The Vampire’s Mail Order Bride (9 page)

Delaney yawned and blinked at the bright light coming through the bedroom windows. Sleep had taken forever to come last night. After feeding Cappy, she’d lain in the big four-poster bed, her body on fire and her head a jumble of thoughts involving Hugh, his ex, and the kiss. Well, mostly Hugh. And the kiss. The only thing that was clear this morning was that the trip into town with Hugh last night had taken a very unforeseen turn.

She fluffed her pillow. Captain Underpants was firmly ensconced on the other one, having declared that side of the bed his. She rolled over to scratch his head. “A man kissed your mother last night and you don’t even care, do you?”

Not even a yawn.

“Philistine.”

She rolled back over and listed the things she knew for certain about her current situation:

Hugh was a horrible liar.

But an excellent kisser.

She would be willing to kiss him again.

She was in big trouble.

How was she going to last another twenty-eight days? She sat up abruptly. She’d been so distracted by Hugh’s mouth she’d gone to bed without checking the news at home
or
Googling the real Annabelle Givens. She grabbed her laptop off the floor beside the bed and fired it up, checking the same local news sites as the day before. Nothing about the shooting or about a missing man or anything.

Her phone vibrated. She set the laptop aside and picked up her phone off the nightstand. Two waiting texts.

First one was from Samantha, a friend and fellow server at Rastinelli’s.
Where u at? Boss is going to call the cops if u don’t show. Says he’s worried about u.

Anthony Rastinelli was going to call the cops on
her
? She doubted that.

The second text was from Russell. She rolled her eyes before she even read it.
Hey babe. Thinking about u. Missing u. Call me.

That was also not going to happen.

She was about to toss the phone on the bed when she checked the time. Almost one in the afternoon. Working the dinner shift had made her more of a night owl, but she hadn’t slept that late in a while. She started to get out of bed when someone knocked on the bedroom door.

“Miss?”

Stanhill. “Just a sec.” She hustled into her shorty robe and opened the door. “Hi.”

He nodded. “Good afternoon. I hope you slept well.”

“I did, thanks.” No need to tell him she hadn’t really, thanks to his employer playing tonsil hockey with her on the street last night.

“Good. Lady Ellingham has requested you join her for tea.”

“Lady Ellingham?”

“Master Ellingham’s grandmother.” He smiled awkwardly. “They come from a titled line…”

“Sure, that would be fine. What time is tea?” Might as well meet the woman responsible for this whole thing.

“Four o’clock.”

“That’s plenty of time to get ready, but I’m not sure I can wait that long to eat.”

“I’d be happy to make you whatever you’d like.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean you should make me something.” The idea of that seemed odd. She was the one who waited on people, not the other way around. “I can find my way around a kitchen. I’ll just get ready then come down and make myself some eggs. If that’s okay with you.”

He nodded. “Whatever makes you happy, miss.”

If only everyone was as agreeable as Stanhill. She shut the door, then jumped into the shower. Half an hour later, she walked into the kitchen, her hair still damp but her makeup done. The space was magazine-worthy. Miles of granite countertops, stainless steel appliances and windows that filled the work space with natural light. Oh, the sweets she could cook up in here…

Stanhill sat at the table, reading a local paper. He looked over the top of it. “There you are, and don’t you look lovely?”

She glanced down at her lavender sundress and little white cardigan. “Thanks, I wasn’t sure what to wear for tea.” Fortunately, she’d packed a few cotton dresses. They didn’t take up much space, and this was the South, after all. “You’re sure you don’t mind me rummaging around in your kitchen?”

“Not at all.” He put the paper down to bend his head toward a door near the far wall. “Just stay out of there.”

“Basement, right?” She curled her fingers against her palms. There was no way she could pretend to accidentally open that door now.

“Right-o. Shall I show you where things are?”

“All I need is a pan, some eggs and the butter. I’m sure I can figure it out. Oh, and coffee. Lots of coffee.”

Hugh wandered in. “I could use some of that myself.”

It was unfair that a man could look that sexy while half asleep and unshaven. Her fingers itched to touch the stubble darkening his face. At least he was wearing a robe. Although, besides his pajama pants, there didn’t seem to be anything else on under it. Except for a thick silver chain with a quarter-sized disc hanging off it. The stone in the center was carved with some kind of design. The deep vee of naked chest beneath the chain was far more interesting, however. She forced herself to turn, open the fridge and search for the eggs and butter. “Morning.”

He sat and grunted a reply, further solidifying his position as a night owl. “You look nice. Did I miss something or do you always dress up for breakfast?”

“Tea with your grandmother.” The fridge was well stocked with high-end edibles. She grabbed the eggs (organic, brown, cage-free) and the butter (European, from pastured cows) and went to the stove.

He grunted louder this time. “Bloody hell. I don’t remember anything about that. I better go shower.”

“Sit down,” Stanhill said. “You weren’t invited.”

“Good,” Hugh answered.

Smiling, Stanhill handed her a small frying pan. “Can I fix you a cup of coffee?”

“Yes,” Hugh said.

Stanhill looked at him. “I was talking to Miss Givens.”

Hugh frowned.

She chewed her lip to keep from laughing. “I can get my own coffee, thank you.”

“Nonsense.” Stanhill poured two cups but handed the first one to her. “Cream and sugar?”

“That would be perfect, thanks.”

He got her the cream (also organic) and sugar (unbleached), then gave Hugh his coffee before returning to the paper.

Hugh took his coffee without a word. He stared over the rim of the cup at her. “Be careful of Didi. She’s wily.”

Stanhill noisily turned the page.

The butter was just about melted. She cast a glance at Hugh. “And you’re not?”

“Not compared to her.” Hugh put his cup down. “You have no idea what she’s like.”

Delaney cracked two eggs into the pan, tossed the shells into the disposal, then leaned her hip against the stove (stainless steel, six burner, restaurant quality). “So tell me.”

Stanhill’s paper rustled some more.

Hugh took a long pause before answering her. “She can manipulate you into allowing things you wouldn’t normally allow.”

She crossed her arms. “Like letting a strange woman into your house.”

“Exactly.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Or letting a strange man kiss you? Sorry, letting a
curious
man kiss you?”

Stanhill’s paper went very still.

Hugh leaned back a little, the light in his eyes smoldering with something dark and wicked. His jaw worked, but for several seconds, he said nothing. “Yes. Like that.”

She smiled, somehow holding on to her calm exterior, even though she kind of wanted to jump him. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll let you know how things go when I get back.”

“I’ll be waiting. In fact, why don’t we go into town for dinner tonight?” Hugh stood and shot Stanhill a look. “Then we can give Stanhill the night off.”

Stanhill said nothing.

She nodded. “Sure, that would be nice.”

“I’ll make the arrangements. I’m sure I can find a spot you’ll like.” Hugh picked up his coffee, gave her a look that finished melting her insides, and left.

Stanhill drove her to Lady Ellingham’s estate. She did a quick Google search on Annabelle, but came up empty. Which sucked but also meant Delaney could say whatever she wanted. Sort of. She put her phone away and watched the scenery.

A house loomed ahead. “Is that the estate?”

“Yes,” Stanhill answered.

The house made Hugh’s place look like a travel trailer. A really nice travel trailer, but still. Her estate sat across from the winery and looked down over the rolling vineyards. More acreage sprawled out around the property, making it both grand and secluded.

She stared out the car window. “This place is gorgeous. Wow, these people have money.” She cringed and looked at Stanhill through the rearview mirror. “Sorry, I really didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

He laughed and gave her a wink. “Not to worry, love. They do have money. Not like you were telling tales, eh?”

She sighed. “This is going to be more fancy china and multiple forks, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She glanced at him. “Is she going to grill me? Should I expect the Spanish Inquisition?”

He shrugged. “She hired you. Shouldn’t be too bad.”

That failed to instill any confidence in Delaney.

He parked and came around to open her door. When she got out, he handed her a little card. “I’ve written my mobile on there. Call when you’re ready to come home, all right?”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

He tipped his head toward the house. “Off you go.”

With a nervous smile, she headed to the door and knocked. Stanhill went back to the car, but didn’t pull away. A prim woman with kind eyes answered and let her in. “You must be Annabelle.”

Delaney nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m Alice Bishop, Elenora’s assistant. She’s in the solarium. I’ll show you in.”

Delaney followed Alice as Stanhill finally drove away. A broad, winding staircase led off the foyer. The rest of the house was like a European museum, all creamy marble, soaring ceilings and statuary. Their footsteps echoed through the vast space, but the solarium was much cozier. Bright and cheery and filled with plants, except for the back corner, which was shaded by potted palms. Elenora sat at a wrought iron and marble table beneath them.

She stood as Delaney entered. “Hello, there.”

“Hello.” Delaney squelched the urge to curtsey. For the grandmother of three adult men, she barely looked a day over sixty-five. She must have had work done. Good work. Not the kind that made a woman look like she had a chip clip holding everything together on the back of her neck. “Thank you for inviting me. Your home is incredible.”

“Thank you, dear. Please, join me.” Elenora pointed to the chair across from her.

Delaney took the seat and tried not to fidget, but she felt as out of place as a meatball in a box of truffles. The table was already set with delicate china cups and plates and scroll-handled silverware.

Alice returned with a tea trolley. An
actual
tea trolley. She poured tea for both of them, then added creamer, sugar and a three-tiered platter of finger sandwiches and petit fours to the table. There were two sets of silver tongs.

“Help yourself, dear.” Elenora used her tongs to select a few items and put them on a small plate. “How are things going with Hugh?”

Right to it then. “Good. I’d say good.” Delaney picked up her tongs and studied the tiers. The petit fours were gorgeous, all iced like tiny cakes. And the little sandwiches had no crusts, their sides pressed into herbs to give them borders of green.

“Do you have any romantic feelings for him yet?”

Delaney clanked the tongs loudly against the platter. Was that the British way of asking if she’d had sex with him yet? She took a breath and said a mental prayer that she wouldn’t break anything. “It’s…sort of soon for that, don’t you think? I’ve only been there a day.”

“Can you tell if he has any for you?”

He’d kissed her. But sharing that felt like betraying a trust. That kiss had been a moment of intimacy between her and Hugh. Not something his grandmother needed to know about. “I know he likes me. We get along very well. As for romantic feelings…” She smiled as she put a triangle of cream cheese and salmon bordered in dill on her plate. “I think it’s going to take a little more time.”