Kiss Me Forever/Love Me Forever. Rosemary Laurey

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СКАЧАТЬ nice smile. She wasn’t about to think about his smile. Or the goose bumps on her arm. Holding his hand was quite enough. More than enough. She shook it and then let go.

      “I’m Dixie LePage.”

      “Great-niece and heiress of the renowned Misses Underwood. Just arrived from America in one of Stanley Collins’s vehicles. Staying with Emily Reade for the nonce.”

      He had her gaping for the second time. “How did you…?” She gave up. Maybe jet lag caused terminal confusion.

      “Village telegraph. It’s chronicled your progress since you drove into town. Someone, somewhere already knows your shoe size, the color of your toothbrush, and how many sugars you take in your tea.”

      “Just like small towns everywhere.”

      He nodded. Slim fingers stroked the stem of his glass. “You may find Bringham…unusual.”

      “May? I have already. Total strangers accost you in pubs.”

      “I did offer to leave.”

      He had and she’d grabbed him. Maybe wrist-grabbing was a come-on in England. She hoped not…. “You don’t have to. I’m going as soon as I finish eating.”

      “Stay and finish your drink.” He nudged the second Guinness towards her. “I won’t proposition you on the strength of one drink.”

      “How many does it take?” Dixie almost choked. She must be getting drunk. She never said things like that.

      “I’m interested in your library. Not you.” Reassurances like that shouldn’t be disappointing.

      “My library?”

      “The one you inherited in your house.”

      It took her a couple of seconds to realize he meant Orchard House. “You want to buy my library? I’m not sure it’s for sale.”

      “Just a few books. I’m interested in the paranormal. Your aunts had quite a collection. I’d like to buy some of them. I’ll pay market price. I’m not bargain hunting.”

      A reasonable business proposal; it shouldn’t leave her breathless. “I haven’t even seen them yet. If I think of selling them…”

      “You’ll give me first refusal?” He leaned forward, waiting on her reply.

      She nodded. “Yes, if I sell.” She stood up to go. “Where can I find you, Christopher?”

      “I drop by here every so often.” He would from now on. “If not, I live in Dial Cottage, up from the station.” Goose bumps again. It definitely was his smile. He stood with her. “Shall I walk you home?”

      This was like something out of Jane Austen. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

      Dixie was out the door before she wondered how he knew she’d walked. Lights from the pub windows lit the lane in each direction; they also showed the beginning of a dirt footpath across the green. Looking up at the stars in unfamiliar positions in the cloudless sky, Dixie realized she wasn’t the least bit ready for bed. Emily had said Orchard House was on the other side of the green. It couldn’t be that far, and Dixie wanted a glimpse of the house she’d come to claim.

      Chapter Two

      The lights from the Barley Mow, and the moon shimmering on the pond gave Dixie a clear view. It would be an easy walk to cross the Green and circle back to Miss Reade’s. The dry, well-trodden path skirted around the water’s edge and joined the lane near three tile-hung cottages with neat hedges and lighted front doors. Turning right, Dixie followed the curve of the lane.

      Five modern, brightly lit houses caught her attention with glimpses of flickering TV screens and a woman filling a kettle at the sink. The path ended and the road narrowed past a clump of trees that cast ragged shadows over the lane. Something fast and warm scuttled inches from Dixie’s feet. Tempted to abandon what now seemed like a crazy moonlight hike, Dixie glanced back across the Green and realized the Barley Mow was a good hundred yards away. She had to be near Orchard House. She’d tramped this far. She wasn’t going back. If she walked in the middle of the lane, she’d avoid four-footed nocturnals and tree roots.

      Then she heard the owls. Two of them, calling back and forth like a pair of feathered Harpies. Nothing like it to add a bit of atmosphere. She was alone, in the dark, on a deserted country lane, in a foreign country, looking for a house she’d never seen. Dixie willed courage, marched round the next curve, and stopped.

      This was her house. She knew it.

      She peered through high wrought-iron gates. A gravel path led past shadows of overgrown shrubs to a square brick house where moonlight flickered on long sash windows. Paint and rust flaked in her hands as she shook the gate. The chain clanked like Marley’s ghost, rattled and fell to the ground. Budging the gate took more effort. Either the gate had sunk or the drive risen in the past months. The hinges complained, but a few hard shoves opened it enough to slip in sideways.

      Dixie stood on the gravel driveway and surveyed her property. Even in the dark, she could see she owned an elegant house. Eight double-hung windows were set in a beautifully proportioned façade, and four dormers rose from the roof. A dark shadow of a front door stood at the end of the uneven path ahead and the gravel drive circled behind the house. It could have been the set for Sense and Sensibility. And it was hers. Complete with moonlight.

      In an upstairs window, on the far right a light flickered. It wasn’t moonlight.

      A burglar.

      And in her house.

      Fired by righteous indignation, Dixie raced up the steps to the front door and tugged the iron loop of the bell pull. Loud chimes echoed through the silent house. Standing on the step, Dixie watched the light disappear and then…nothing. What did she expect? The burglar to answer the doorbell?

      Even the owls had gone quiet. Nothing moved in the night. Dixie half-convinced herself she’d imagined the light when a door banged. Twice. A loud cussword echoed through the night quiet.

      Cautious now, keeping to the overgrown grass, Dixie crept round the side of the house. It was a whole lot bigger than it looked from the front. Odd corners and shapes jutted out behind. A cluster of outbuildings huddled over by a high brick wall. Deep shadows hid everything except rough outlines and shapes, and patches of moonlight made an eerie checkerboard of the backyard. Dixie waited by the corner, watched and listened. A dark shape slunk across the yard.

      The intruder continued his path between a clump of overgrown bushes. Fury burned away all her caution. “What are you doing in my house?” she called. The intruder didn’t stop to answer. One look behind and he fled across the grass and out through a side gate.

      Dixie chased, racing through the gate, out into the lane and careened into a dark figure.

      “What are you doing?” she demanded, too angry to consider fear.

      “Dixie?” She knew that voice.

      “Christopher? Christopher Marlowe? What are you doing here?” This was a bit much, first intruding on her dinner, then her property.

      “Walking СКАЧАТЬ