How To Host a Seduction (10 page)

“Ouch,” she said. “Occupied.”

“We're here to powder our noses,” Susanna shot back.

Tracy elbowed her way in behind her. “Come on, budge up.”

The small bathroom had been a tight squeeze for two women in voluminous gowns. Four was akin to riding a subway during Friday-night rush hour. Ellen found herself wedged between the toilet and the wall, her gown twisted around her ankles, her back arched uncomfortably to accommodate a towel rack.

“Guys.” She grunted. “Let me out. I can't breathe.”

“I'll turn on the fan to circulate the air,” Tracy offered.

Susanna stood on tiptoe and peered over Lennon's shoulder. “I'm not going anywhere until I know why you got set up with that positively gorgeous man.”

“If I'd known Southern Charm Mysteries provided gorgeous men, I'd never have agreed to be Susanna's partner.” Tracy laughed. “And I've already solved one mystery. The mystery of why you two weren't at dinner last night.”

“Don't make assumptions.” Lennon quickly leaped to Ellen's defense. “This is all Auntie Q's fault. The little meddler is up to her old tricks.”

Ellen wasn't much of a sci-fi fan, preferring the fantasy of the past to an unimagined future, but she wished with all her heart that right now she had one of those transporter machines she'd seen on television.

Beam me up, Scotty.

“Christopher and I haven't seen each other in a while and Miss Q didn't mention he was going to be here, to me or to Lennon,” she said calmly, resisting the urge to tug up the ruffle at her collar. “There's no problem, though. We discussed the situation last night and we're both content to be partners for the training.”

“Did you and Christopher date?” Susanna asked.

“I do hope you didn't waste the entire night
talking,
” Tracy added.

Lennon rolled her eyes. “Give her a break.”

“You mean like she's given us one lately? I had to reconstruct a perfectly good hero in my last book.” Susanna nailed her with a to-the-point non-Hurricane-induced stare. “How could you have dated that gorgeous man and still refuse to believe in heroes? In our books or in real life.”

“Did you hear his voice? Who could resist that Deep South drawl?” Tracy, another Yankee, asked while shooting Lennon a knowing glance. “No wonder you married Josh.”

A trio of curious gazes cornered Ellen and, short of blowing through them like a snowplow on an icy city street, there was no escape. Schooling her expression, Ellen leveled a stare at her audience and said, “Got it under control, ladies. And I believe in romance heroes as much as I always have.”

The Garden

C
HRISTOPHER LOOPED ARMS
with Ellen and Miss Q to escort them down a graveled path that led into the gardens. “We'll head west. The sun's not too high, so we should still be able to catch a breeze off the bayou.”

“You'd make a fine master of Félicie Allée.” Miss Q smiled. “And I just happen to know the perfect mistress.”

Ellen glanced up at him, one dark brow arched.

“She's a very beautiful woman,” he agreed, taking in the shiny hair fringing softly around her face.

She leaned around him to peer at Miss Q. “You're just going to town with this madness, aren't you.”

“I know grand passion when I see it, dear, and I'd rather risk your friendship than let grand passion pass you by.”

“Hmm” was all Ellen said before pursing those sweet lips.

“How could I possibly resist inviting you here?” Miss Q glanced up at him and winked. “Ellen and I visited Félicie Allée after Lennon and Josh's wedding. She fell in love with the place. Didn't you, dear?”

Ellen graciously relented. “Who could possibly resist a plantation set deep in the bayou with a mysterious history and its very own pirate?”

“I certainly couldn't,” Miss Q said. “Especially not when I heard the plantation's future was in jeopardy.”

Ellen shook her head, sending those glossy dark waves swinging around her face in a way that made Christopher itch to rake his fingers through them.

“I still can't believe anyone would sell an antebellum plantation,” she said.

“A tragedy,” Miss Q agreed. “But running the plantation as a museum wasn't particularly lucrative since it's entrenched in the bayou outside the city. The original pirate owner of Félicie Allée wasn't even a real pirate, so he can't possibly compete with Jean Lafitte, who had a whole town named after him.”

“What do you mean he wasn't a real pirate?” Ellen asked.

“A privateer, dear. Not the cutthroat variety.”

“Can't use the cutthroat kind in romances, anyway,” Ellen said dismissively. “Heroes have to be noble.”

“During the War of 1812, our captain's accomplishments were very noble, and definitely more prestigious than Jean Lafitte's. He just wasn't half the braggart Lafitte was. Alas.” She heaved a dramatic sigh. “Lafitte's home is closer to New Orleans. The former owners couldn't make the location work to their benefit.”

“They lacked vision and imagination,” Christopher said.

“Which is not a problem with the current owners. We're visionaries. And we want to be successful, so both of you be sure to suggest Southern Charm Mysteries to your executive management for your next corporate training.”

“I'll keep it in mind the next time the VPs are sending editors to a teamwork training with the marketing department.” Ellen rolled her eyes. “Murder sounds about right, but there wouldn't be any mystery to it, I'm afraid.”

Miss Q grinned. “You tell your executives we make
corporate training fun, so they won't have real bodies to deal with when the role-playing is over.”

“A definite selling point.”

Christopher laughed, as pleased with Ellen's reaction as he was by Miss Q's salesmanship. “Let's head into the arbor so you can bring us up to speed on our noble captain and his mystery.”

He steered the ladies down a curving walkway toward the bayou, where a light fog still misted off the water. The gardens encompassed ten acres around the house, a wild place where tall cypress trees dripped Spanish moss from low-hanging branches and colorful azaleas and bright wisteria dominated the landscape.

But what pleased Christopher even more than the value of the acreage devoted to the gardens was Ellen's response to them. On one of their very first dates, she'd talked about her tour of his hometown and had waxed poetic about these very gardens. It had been Christopher's first glimpse of the idealistic romanticism Ellen hid deep beneath her cool exterior.

Walking through the gardens at Félicie Allée was like stepping inside a romance novel,
she'd said.
The perfect setting for falling in love. The only thing missing was the costumes….

He would make sure she had every chance to fall in love in her perfect setting before this training session was over.

“So, Miss Q, how about giving us that rundown.” After using his handkerchief to ensure Miss Q a dry seat on the bench, he directed Ellen to the bench opposite.

“I'm tremendously sorry you missed the body. I was ever so pleased with the debut performance.” Rummaging through the big shoulder bag she'd brought, she withdrew a roll of what appeared to be yellowing parchment paper
tied with a red ribbon. “But I can explain everything just as well. First, though, we'll start with your treasure map.”

Christopher accepted the map and reluctantly slipped his hand from Ellen's to slide the ribbon away and unroll the parchment. With their heads bowed together, he and Ellen surveyed the finely drawn lines that detailed the plantation's floor plan.

“Well done,” he said. “The detail is extraordinary.”

Miss Q nodded, clearly pleased by the praise.

“You've planted clues everywhere?” Ellen asked.

The task seemed monumental given the expanse of the plantation.

“Oh, yes.” Miss Q leaned toward them, pointed to a room.

“There's your garden suite and here's the arbor. See, we're not far at all.”

True enough, the garden suite was situated in the west wing, with the shoreline where they sat not far beyond the walls.

Miss Q's expression brightened and her eyes twinkled. “In a nutshell, Southern Charm Mysteries offers several different styles of corporate team-building events. We do evening and weekend productions as well as conference sessions like this one. I'm sure you're both familiar with those wildly successful murder-mystery games.”

“I've heard of them, but never participated,” Ellen said before glancing up at him. “Didn't you mention you'd once played with some friends?”

Christopher nodded. “On a ski trip. Had a great time.”

“Perfect.” Miss Q clapped her hands in delight. “Because that's the premise of our training. We incorporate our team-building into the game and we're debuting with a marvelous script called
Away with the Tide.
”

Ellen bristled beside him.

“What?” he asked.

“That title.”

“I believe it was meant to be a play on
Gone with the Wind,
” Miss Q offered.

“I see.”

Christopher bit back a smile, suspecting the only thing Ellen saw was that Louisiana wasn't Georgia and that if that title had crossed her desk she'd have filed it in the trash.

Undaunted, Miss Q continued. “
Away with the Tide
tells the story of Captain Julian Lafever, the man who built Félicie Allée in the early eighteen hundreds, after earning a fortune as a privateer in the Caribbean.

“During the War of 1812, the British approached him and Jean Lafitte to use their ships in an attack against New Orleans. Julian convinced Jean to join forces in passing this information along to the U.S. government, instead—for a price, of course,” she added with a grin. “They wound up using their ships to defend the city under General Andrew Jackson.”

Christopher hooked an elbow over the back of the bench, forced himself to pay attention to Miss Q's story rather than the way Ellen leaned forward intently, clearly fascinated with the history. The overhang of Spanish moss-draped branches filtered the rising sun, filigreed her profile in light and shadow. Her delicate features were bright with interest.

“Sometimes the truth is better than the most clever plot twists,” she said with an appreciative nod.

“Absolutely, dear,” Miss Q agreed. “And that's the best part of all our scripts—each has been written to blend fact and fiction. These training events aren't only fun—they build team-working skills by forcing our guests to work together toward a common goal.

“
Away with the Tide
features our captain entertaining the governor of Louisiana, who'd come to Félicie Allée along with a group of very influential guests, to honor the captain's service to the government by issuing him a pardon for privateering from President James Madison himself.”

“The
why
dunnit is to find out how our captain went from a pardon to murdering the governor's daughter?” Christopher asked.

“That's right, dear.” Miss Q reached out and patted him on the knee. “You'll sleuth out what really happened that weekend when he and his sister hosted the governor and his family. The mayor of New Orleans and his family came, too. Got it?”

“Got it, and we've got our map of the crime scene.” Christopher tapped the rolled treasure map against his palm.

“And your costumes.” Miss Q, looking pleased, swept her eyes over them in their finery before reaching for her shoulder bag again. “I've got your mystery packet right here. It includes details about the murder, a playbill listing the guests, and your very own special secret clue.”

“Special secret clue?” Christopher handed the treasure map to Ellen and accepted the thick folder with the Southern Charm Mysteries logo on the cover.

“Each couple has been assigned a special clue to the mystery, your own individual piece of the puzzle. You'll drop that clue to the other couples sometime during the session, and these clues will move you farther along in solving the mystery.”

“Drop the clue? How?” Ellen asked.

“That's entirely up to you, dear. As hostess I can make suggestions—you can stage conversations for others to overhear, leave pieces of evidence lying around. How you
choose to reveal your special clue is strictly between you and your partner. Be forewarned, though—Olaf and the staff will be watching to make sure you do. Working within the framework of rules and guidelines is also part of the skills we're developing here.

“The whole point of the training is for each couple to work together as a team to compete against the other couples. Friendships are to be disregarded, alliances abandoned and survival your only motivation.”

“Sounds rather cutthroat,” Christopher commented.

“Your favorite type of game.” Miss Q winked. “The higher the stakes, the better.”

Glancing at Ellen, he took in her cool expression, her utterly controlled demeanor that revealed itself in squared shoulders and a reserved set to that kissable mouth.

As if the stakes weren't already high enough.

“The best things in life are worth working for.”

“I agree entirely.” She handed Ellen a hardbound notebook also bearing the company logo. “Here's a journal in which to record your progress. We've got clues and red herrings planted, so you'll want to take good notes. Every night at seven, we'll assemble as a group for dinner. You'll have a chance to assess how far the others have gotten in their investigations. You'll also have access to the staff, who may very well drop clues when you least expect them, so listen carefully to everything they say. Servants are always privy to what's going on.”

She stood, smoothed her skirt and smiled down at them. “Familiarize yourselves with your materials. In addition to the playbill and information about the players, you'll find checklists for the training goals we're trying to meet here. Remember, everything you could possibly want to know about the mystery is hidden somewhere in this plan
tation. You just have to be clever enough to figure out where.”

Retrieving her purse, she slipped it over her shoulder. “Solving the mystery will require you to be flexible and to work cooperatively in cross-functional teams, sometimes in areas you might be unfamiliar with. You'll be challenged to use some very innovative problem-solving strategies. Skills business people need. Any questions?”

Christopher shook his head, glanced down at Ellen. “Can you think of anything, love?”

“You've pretty much covered it all, Miss Q. Looks like the real work is up to us now.” Her gaze slipped between the map she held and the folder and notebook on his lap.

“Well, then, I'll be off, dears. I'll be around if you need me. Olaf, too.”

Christopher placed the folder on the bench, intending to escort her back to the plantation, but Miss Q waved him off. “Stay put and work on your packet. I'll head back myself.”

“You're sure?” The house wasn't far, but…

She patted his cheek and smiled reassuringly. “Get to work, and
have fun.
” With that she lifted her skirts and disappeared down the gravel path the way they'd come.

“How much did she tell you?” Ellen asked once Miss Q was beyond earshot.

“About what?”

“About her plans to set us up this weekend. Lennon didn't have a clue.”

Ellen had turned toward him, and Christopher took advantage of their sudden solitude to hook an elbow over the back of the bench and run his knuckles along her cheek.

She met his gaze, her own expression unchanging, but Christopher recognized the way the golden lights in her eyes flickered. He'd become very proficient at reading the
subtle signs of Ellen's moods, and intended to become even more proficient by the conclusion of this event. She might be able to school her expression and hide her reactions, but her eyes were thoroughly readable if he paid close attention.

Her eyes were the key. They masked her emotions behind a cool green stare. Or darkened to shadow when she was angry. Or melted, warm liquid gold with desire.

Right now, they hovered somewhere between green and gold, which told him she wasn't nearly as unaffected by his touch as she'd have him believe. So he trailed his thumb along her jaw, aimed for that full bottom lip.

And being Ellen, she stubbornly refused to pull away.