Kiss Me Forever.

By Rosemary Laurey.

Prologue.

"You want me to give her an unwelcome?"

Sebastian Caughleigh almost smiled. His nephew caught on quickly. "We'll call it a... discouragement." With that laugh, James had definite possibilities.

"I can take care of one old lady."

"This is the granddaughter. The daughter died years ago and it seems the Misses Underwood's sister snuffed it a few weeks before old Miss Faith. This Dixie LePage is thirty and conveniently sent me her picture."

James peered at the photo on the desktop. An auburn-haired young woman with green eyes smiled at the camera. "Nice,"

James murmured. "Do I get to choose the inconvenience?"

"No! She's arriving on the twelfth and obligingly gave us the flight number. You find her at Gatwick. Lift her wallet. Without money or credit cards, she won't get far. With a bit of luck she'll run home in distress. A fainting female who can't take inconvenience."

A glint of appreciation lit James's pale eyes as he smiled at the photograph. "Maybe I won't lift her wallet-first thing."

"You will. It's survival. For all of us. We can't have her poking around the house and finding stuff the Sunday supplements would kill for."

"What if losing a wallet doesn't delay her?"

"How far can she get without pa.s.sport or money? She'll be stranded and run home-where she should have stayed. The d.a.m.n woman could have had nice regular checks and no ha.s.sle, but she just had to come and see a 'real, quaint English village.'"

Sebastian snorted. "I'll give her quaint."

James chuckled. "The wallet should work. Nice idea, Uncle. I salute you."

"It was Emily's. She lost her wallet and pa.s.sport in Madeira last year and she's still talking about it."

A smirk played on James's pale lips. "Always knew you were attracted to the woman for her mind." He nodded. "I'm off then, Uncle. Got to work out the details of my 'welcome.'"

Top NextSebastian frowned at the closed door. He hadn't told his nephew the half. If this wretched woman arrived and insisted on claiming her property, they'd have problems beyond measure. Once she was in the house... Sebastian pushed his chair from his desk. She couldn't get that far. James's little diversion had to work. If not, they'd have to get awkward, maybe even nasty.

Others stood to lose along with him. Maybe it was time to call in favors.

Chapter One.

Dixie LePage prayed for patience. A train strike! Just her luck! And all because she'd listened to her travel agent, who insisted the train was the best way to travel in England. "Fast, easy, and none of the problems of driving on the wrong side of the road."

She'd tossed over a paying job and flown across the Atlantic on the strength of two letters and a phone call only to find herself stranded. She'd come out of curiosity, the promise of a sudden inheritance, and the prospect of being on a different continent from the man who'd made a fool of her, and was now stuck.

Dixie's plan B: to hire a car and drive the thirty or so miles, might have worked. But half the population of Southern England beat her to it. Her attempts to call Mr. Caughleigh, the lawyer, didn't go too well either. She lacked the necessary small change or a phone card. Resisting the temptation to smash the receiver into the wall, she muttered heavenward.

"Having trouble?" a smooth, very proper British voice asked.

Dixie turned and stared at the bluest eyes she'd seen since her ex-fiance. "It's these stupid phones. There are no proper instructions!" This was unfair, she knew. Directions came in half-a-dozen languages.

"Oh!" Blue Eyes laughed. "American, are you?" What was so amusing about that? "Use your credit card. You do have one, don't you?" His long arm reached too close beside her and a manicured finger pointed at familiar logos. If she hadn't been so wound up, she'd have noticed them herself, Mr. Caughleigh, or "Corly" as the secretary said it, wasn't in. "He'll be in about nine-thirty. I'll tell him you called, Miss LePage."

So much for thinking he could help her.

"Need a ride?"

Blue eyes had lurked while she called. "No, thank you."

"I'm driving into Surrey, perhaps I could drop you somewhere?"

She remembered Gran's warnings about white slavers hovering around train stations. Airports made a good modern equivalent.

"Thank you, I'm fine." She made to walk away.

"Don't trust me?" The idea seemed to amuse him.

"No." She'd never again trust a Norse G.o.d with moussed hair, a plastic smile and shallow blue eyes. She'd learned that much.

The smiling clerk at Travelers' Aid suggested she take a coach to a place with the improbable name of "Leatherhead," a short distance, he claimed, from Bringham. Dixie's image of something out of a Regency romance didn't last long. The coach proved to be nothing more exotic than a long distance bus. The so-called "express" bus made a dozen stops in a couple of hours. Dixie vowed to walk next time. Shoot, there wouldn't be a next time. She should have taken the lawyer's advice and let him sell the house and send her the proceeds. She settled back in the surprisingly comfortable seat and shut her eyes. Time to catch up on lost sleep.

Previous Top Next"I'm sorry but I think you're in my seat." Dixie blinked. The reincarnation of Miss Marple half-smiled at her.

Dixie's neighbor settled with a flurry of packages and a gracious smile and chatted for the next hour. Or rather nattered on while Dixie listened to details of Miss Marple's married son, his wife's taste in kitchen decor and her grandsons' success in football. Dixie knew enough to know she meant soccer, however she did learn that Leatherhead was one word.

"Here's your stop, the same as mine," her neighbor announced and Dixie found herself and her suitcases on the sidewalk.

"Someone picking you up?" her companion asked.

"I thought I could get a taxi." Truth was, she hadn't thought beyond the bus ride and had no idea how far she still had to go.

"I'm going to Bringham."

"Bring'em," she said and Dixie made a mental note to remember to swallow the 'h' like everyone else. She held out a wrinkled but surprisingly strong hand. "I'm Ida Collins. My son will give you a lift. He lives near Bringham. Stanley," she said to the man who'd appeared on the sidewalk with a young boy. "This young lady needs a ride to Bringham. No sense in her wasting money on a taxi."

Stanley took this in his stride. Maybe his mother foisted strangers on him all the time. "If it's not too much trouble..." Dixie began. She figured she'd be safe. Rogues and abductors wouldn't have a small boy trailing behind them.

Stanley grinned. "Nah. We live in East Horsley, it's on the way."

"I've got luggage."

"We've plenty of s.p.a.ce. I brought the Rolls. Mum likes it."

Stanley, with his blue jeans and zippered windbreaker didn't quite fit the Rolls-Royce image, but the coach hadn't matched her imagination either. "Thanks, I'm really grateful. My name's Dixie LePage." She held out her hand.

He took it. "How do you do? Stanley Collins. You've met my mum, Ida, and here's Joey."

Dixie smiled at a small boy, complete with freckles, Dallas Cowboys' sweats.h.i.+rt, and a Chicago Bulls' cap. "h.e.l.lo," he said through a wad of chewing gum.

Settled on the b.u.t.ter-soft leather upholstery, Dixie appreciated why Ida liked the Rolls. "Beautiful car," Dixie said, eying the rosewood dashboard and the soft carpet.

She'd said the right thing. Stanley beamed. "Best one we have. We keep it for weddings mostly-and picking up Mum," he added with a chuckle.

Dixie's jet-lagged mind clicked. "You rent it out?"

"Right you are! Collins Car Hire. That's me. If you ever need a car..."

"I do. Like now. You have regular cars?" She leaned over the high seat back, wide awake at the prospect of transportation.

Stanley grinned. "What's a regular car? I've a nice little Metro on the lot and a Fiesta due back in Sat.u.r.day."

"I'll take whatever you have today." Dixie would have handed over her plastic money there and then.

Stanley chuckled. "You Americans make up your minds quickly.""I made up my mind hours ago. The airport rental companies couldn't deliver."

Stanley grinned. "Cheers then! Let me drop Mum and I'll take you down to the shop."

The Metro turned out to be a small, red car-stick s.h.i.+ft, but Dixie could handle that.

Stanley called Joey over to look at her license. South Carolina driver's licenses were an obvious novelty here. For her address, she gave the one Mr. Caughleigh had written, Orchard House, Bringham. "That's all I have. No street or number I'm afraid."

Stanley's eyebrows almost disappeared under his hair.

"You're living at Orchard House? You bought it or renting or something?"

"I've inherited it. It was my great-aunts'."

"Shees.h.!.+" Stanley muttered between tight lips, his eyes not quite meeting hers. "You're an Underwood?" He made Underwoods sound like roaches.

"My grandmother was. She died just before Faith Underwood."

Stanley Collins sucked in his cheeks and looked Dixie up and down like a secondhand car of doubtful provenance. "I heard there was another sister who ran off with an American during the war."

Gran would laugh at that one. She and Charlie Reilly were married in the Grosvenor Chapel with his commanding officer's blessing, even if Gran's sisters had boycotted the ceremony. "That was my Gran."

Stanley rubbed at an invisible mark on the car hood. "Mentioned this to Mum, did you?"

"It never came up. Did she know my aunts?"

Stanley shrugged and looked away, intent on aligning the winds.h.i.+eld wiper blades. "Everyone knew them. Interesting old ladies but you'd know that."

Dixie shook her head. "Never met them. And Gran never came back here after she married either."

He looked straight at her for twenty long seconds. "Good luck to you then. Now how long would you be wanting the car?"

They agreed on two weeks, or what Stanley called a fortnight and Dixie drove off with directions to Bringham scribbled on the back of an old envelope. She wondered about Stanley's words as she maneuvered the narrow lanes, remembering, most of the time, to stay on the left. A black sports car pa.s.sed with about two inches to spare. Dixie gasped. Had renting a car been such a good idea with drivers like that on narrow roads?

Stanley's directions got her to Bringham in fifteen minutes. It took longer than that to find a parking place. The packed High Street stretched for fifty yards, a snarled ma.s.s of cars, pedestrians and baby carriages. At one point, it was blocked by a baker's van. Dixie looked around as she waited, fascinated by the narrow street and the old buildings. A wool shop and its neighboring florist had bow windows and paneled doors that hinted of hooped petticoats and reticules. On the opposite side of the street, a modern grocery store sat next to a Tudor tea shop. Definitely a street to explore on foot.

She parked in an impossibly narrow s.p.a.ce in a crowded "car park" hidden behind the grocery store. Actually getting out of the car involved gymnastic feats, and she eased herself sideways between her car and the large BMW beside her.

Mr. Caughleigh's address was Mayburn House, 29 High Street. That shouldn't be too hard to find. A narrow alley led from the car park to High Street, and a sign on the fence asked, "Have you paid and displayed?""Paid and displayed what?" Dixie muttered to herself, a vaguely obscene image coming to mind.

"You're American," a cheery voice announced.

Dixie turned. A young woman pus.h.i.+ng a stroller loaded with two toddlers and groceries stood at her elbow. "You were thinking aloud. Pay and Display. It's for parking." She slowed her voice as if talking to a child. "You did park in the car park didn't you?" Dixie nodded. "You have to pay." She led Dixie to a yellow machine. It needed 1 and 50p coins.

"I don't have change. I'll have to skip it and take my chances with the fine."

"You can't do that! The fine's fifty pounds."

Fifty pounds? She had to be kidding. Seventy or eighty dollars for a parking fine? What did you pay for speeding?

The smallest thing Dixie had was a ten-pound note. Minutes later, Dixie had a five pound note, five heavy coins, and had learned the intricacies of the parking system. A small round coin paid for an hour's parking. She received a large seven-sided coin for change and a ticket with small print giving precise directions for placing it on the inside of the driver's window.

Dixie squeezed between her car and the BMW, unlocked her door and set off the alarm. Silencing it took a good three minutes of searching for the manual and finding the right page. Why hadn't Stanley explained this instead of all the stuff about dipped headlights and winds.h.i.+eld wipers?

To Dixie's surprise, the pa.s.sersby ignored the siren. She wished she could and finally emerged, red-faced, after slapping the ticket on the window.

Mayburn House wasn't the gracious Georgian structure she'd expected, but a yellow-brick building housing a baker and an "off-licence." The latter looked like a liquor store. A bra.s.s plate by the front door announced "Woodrow, Harts...o...b..and Caughleigh. Solicitors and Commissioners for Oaths." Oaths fit Dixie's mood right now. At the top of the uncarpeted stairs, a gla.s.s paneled door stood ajar.

"I'd like to see Mr. Caughleigh," Dixie said as she pushed open the door.

A secretary glanced up from her typewriter, flicked her purple nails and asked, "Do you have an appointment?"

"Mr. Caughleigh's expecting me."

"You need an appointment," she repeated, tapping her artificial nails.

The click of her long nails snapped Dixie's nerves. Planting both hands on the desktop, she leaned over until they were nose to nose. "My name is Dixie LePage. I flew in this morning from the States. Mr. Caughleigh is expecting me. I wrote to him and left a message this morning. Tell him I'm here."

Secretary blinked her impossibly long eyelashes, pulled her shoulders back and pursed her mouth. "I'll see if he's in," she said and teetered across to the inner office.

m.u.f.fled voices sounded through the closed door. Dixie regretted her temper but gave Caughleigh five minutes before she pushed open the door herself. She took a deep breath and looked around the room. Battles.h.i.+p gray filing cabinets looked old enough to house secrets from World War I. Stacks of old deed boxes with faded names covered two walls and both chairs by the window appeared to have been quietly fading since the sixties.

"Miss LePage, I'm delighted to meet you at last." Dixie's images of a d.i.c.kensian lawyer were way off base. Manicured hand extended, Sebastian Caughleigh looked down at her, all six foot one of him, with bedroom eyes and a smile that could melt b.u.t.ter."You had a good flight, I trust," he said in a too-smooth voice.