Their tea tray arrived. It was chased silver, six tiers high, each larger than the one above. Four different kinds of tiny sandwiches with the crusts cut off, cookies, miniature savory tartlets, fruit-studded cakes and of course, scones. Bowls of clotted cream, butter and jelly filled the rest of the table. They each loaded up their plates, and yet barely made a dent in the tower of food before them.
“I had a tea like this once at an inn near Stonehenge. Almost as elaborate, and everything was made from scratch daily by the owner.” Mark slathered cream on his scone. His waffle was a distant memory, and he wanted to fortify himself for whatever the next few hours might hold.
“I was researching the Picts and spent the entire day interviewing a woman who was at least ninety-five. Sharp as a tack though, and told the most amazing stories. Her family had passed them down through the generations for hundreds of years. Never bothered to write any of them down, either.”
“How do you know they weren’t bedtime stories, created one night by a mother at the end of her wits?”
Mark fumbled his scone. Was she serious? Did she think he’d be taken in by a bedtime story? “Because it’s what I do.”
“Is that how your footnotes read in your papers—because I said so?”
“You’ve brought up the bane of my existence. If I had to choose one thing that could make me give up research forever, it’d be footnotes.” He snagged the last salmon sandwich from her outstretched hand.
“If I’d known you felt so strongly, I might’ve phrased my question differently.” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Before she could lean back, he turned and captured her lips. They were warm from the tea she’d sampled, and soft and giving. He pulled back abruptly.
“In the interest of full disclosure, I think you should know I checked us into one room.”
“Quite a bold move on your part, Mr. Dering.”
“After a while even professional researchers get tired of plotting every moment methodically. I undertook a course of action based entirely on an assumption.”
“The assumption being?” She loaded down another scone with clotted cream and offered it to him. He took it, and then held it up to her mouth.
“I’m assuming this scone isn’t the only thing you want between your lips.”
Annabelle choked on her mouthful. “Mark, there are people sitting right behind us. And it’s broad daylight!”
He was pleased by her reaction. Evidently keeping her off balance was the right strategy. “Nobody overheard me. Your honor and reputation are quite intact.”
“I don’t care about my…” she shook her head as if to clear it. “You caught me off guard. You leapt about three weeks ahead of where we were five minutes ago. Give a girl a chance to catch up.”
Mark leaned back and slowly finished the last sandwich before speaking.
“I’d say I just gave you an extra thirty seconds to think things over. By the time I refill my teacup and polish off the cream puffs, allowing extra time for polite chit chat, it should bring it to five full minutes of mulling. Two minutes to make the pro list, two minutes to counter with a list of cons, and then one minute to deliberate. But if it’s going to take you longer, we’re going to need another pot of tea.”
That was all it took. Annabelle literally felt her heart tumble over itself. To play on her penchant for list making, well, it was simultaneously romantic and insightful. With those few sentences he swept her off her feet. It didn’t matter how they got to this moment, or even why they were in Richmond. Some quixotic twist of fate had brought her to this amazing man, and she was head over heels gone for him.
Annabelle pushed back her chair and stood. “You forget, sweetheart, I’m a New Yorker, and we do everything a little bit faster than you do it down here. I’ve had my fill of tea. I’m ready to move on to something more substantial.”
Mark was on his feet in an instant. “Not to brag, but I think I have exactly what you need.”
The elevator ride was interminable. Annabelle forced herself to walk sedately down the long hall until the clang of the elevator doors proclaimed them finally alone. She launched herself at him, heedless of bags and keys. They tumbled through the door locked together in a kiss. Not just a kiss, but the steamiest, deepest, wettest, lustiest kiss of Annabelle’s life. He kicked their bags into the room and pushed the door shut with her body, lips locked once more. She pulled back from him just enough to yank his shirt over his head.
“Why haven’t you ever kissed me like that before?”
“Too dangerous,” he replied. “A kiss like that has serious ramifications. The most important being if I don’t get my hands on your naked body in the next two minutes, my head may explode.”
His clever hands made quick work of the buttons down the front of her shirt. Shivers coursed through her body at the touch of his fingers on her skin, little darts of electricity shooting out in every direction. She toed-off her sandals and shoved him across the room to the king-sized bed. “I have to admit I’ve spent quite a bit of time imagining this. “
“Me, too.” Mark flung her skirt in the general direction of where he imagined a chair might be, for he’d have to be crazy to take his eyes off her for a moment. It was an added punch of desire to look at the creamy skin appearing as he undid her shirt. “I had a plan involving roses, chocolate, maybe a slow sax wailing in the background to set the mood.”
Annabelle whipped back the bedspread while he tugged off his shorts. It was gratifying to know she was as eager as he was. Because God help him, she was too much to resist, and he couldn’t wait to bury himself deep inside her. Finesse, seduction, those were impossible goals at this point. He had to have her. The need was that basic, that absolute.
“Funny, my thoughts were along the same lines. Except right now, I don’t need any of it.” She lay naked and impossibly beautiful on the bed. “I find I do desperately need you.” It was all the invitation he needed.
Mark let his hands roam over her body. She was soft, softer than satin, everywhere. Her scent surrounded him; something light and floral, but tinged with the darker smell of their passion. His hands encircled her breasts, and he was gratified by her immediate reaction. Annabelle arched off the bed into his hands, while her legs writhed against his. He moved down, and captured a perfectly peach-colored nipple between his lips.
Annabelle moaned, an expression of want and desire and pleasure all rolled together. His mouth was magical. Every time his tongue laved against her skin it was as though a taut cord of sensation strummed directly between her breasts and the aching emptiness between her legs. His naked length pressed her into the mattress. She welcomed the weight, the planes of his body melding against hers.
It was so much more than she expected. He filled her every sense. Daylight seeped through cracks in the curtains, glistening on the faint sheen of sweat on his bronzed skin. She ran her hands down his arms, hungry to feel the silk of his skin stretched tight over rock-hard muscle. Her body was purring everywhere her skin touched his. She was compelled to taste him and licked his shoulder, then nipped it with her teeth.
He was overwhelmingly masculine and most definitely in charge. She tried to keep up, but the sensations he aroused were so overwhelmingly all. It took a massive amount of concentration to thread one hand through his jet black curls and wrap the other one around his tight, squeezable ass. His teeth tugged at her nipple and Annabelle screamed his name as ripples of sheer lust cascaded over her.
Mark almost lost it at the sound of her unmistakable pleasure. It sent a jolt through his system. The feeling of her writhing under him inflamed his senses to an unbearable height, so that the only thought in his head was to do anything, everything, to slake his yearning as soon as possible. His hand slipped down to cup her silken mound and she bucked under him, rising up to meet his fingers. He could tell Annabelle was roused to the same fevered pitch. But he had to be sure.
“Darlin’, I don’t mean to rush you, but I’m begging here. Take p
ity on me and say you’re ready.”
“I think I’ve been ready since the first time you kissed me,” she panted. “What are you waiting for?”
He slid between her legs and in one swift motion buried himself inside her. Their eyes locked as everything, every inch, connected. Then Mark took her mouth as he started to move, slowly at first. But too much passion had already built up between them, and neither one could wait. Her hands locked on his butt, nails digging in to urge him deeper. Annabelle drove her hips faster to meet Mark’s, and in moments the only sound in the room was their moans, each one louder than the next, building to a crescendo that left them shattered.
Mark collapsed on top of her, too drained to even slide to the side. What had just happened was so far beyond mere sex, he didn’t have words for it. He was scared to speak at all and feared he had screwed everything up; it was all too fast and she deserved better. Hell, she was probably used to so much better; men who treated her to more than a five minute quickie in a hotel, for God’s sake!
“Mark?”
He closed his eyes in grim resignation. This was it. This perfect woman underneath him was about to kick him out the door, and he still couldn’t string together the right words to apologize for the appalling lack of romance and caring he’d exhibited.
“Can we do it again?”
Mark’s eyes popped open. “What did you say?”
“Don’t get me wrong—it was terrific. Definitely satisfied the need that’s been building since I saw your biceps flex as you brushed the horses the day we met.”
Annabelle wrapped her legs tighter around him. “But by giving me a taste, you made me realize how badly I want more of you. And I was thinking, since we just finished tea and have some time to kill before dinner, you might be willing to do it again. ‘Cause I have to tell you, I’ve never, ever felt this good, and it’s entirely due to you, Mark Dering.”
“Be careful what you ask for, darlin’.” Lust and something deeper warred within him. He wound his hands through her thick red hair and flipped her on top of him. “I may never let you out of this bed.”
The insistent ring of the room phone forced her into consciousness. Face down, she groped blindly for the nightstand and found only a well- muscled, hairy chest under her hand. It brought her wide awake faster than six cups of coffee. Bits and pieces of the night before flashed through her mind, crystal clear despite the lack of sleep. Then the phone rang again. She slid off the bed and groped her way across the darkened room. In an effort not to wake Mark, she kept going straight into the bathroom, shut the door and then answered the phone on the wall by the tub.
“Annabelle Carlyle. It’s damn early, so this better be good,” she grumbled.
“Thankless brat. I drag myself all the way down here, and instead of a hello you growl at me? If you’re going to be that way, sis, I’ll turn around and head back to New York.”
“Jonathan? Where are you?” Instinctively, she threw a bath sheet around her shoulders. Talking on the phone stark naked never felt right, especially to family members.
“Two feet outside your door. And as an added incentive, I also have a pot of coffee, blueberry pancakes and eggs benedict.”
“Well, you know which buttons to push, don’t you? Give me five minutes.”
“Annabelle, are you kidding me? I’ve been out here knocking for five minutes. Can’t believe you didn’t hear me. I’m standing in the hallway like an idiot—open the door and let me in. You can make yourself beautiful later. I’ve seen you first thing in the morning loads of times. I won’t keel over from the shock of mismatched pajamas and messy hair.”
“This time you might,” she said, a wry smile crossing her face as she stared in the mirror. The effects of a long night of loving were stamped all over her body. Mark’s five o’clock shadow had left telltale red streaks from her chin to her toes. There was a darkening bruise on her thigh from their third round in the bathtub when she was pressed against the spout, and her face…well, the combination of the clichéd glow and sparkle in her eyes might as well be a neon sign proclaiming Got Some Last Night. She rushed into the bedroom.
“Mark, you’ve got to get up.”
“I like a woman who knows what she wants.” His arm snaked out and caught her around the waist, tumbling her onto the bed. Annabelle squealed and clutched at her towel.
“This isn’t playtime. You have to get up now. My brother’s here.” She dropped a quick kiss on his forehead and hopped off the bed.
Mark propped himself up on one elbow and surveyed the room. “Can’t say this is exactly the scene I would’ve set to meet your family, but it is what it is. Sugar, it doesn’t matter whether I’m still in bed or you make me hide in the bathroom. I’d say it’s pretty obvious what went on here last night. The overnight bags are still by the door, our clothes are everywhere, and the bed is a mess.”
“Oh God, you’re right. I can’t let him in. Not for all the blueberry pancakes in the world.” Annabelle wrapped her towel a little bit tighter, and threw Mark’s briefs at him. “At least get dressed while I get rid of him.” Loud knocking at the door meant Jonathan’s patience was waning. With a rueful glance at her towel, Annabelle opened the door far enough to poke her head at.
“Hi there, baby brother. Thanks for coming down.”
Jonathan gave her a once over, and then his eyes narrowed. “What’s with the towel? And why won’t you let me in?”
“I had a late start this morning. And if you’d called, like a normal person, instead of just showing up at my door, this could’ve been avoided.”
“I did call. Meanwhile, our breakfast is getting cold.” He shoved the room service cart at the door. Annabelle, given the option of either wrestling the door shut or keeping her towel on, chose the latter. She stepped aside as Jonathan barreled through the door. In two seconds his eyes took in the state of the room, and all of its implications.
“Who is he, and when can I beat him up?”
“Jonathan, what an outrageous thing to say.”
“I’m not stupid, Belle. What I am is a man, and being one, I’ve a fairly good idea of what went on here last night. Therefore, I want to know what slick-talking Southern snake is responsible for this, and I’ll deal with him, man to man.”
Mark eased out of the bathroom, fully dressed. He extended his hand. “Mark Dering. Hopefully you’ll want to retract the snake comment when I tell you I’m crazy about your sister.”
“Jonathan Carlyle.” They shook hands. “And I don’t know yet if it’s reason enough to retract my statement.”
Annabelle stepped between the two men. “This is like a scene from a bedroom farce. ‘The glowering relative catches the couple in flagrante delicto.’ Except my honor hasn’t been sullied, and everyone needs to dial their testosterone back a few notches.”
“How about this?” Mark began to load the breakfast dishes onto the coffee table. His eyes never left Jonathan, weighing exactly how ticked off the man was. “Carlyle, you can reserve the right to take a swing at me. Believe me, I understand the impulse. But while Annabelle gets dressed, why don’t I bring you up to speed on this whole mess. Maybe you can help us figure out who tried to kill us yesterday, and we can save the familial dramatics for later.”
“What?” Jonathan swung around and ran his hands down Annabelle’s arms. “Belle, you didn’t mention it on the phone. Are you okay?”
She shrugged out of his grasp and struggled to keep her towel from slipping yet again. “I will be, if you let me get dressed. Obviously I can’t get rid of you, so sit down and have some coffee. I’ll be out soon, and then you can yell at me all you want for withholding a few tiny details.”
“And argue over the semantics of someone attempting to kill you being qualified as a tiny detail?”
“Yes, we can argue all day if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Maybe once I explain how I saved her life you might be willing to share some of this fine breakfast?” Mark started lifting the s
ilver covers off the dishes, but Jonathan jerked the plate out of his reach.
“If I believe you. Belle is pretty resourceful. Hard to imagine her waiting around for you to save her life. Now I’d have no trouble believing she saved yours, but it certainly doesn’t net you any pancakes. Right now the most I’m willing to do is pour you a cup of coffee.”
Annabelle grabbed a mug of coffee and made her escape. She closed the bathroom door behind her and fervently hoped they wouldn’t kill each other while she showered.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“A gravesite isn’t the sort of clue I was hoping for,” Annabelle said. The three of them stood around the large plot for Jefferson Davis and his family.
“Since all of Varina Howell’s descendants by her daughter Margaret are living in Colorado Springs, it’s as close as we’ll come today.” Mark slid his hands into his pockets. “I also think we can scratch them off the list of suspects. Sure, every family has a certain amount of pride in their heritage, but Colorado isn’t known as a hotbed of Confederate sympathizers.”
“True, but we’re running out of options.” Annabelle crouched down to compare the various names on the marker with the genealogy chart Jonathan created in New York. “Their sons Joseph, William and Samuel died as children, and their other daughter Varina died without any heirs. I think we’ve hit a dead end as far as Varina Howell is concerned.”
“I’d call it more of a fork in the road.” Jonathan offered his arm and pulled his sister up. He turned in a circle and gestured broadly at the graves surrounding them. “Lots of people buried here, and the way I hear it, most of them are related to someone who was involved in the Confederacy. Maybe your suspect used Varina Howell’s name as a red herring, or in a twisted sort of homage.”
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