By Any Means

by Cindy Nord

  “My pleasure, ma’am. G’nite.”

  As Ruby closed the door behind her, Annabelle’s smile faded. As much as she’d like to change her past, it was too late.

  Enjoy this evening?

  Yes, I shall try. She tucked the last dark curl into her chignon, a glimmer from her jeweled hair pins adding a pleasing touch. Her mood lighter, she stood and smoothed her hands down the corseted front of the royal blue silk. The adornment of ivory lace peeping from the low neckline and around the sleeve hems at midarm proclaimed an understated elegance. She checked the full-bustled swell on her backside.

  Just enough.

  She smiled on a slow turn and picked up her fan. Dropping open the ivory slats, she issued a full curtsey.

  All for dinner with Brennen Benedict.

  She collapsed the delicate piece into her palm and stepped closer. “I know not what to expect this evening,” she mumbled to her reflection. “Yet, I’m indulging in the magic of the moment.” Gone was the spinster in filthy rags on the upper veranda at twilight. Behind her, through the open door that led to a gallery decorated with wicker, fireflies flickered in wild abandon. “Your obsession over a deck of cards aside, Monsieur Benedict…we’re not so different after all.” She swept up her second glass of Madeira and toasted herself in the mirror. “For the duration of this meal, I am more than willing to play your game.”

  She drained the wine, then placed the stemware on the sidetable. No one would be joining them downstairs.

  No buffer.

  No intrusions.

  Just he and I. ‘Tis dinner…and nothing more.

  In a swish of watered silk, she stepped toward the door anxious to meet her rendezvous with fate.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The chandelier spilled luxuriant light across Brennen as he eased into the chair, then glanced down the dining room table. The new china he’d ordered a month before from Burslem, England had finally arrived, with two of the twelve place settings now spread across the white damask. A swirl of gilded gold decorated each of the plate’s edges and had cost him a bloody fortune.

  Money well spent.

  Their meal for this evening awaited them in matching china bowls and platters across the sideboard. Fragrant rosemary lifted from the rack of lamb, the meat glistening above a pool of mint-infused gravy. The side dishes, the vegetables, everything had been cooked to perfection.

  Brennen smiled. I’m a well-heeled connoisseur with inexplicably expensive taste … as one of his favorite riverboat whores had amusingly proclaimed about him. He broadened his smile as he met Ellie’s gaze. “Everything’s perfect. A fantastic presentation.”

  “Glad you’re pleased, sir. Ruby and Jubal are looking forward to their big feast this evening as well. Me ‘n Jasper are eager to join them.”

  He’d spared no expense in providing his employees’ their own celebration. “I want everyone to enjoy tonight. Been a rough month, but Le Belle Maison is back even better than before.”

  Pride beamed in Ellie’s smile. “And don’t forget your pie, Mister Brennen,” she said, angling her thumb toward the far end of the sideboard. “Made two of ‘em, and takin’ one to Ruby. They’s peach, ‘cause Miss Annabelle gathered me a bushelful from them trees near Mount Maple on her way back from the nuns.”

  “Looking forward to the treat.” He met her gaze. “Now go join the others, and have a nice evening. I’ve also given Jubal envelopes containing a cash bonus for all four of you…again, for your loyalty and hard work. Another token of my appreciation.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Thank you, sir. ‘Tis my pleasure to cook for you and Miss Annabelle,” she said, her voice rough with emotion. “And you jest leave the dinner mess right here when you’ve finished. I’ll clean everything up in the mornin’ good as new.” She untied her apron, draped the gray-and-white-checked cotton over her shoulder, and then tidied up her flaming red topknot. “I do hope you both have an agreeable evening, too, sir. G’night, sir.”

  Brennen nodded and the thump of the swinging door as she departed left him alone in the dining room.

  Miss Annabelle. They adored her. And why not, working side by side with all of them ever since she’d been here, she’d damned well earned their respect. Hard driving, yet pleasant. Overseeing the menial tasks of canning, cleaning, as well as hauling and toting and fetching. Good gawd. She’d worked like a damn slave, for months, yet she’d not uttered a single complaint.

  Impatience sliding through him, Brennen glanced toward the entry hall. Other than their brief time together earlier on the upstairs veranda, during the past month he hadn’t spent more than five minutes in her company I the past month. He missed her sweet smile and laughter.

  An agreeable evening?

  He snorted. He wanted more than that…

  A rustle of fabric sounded near the stairs.

  Annabelle.

  Heart vaulting against his ribs he shoved to his feet. Raw anticipation followed a torrent of eagerness he’d not experienced in years. He’d planned tonight to be special. A grand celebration for all the work they’d accomplished in such a short amount of time.

  Another rustle.

  Then another.

  With grace, Annabelle stepped into the room.

  Brennen’s breath locked inside his chest as he stared at the goddess swathed in royal blue. Gone were the soiled garments, the limp hair, and the woman who’d labored ‘til exhaustion took her upstairs each night. He’d anticipated their meeting, but nothing had prepared him for the breathtaking woman standing before him now.

  “Good evening, Brennen,” she stated, her gloved hands clasped together.

  At her throaty voice, heat stormed his body, and all he wanted was to strip her bare and haul her to his bed. Pulse wild, he brought himself up short. Good God, she wasn’t some strumpet or Richmond debutante with a simpering pout. No, Annabelle was magnificent. She deserved his respect.

  “I do apologize for being tardy,” she said.

  Tardy? Brennen nodded, realizing he would’ve waited a lifetime for a glimpse of this Miss Annabelle Swan.

  “Glad you agreed to join me this evening,” he replied, his voice strained. He sucked in much-needed air as he dropped his gaze to the sapphire spread of jewels adorning her neck. The rapid flutter of her pulse in the hollow of her throat shot another ripple of awareness over him.

  She’s as nervous as I.

  His eyes dipped lower.

  The sumptuous swell above her bodice built a thickening wedge between his legs, and fresh waves of desire returned.

  Sweat gathered across his brow.

  Hell’s fire…he’d wanted this woman from the moment he’d first seen her. Blazing green eyes burned into his as she walked to the opposite end of the table.

  His gaze followed her every sashaying footstep.

  She stared at him across a sumptuous bouquet of honeysuckles and wild red roses dominating the center of the table.

  A mile of mahogany separated them.

  She’s too damned far away.

  Brennen sidestepped and pulled out the closest chair. “Will you do me the honor of sitting beside me this evening?” he asked, his words soft, focused. His hand curled atop the carved mahogany.

  An eternity passed while he waited her response.

  “Of course,” she said, her sweet lips arching upward like an angel’s wing to release him from his hell-spawned misery. The whisper of silk brought her to him, and his heart lost another beat. “Thank you for the invitation, monsieur.”

  Her words, carried on the ethereal scent of lavender purled over him. With polished refinement, she lowered to her seat. Candlelight flickered in the diamonds that sparkled through her upswept hair.

  He need only bend, ever-so-slightly, to kiss a heated path up the back of her neck. Dark wisps danced with his every breath. Brennen sighed, then stifled his impulse. Yet another taunting witness to his growing quandary. He’d much rather lift her onto the table and bury himself inside he
r than chat about the pleasantries of the weather, the manor house, or all their hard work…but that foolish notion he must also restrain. She, a regal princess, who’d driven him mad for weeks with this consummate craving, deserved to be courted.

  And he was just the man to do so.

  Still, giving in a degree to temptation, Brennen leaned closer…inhaling, drawing Annabelle’s essence in deep, quenching the thirst of the parched man, the lost man, the lonely man dwelling inside who’d died a little each day they’d been apart.

  A light push against the chair moved her toward the table. He stepped to his own seat and lowered.

  “Everything looks lovely tonight,” she said as she spread the linen napkin across her lap. A sigh of satisfaction fell from her lips as her gaze lifted to the chandelier that undulated soft shadows up the walls.

  To see her pleasured reaction multiplied his own. He couldn’t contain his smile. “I’m glad you like the presentation. This is all to help us celebrate.”

  “Celebrations are so much better than sorrows,” she agreed.

  He nodded as the burn for this woman increased.

  Golden light drenched her bare shoulders as she scanned the sideboard, the place settings, the specially crafted utensils and crystals that bracketed the china. And in that moment, upon seeing her delight, he realized he’d purchased every damned piece purely for her pleasure.

  Her gaze reconnected with his, and a blush swept her cheeks. “An exceptional setting, Brennen.” She paused, her lips parting beneath a satisfied sigh. “The room, the table, this magnificent night. I am delighted to dine in your company.”

  The joy inside Brennen intensified. His gaze lowered to the swatch of linen across her lap. Flickering shadows rippled on the cloth as if white caps nestled on a sea of blue. He need only reach out and wrap his hands around her waist and pull her toward him.

  Instead, he leaned back and refocused. Shit…I’m as besotted as a school boy. The sensation new. Powerful. All-consuming. “I’m pleased you approve.” He draped his napkin in his lap. “I wanted this night to be special.”

  “Well, you’ve achieved that and so much more. Ruby shared that you’ve provided them a feast this evening equally as grand.”

  “I have.” He toyed with the sterling flatware. “None of this could’ve been achieved without everyone’s help. Shall we dine?”

  “Yes,” she said with a smile. “We mustn’t allow Ellie’s delicious menu to grow cold.”

  With each course, Brennen carefully selected an appropriate wine. A mild fruity white began their meal.

  Joy brightened her eyes. “‘Tis a Pineau de la Lorie.”

  “Right you are, from the vineyards of the Loire Valley in France.” He returned the bottle to the cellarette, then rejoined her. Raising his glass he offered a silent toast. “Easy on the palate. Fragrant.” He sipped, then smiled. “Tames the heat of the meal.”

  If only he could as easily tame the desire growing inside for her. His knowledge of wines had been buried for years beneath the heartbreak of war and the avoidance of living. But his familiarity of the fine vintages he’d learned while back in Richmond returned, fueled by a zealousness to share all he remembered with Annabelle.

  She again sipped from the stemmed glass, minuscule within her gloved hand. Her soft laughter met his ears. “As I recall, my mother consumed her avant le repas aperitif purely for medicinal purposes.”

  “My mother rarely indulged,” he said, twirling his small goblet. The light split through the wine to lay faceted swirls of colors across the linen. “She swore this was the devil’s brew. My father on the other hand…” He paused, then squelched the bitter memories. “Anyway, I’ve found a halfway medium that seems to work.” On a chuckle, he took another sip. “But, enough gloom and doom. We’re here to celebrate.”

  “I agree.” She settled the wine on the table, then touched his hand. “But, I do so appreciate your sharing a bit more of your past with me.”

  If only she’d do the same.

  Their meal progressed at a languid pace as Brennen served her, and then filled his own plate. Tender chunks of spring vegetables surrounded their rack of lamb so he next poured a deeper, more robust Cabernet Franc. This time, the elegant crystal goblet a bit larger, the stem sturdier for the aged libation.

  Between succulent bites, he entertained her with his knowledge of the spirits, lifting his newest glass in another silent salute. “This particular one, if memory serves me well, was established in the Libournais region of southwest France sometime in the 17th century.”

  Delight wreathed her face. “That’s correct!” She lightly touched the rim of his goblet and a fragile tink rose. “In Paris, ’tis customary to tap rims before sipping to drive away any lingering evil spirits.” After a quick sip to solidify the act, she happily added, “And yet another glorious addition to our meal…this one made from black grapes, I believe. How lovely. ‘Tis one of my favorites.”

  Smart. Beautiful. Engaging. His plucky little minx was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, and the joy inside him spread. “Breton grapes. Yes. An so named after the abbot of the ancient Abbey of Bourgueil where the fruit first grew.”

  “Oh Brennen, you’re a font of information. J’adore, such marvelous stories.”

  He wanted to curl up inside her warmth. He’d so missed her smile. “By the way, I’ve decided on extending the underground storage area we used during the tornado into a wine cellar. Work begins next week since I’ve already ordered dozens more select vintages from France.”

  Surprise widened her eyes. “Y-You’re building a wine cellar for Le Belle Maison?”

  “I am. We need one, don’t you think?” A long pause later, he added, “To improve the value of the property, I mean?”

  She nodded. “I imagine so.”

  Between the light conversation, and laughter their meal continued until they’d consumed every single morsel of food. Ellie had outdone herself this evening. Satisfied, Brennen stood and walked to the sideboard. A moment later, he returned with two slices of pie. He placed the dessert before her, sliding the plate closer. “I understand you gathered these peaches.”

  “Yes. This afternoon. All types of wild fruit trees grow between us and Mount Maple. But, if I keep eating like this, I’ll be as plump as Sister Francois Clare.” She laughed, then lifted a delicate mouthful of pie.

  He laughed, enjoying the lightness of her humor. After placing his plate, Brennen returned to the cellarette, lifted a burgundy decanter, and shot her another grin. “Cabernet Sauvignon.” The liquid inside gleamed a glorious magenta beneath the candlelight. “Full-bodied, and crafted in the Bordeaux region of France. I hope you enjoy this vintage to finish our meal.”

  “I love all the Cabernets,” she breathed, “but haven’t had a good red in years.”

  “Try this one….” He returned to her side with the bottle in one hand, and two clean glasses, the stemware propped between the fingers of his other hand. The goblet bowl larger, the crystal plain.

  He arched his brow as he gazed down at her. “Shall I pour you some?”

  “Yes,” she all but purred. “But pour quickly. I’m excited to sample this one, too.”

  The wine gurgled into the goblet. He lifted the decanter away when the liquid reached the widest part of the blown-glass bowl. “For optimal aeration.”

  “But of course,” she replied, a bemused grin on her lips. “I can swirl to my heart’s content without spilling one delicious drop.”

  She giggled, then demonstrated, and the earlier need for this woman ignited into a roaring flame. On a steadying breath, he pushed aside the empty dishes, then dropped back into his chair. Fork lifted, he dug into his slice of pie. Anything to ease the burn. “I received an invitation several weeks back from our mutual friend, Wallace Wise.”

  “O-Our lawyer?” She asked, staring at him as she sipped her Cabernet.

  “The very one.” He scraped his fork to gather the last crumb. “He’s to be married to
morrow. Early afternoon, I believe. I’m hoping you’ll accompany me to the grand affaire.”

  Pleasure softened her eyes as she slipped another peach slice into her mouth. “I would be honored.”

  “Good.” His heart walloped his chest in an out-of-control rattle. “We’ll take the carriage I had delivered this afternoon. Bought a fine pair of bays to pull my new rig, too.”

  “How wonderful.” She laid aside her fork and then took another sip of wine. “I haven’t been to a soiree of any kind in ages so this shall be a delightful change of pace.”

  He pushed aside his empty plate, and then reached inside his coat. His fingers slid across crisp vellum as he retrieved her envelope. His bonus gift, triple what he’d given the others.

  “I…uh…wanted to give you this.”

  Surprise widened her eyes as she settled her glass upon the table and accepted the envelope. “What is this?”

  “Open it.” Excitement forced a deep inhale. He couldn’t wait to see her delight. “It’s a special…gift. I…um…wanted to get this out of the way.”

  She broke the seal. A gasp fell from her lips as she withdrew three one-hundred dollar bills.

  He smiled.

  But she just blinked, several times in fact, her lips drawing thin as she stared down at the money. Finally, her eyes lifted. A wretched sorrow glistened back at him. “W-Why d-did you do this?” she whispered.

  “Why?” he repeated, dumbfounded. He expected her to be pleased, not perplexed.

  “Yes. Why money, Brennen? I-I thought we were…I thought…” The shock in her eyes slowly darkened into horror and then anger. “Oh my god…you…you…are wanting to pay me for…” On a choking gasp, she shoved back her chair and stood. Watered silk rustled to underscore her escalating revulsion.

  A hard knot twisted in his gut, and Brennen lurched upward. “Good god, Annabelle, what’s wrong? I just wanted to show my gratitude.”

  “With money? Like this?” she bit out. “Is that your answer to everything?” The desolation in her voice, her vulnerability, brought a lump to his throat. Struggling for each breath, Brennen tossed aside his napkin. Had he not offered enough? Assumed too little?