The Vampire's Mail Order Bride

She pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table. Just in case her nerves caused her knees to buckle. “I’m D. James. Delaney, actually.”

She took a deep breath, but already the act of coming clean was easing her mind. Whatever the consequences, she’d face them. She explained everything—about the shooting, about stealing the file, about hiding out from her mobbed-up boss.

Stanhill’s face remained virtually unchanged through her story. He was clearly angry. And protective of Hugh. When she was finished, he nodded. Then, after what felt like an hour but was probably four or five seconds, he said, “I see.”

The two words sounded like a death sentence. She stood, unable to make eye contact. “I’ll go pack my things.”

“Why?”

She looked at him. “Aren’t you going to tell me to leave?”

He shook his head slowly. “No.” He came over and sat at the table. “What you did, you did out of self-preservation, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t fault that.”

She sat back down. “You can’t?”

“Your boss sounds like a dangerous man.”

“I had no idea until I saw him with that gun.”

“And you’re not here to hurt Hugh in any way, are you?”

Her brows pulled together. “Not at all. I swear it.”

“What else do you know about him?”

Was this a test? “He’s wealthy. Guarded. And a little secretive. But I guess a lot of wealthy people are like that.”

Something worked through Stanhill’s brain. She could see it in his eyes. “Then I see no reason why you can’t stay.”

Her mouth came open a bit. “Really?”

Stanhill nodded. “Between us, for all Hugh’s blathering about this arrangement, I think he quite enjoys your company.”

“I’m not sure he’ll still feel that way after he finds out I’ve been lying to him.” She traced the grain of the wood table. “I’ll tell him tonight at dinner. At least we’ll be in public. That should keep the scene-making to a minimum.”

“Why don’t you hold off on filling him in?”

She stared at Stanhill. “Do you think that’s the best idea?” She wasn’t sure what surprised her more—Stanhill’s willingness to collude with her or his desire to keep his employer in the dark.

“I know Hugh very well. If he’s not in the right mood for this kind of news, it could go badly. And you don’t want to ruin your dinner. Or mine. I’ve got a date tonight myself.” Stanhill patted her hand. “When he’s in a good mood, we’ll tell him together.”

She couldn’t argue that Stanhill knew Hugh better than she did. And she liked that he didn’t want to keep the news from Hugh indefinitely. “Why are you doing this for me?”

He smiled. “I like you. You’re in a spot of trouble that’s not of your own doing, and you make Hugh happy. I’d surmise he makes you happy as well, yes?”

She relaxed. “He’s not bad company. Not at all.”

“I’d hate to see either of you miss out on a chance for something more all because of a little misunderstanding.”

Lying about who she was seemed like more than a little misunderstanding. “I should go get dressed for dinner.” She stood but didn’t leave the kitchen. “You know I’m not here looking for a husband in any way, shape, or form.”

“I know.” He got to his feet. “Funny what you find when you least expect it.”

Hugh shut the door behind him harder than necessary as he entered the house. His conversation with Sebastian had done nothing to better his mood or help him make a decision. So far he had Stanhill for and Sebastian against. Talking to Julian and his grandmother would only add another check in each column. The decision about pursuing Annabelle was firmly in his court.

Maybe he was worrying about nothing. Maybe they’d have a dreadful evening and that would be that. Or maybe his grandmother had filled Annabelle’s head with the kinds of promises and ideas that changed a woman’s mind and turned her into a marriage-hungry maniac. Hugh leaned against the door and closed his eyes.

All he wanted to do was kiss Annabelle some more. But he also didn’t want to lead her on. Did that make him just like Julian? He groaned.

“Something wrong?”

Hugh opened his eyes. Stanhill stood at the entrance of the foyer. Hugh frowned. “I don’t know. What happened with Annabelle and Didi?”

Stanhill shrugged. “Not much of anything that I’m aware of.”

“Where is she?”

“At her own estate, I’d imagine.”

Hugh growled softly. The twinkle in Stanhill’s eyes said the man knew exactly what Hugh had meant. “Annabelle, not my grandmother.”

“Take your mood out on someone else. I’m your rook, not your servant.” Stanhill frowned at him.

“A decision I regret daily.” He could give as good as he got. “Did she come home from Didi’s talking marriage?”

“No. More about how your grandmother seemed like a woman who enjoyed getting her way.”

“That’s an accurate assessment.” Maybe Annabelle had kept her head about her. “Where did you say she is?”

“I didn’t, but she’s upstairs. Getting ready for the dinner you promised her.”

Hugh ground his back teeth for a second. “Blast it. I completely forgot about making reservations.” With the Panic Parade this weekend, the town was crowded. And it was Friday night. The restaurants, at least the good ones, might be tricky to get into. “Any chance you made some for me?”