyes.

Maybe he should try reading a few more of those books.

“Is that what this event is all about, Olaf?” he asked. “Finding out why the governor's daughter was murdered? I thought a murder mystery was about
who
dunit?”

“Our murder mystery is a
why
dunit,” Olaf explained. “You've got to figure out why the captain murdered the governor's daughter and you're going to have a lot of fun while you do.”

Their voices must have carried because no sooner had they rounded the corner of the gallery than Miss Q was on her feet, barely giving Ellen a chance to register who sat at the table that had been erected on the wide verandah.

“Oh, you missed it, dears,” she said, getting right to the heart of the matter with an enthusiasm that made Ellen cringe. “We had a body. Well, it wasn't really a body, just an actress pretending to be a body, but she was so talented that Harley went for her gun. Good thing her costume bodice was so fitted that she couldn't wear her holster, or else we might really have had a body.”

Ellen assumed that Harley must be one of the other participants.

“And that body would have been Mac's, since he was standing right behind her.” Josh Eastman, Lennon's husband, rose to greet her. He looked dapper in a gray frock coat with a black pinstriped waistcoat. “Good morning, Ellen. You look lovely.”

Lennon's husband Josh was a very handsome man, another of those too-good-looking-to-be-true men. Though he was as tall as Christopher—nearly as tall as the
really
tall Olaf—his rugged features beneath a shadow of ever-present stubble lent him a dark, rough-and-tumble appearance that was as opposite from Christopher's polished good looks as hers were from Olaf's.

After kissing his cheek in greeting, she glanced at Lennon who sat beside him, lovely in a summery gown of blue gingham, mouthing,
Are you okay?

Ellen nodded.

Across the table Susanna and Tracy watched the exchange with knowing glances, both equally resplendent in their finery. Their gazes darted from her to Christopher and back again.

“Good morning, everyone,” he said cordially, exchanging a handshake with Josh and then sliding out a chair for Ellen.

She opened her mouth to assume control of the introductions, but Tracy beat her to the punch. “Are you a friend of Ellen's?”

Christopher didn't miss a beat. “Christopher Sinclair. You must be one of Ellen's authors.”

“Tracy Owens and Susanna St. John,” Ellen said quickly, but that was as far as she got. Christopher was already circling the table and charming them with that dashing smile.

“I'm an old friend of Ellen's,” he said. “We haven't seen each other in a long time, so I commandeered her to catch up.” He turned to Miss Q. “You have me to blame for missing the body last night. How do we get up to speed?”

Well, would you look at that? He actually came to my rescue without doing something outrageous. No one at the table believed him, of course, but the gesture was sweet, nevertheless.

“Is there a video to watch or a transcript to read?” she asked, lending her efforts to the cause.

Miss Q darted her baby blues from one to the other, looking smug. “I'll fill you in myself, dears. But you'll have to play catch-up. You've lost a
whole night.
” She dragged out each syllable so everyone had a chance to dwell on what they might have been doing on the night in question.

Thank you, Miss Q.

“I'm afraid playing catch-up will have to wait,” Lennon said, tossing her napkin onto the table and standing. “I need to powder my nose. So does Ellen.”

She didn't have to ask twice. Christopher arched a brow her way, but Ellen would have sacrificed a lot more than a cup of much-needed coffee to escape this bunch.

“Well, then, go powder your noses, dears.” Miss Q waved them off before reaching for her teacup. “But come enjoy this delicious breakfast before I take Ellen and Christopher for a walk in the garden to bring them up to speed.”

Ignoring Christopher's gaze, Ellen followed Lennon back into the house and to a small half bath off a narrow corridor.

“Where are we?” she asked, as Lennon herded her into the small but elegantly appointed room.

“Staff bathroom off the kitchen.” She flipped a light switch and Ellen maneuvered back against the toilet to make way for her. “I had no idea Christopher would be here.”

“I guessed as much. Although I confess to a moment of thinking you'd set me up with Mr. Muscle-Butt.”

“I would never,” Lennon said, aghast. “You must know that, Ellen. We're friends.”

“Trust me, if I'd thought for one minute you'd colluded with your great-aunt on these little shenanigans, you'd be
rewriting a lot more than your hero in that manuscript you've got sitting on my desk.”

“I do hope you're joking.”

Ellen paused for effect before admitting, “I am. But I'm simply not believing your great-aunt. You should be really grateful chutzpah isn't a genetic thing.”

Ellen's proximity to Christopher seemed to have had a direct bearing on her ability to think clearly, because now that she wasn't under the direct influence of those lethal eyes, she could dwell on the reality of the situation in a way she hadn't had a chance to yet.

“It's only Thursday. I've still got to survive until Monday with
him.
”

“Auntie Q didn't trick Christopher into coming.” Lennon grabbed her hands. “He knew you were going to be here. She swore to me, although I'm not sure I believe her.”

“He said as much.”

“Are you okay? Do you want to bag on the training? Josh will understand.” Lennon's gaze zeroed in on her throat and her eyes grew wide. “You've got a love bite.”

“I decided to avail myself of the opportunity at hand,” Ellen said lightly, ignoring Lennon's frown. “Well, as I don't usually discuss my sex life…suffice to say you were right about Christopher being amazing in bed. Just don't tell your great-aunt, or the next time I come to town I'll find myself showing up at a wedding where I'm the guest of honor.”

“Ellen, are you sure about this? I know you think Christopher isn't serious about you, but I disagree. He'd never have asked you to marry him if he wasn't.”

“Worried I'll break his heart?”

Lennon either didn't get the joke or didn't find it funny. “I'm not worried about
Christopher's
heart.”

“Trust me. I've got it under control. Please don't add yourself to the list of people who think they know what I need better than I do myself.”

“I hope you're right.” She gave a reassuring squeeze and let go. “I'm just so sorry this happened. I honestly never suspected. Auntie Q coerced Josh into using Eastman Investigations to launch Southern Charm Mysteries because she thought it would be good for business—both his and hers. She knows how his investigators have been driving him crazy and figured the team-building training was exactly what they needed.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty.” Ellen fixed her smile in place. “Just tell me there aren't other guests running around with guns. I don't think I can handle much more today.”

She shook her head. “Josh hired them so he could work at home more with me, but these two are constantly dragging him into the office. They're polar opposites who clash over everything. We were hoping for a breakthrough this weekend.”

“I'll hold a good thought.” For herself, too. A breakthrough was exactly what she needed.

“Thank you for being so decent,” Lennon said earnestly. “Auntie Q had no right to set you up. All I can say in her defense is that she's well intentioned. She's convinced you and Christopher belong together. She's also obsessed with getting Southern Charm Mysteries off the ground so Olaf has a business to run that interests him.”

Something about big brooding Olaf running a corporate training murder-mystery business that relied on actors and role-playing struck her as off-kilter. But Ellen couldn't comment because the door swung open, hitting Lennon in the back.