"No, I don't." In fact, the more she thought about it, the less she followed.

"I'm sorry, Dixie," he repeated.

"What for?"

"For dragging you into this mess. For abusing your kindness and presuming on your goodwill. For yanking you up here when you should have been safe in Bringham watching TV or drinking Guinness in the Barley Mow." He paused to run his fingers through his dark hair.

Dixie jumped in. "Now, wait a minute! Everything I've done since the moment I found you Monday, I chose to do! I decided! I could have left you there. I didn't. I got you out of the sun. I scoured Leatherhead for those hideous chicken livers. I agreed to drive you up here. So quit telling me you push all the b.u.t.tons."

His closed mouth curled at the corners. His eye darkened. "Dixie, you could no more have walked away from a person in pain than you could stroll naked down High Street. It's not in you. You're out of your depth and you're not thinking straight."

"And you are?"

"I have a better memory and clearer understanding of the situation."

"Oh, yeah? How much do you remember? You were pretty far gone when we arrived."

"I remember. And you'd best forget. You need to go back to Bringham and forget you ever knew me."

"Just like that." Her body didn't know whether to sweat or shake, so it did both.

"Dixie, listen. I don't want to hurt you."

"For someone who's not trying, you're doing a darn good job!"

He ran both hands through his hair and then reached out as if to touch her, but pulled back. "I owe you my existence, Dixie.

You gave me back life. No mortal has ever done that, and you did it without question, but we've got to get things straight."

"I've spent the last few hours completely rearranging my ideas of truth and fantasy and you tell me to get things straight. Maybe I can't."

"Then I will." His clenched fists brought up the muscles in his forearms. His forehead creased and his eyebrows almost met. "It's simple. You're mortal. I'm a vampire. There can't be anything between us. Go on back to Bringham and forget you ever knew me. Put Tom Kyd, Justin Corvus and Kit Marlowe back into the mist of history and get on with your life."

"That all?" His words still hammered against her ears and her heart pounded inside her ribs.

He sighed as if he'd climbed Everest in the last fifteen minutes. "Dixie, you have to understand. They tried to extinguish me.

They'd have succeeded without you. As it is, that coven is just a group of minor magicians, dabbling in the dark. If they'd taken my power, who knows what might have happened. I have to stay hidden-for years maybe. It's the only way."

A cold empty hole opened up inside. She'd just found him and was losing him before she really knew him.

His arms went around her like warm bands of steel. She rubbed her cheek against the roughness of his linen s.h.i.+rt as his hand smoothed the top of her head. "If I had power or knowledge to do it differently, I would. It's the only way Dixie, for both of us."She couldn't argue. Talking to Justin and Tom had more than convinced her they came from different worlds. But what of it?

That couldn't ease the pain under her ribs. "I'll miss you. What am I going to do without you?"

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Go back home, to South Carolina, meet a good, honorable mortal and live happily ever after." She didn't want to tell him she'd tried that route once-and got herself a rat. His arms tightened. "If you leave now, you'll get back before too late."

He really meant it. At least his words did, even if his arms said otherwise. She pulled back and looked up at him. She wanted to speak but the words just jammed up in her throat. Arm round her shoulders, Christopher led her through the hall, toward the sitting room and the French doors. "No one must ever know what happened Monday. Never mention it. Just leave Bringham as soon as you can. And don't let Caughleigh get close. The man's bad news."

Was he jealous? No. Sensible. "Don't worry about him. I'd rather have a toothache than another evening with him. I'll ask Vernon to come with me, if we have another Whist Drive."

He chuckled. He had a very s.e.xy chuckle and she'd never hear it again.

"I'm going to miss you like h.e.l.l."

"Who's swearing now?"

"It's justified." He was darn lucky she wasn't howling and clinging.

"Here." She looked down. A jeweler's box filled his hand. "Take it. I want you to remember me." She flicked open the velvet lid. A smooth black oval, set in silver, gleamed up at her from the white satin lining. "Whitby Jet. From the earth that gives us all life." She only half-heard him. "Here." He took it out of her hand and fixed it around her neck. The heavy silver chain was longer than she expected and the stone hung between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Wear it and think of me."

Something caught inside her. "Is this really necessary, Christopher? Can't you stay here, and I'll come up and see you?"

She knew he'd shake his head. "I won't be here. This is the only way, my love. For both of us."

His arms pulled her close against the strong wall of his chest, and the hard lines of his body. She moaned as his mouth met hers and her moan turned to a sigh of delight as the warmth of his tongue met hers. Her heart ached at the prospect of loss and emptiness.

She was in the car. He'd shut her door. She turned the key in the ignition. The black garage door went up and she steered out into the street. As she drove away, a cold loneliness enveloped her like an arctic mist.

Chapter Nine.

Christopher swallowed two gla.s.ses of port without tasting them and poured himself a third.

"It won't help. We don't intoxicate like mortals." He didn't need Justin pointing out what he already knew any more than he'd needed Tom reminding him he had to separate from Dixie-for her survival, if he cared nothing about his own. He tossed back the contents of his gla.s.s and reached for the decanter.

Previous Top Next"Go easy, on it, Kit!" Tom said and reached out to reclaim his port, but he drew back his hand at a glance from Justin.

Justin shook his head at Tom. "Let him. Sometimes we remember enough of being mortal to let the alcohol ease the pain."

Justin knew. He'd recovered from a broken heart. But why had he never warned how much it burned and seared the remnants of your soul?

"You did the right thing, Kit. The only thing."

Kit ignored Tom and swirled the red liquid in his gla.s.s before swallowing it in one gulp. After Dixie's lifeblood, it tasted like straw.

"She took the jet?" Justin asked.

Kit nodded. "She's wearing it."

"The connection to the earth will protect her from the worst heartbreak, but it won't be easy for her."

Thanks, Justin! Rub it in!" Kit refilled his gla.s.s and wondered why he bothered. "I know," he said, looking over the rim of his gla.s.s. "I did the right thing-the only thing. There's no reason for them to connect her with me. My disappearance will be a nine-days' wonder until someone gets pregnant or runs off with the curate's wife. Then Bringham will forget Kit Marlowe ever existed.

"She even covered my tracks with the blasted coven." He liked that touch. The coven thought him incinerated. He could rest for several years and then find a new place to call home. That way she'd be safe. Caughleigh and his cronies had no reason on earth to harm her, and if she left as soon as possible, she'd be secure.

"We'll watch over her." They would. When had Justin ever let him down?

"You couldn't have told her the whole truth."

Tom was right. If Dixie had any notion of Sebastian's involvement, she'd be pounding up the stairs to his office demanding retribution. Better to let her stay ignorant.

After getting lost twice and being stuck in seemingly endless traffic, it was almost ten by the time she reached Bringham. The lights of the Barley Mow gleamed like a homing beacon, a welcome stop before facing an empty house. Dixie wanted food, a cool Guinness, and human company, "human" being the operative word.

"Left it a bit late, didn't you, my dear?" Alf said as he handed her a half-pint. "Almost closing time."

"I've been in London." If she needed an alibi, here was as good a place as any to start it.

"Better off than staying here. It's been a rotten night."

"I was hoping to eat. Can I get something to go?"

Alf c.o.c.ked his head on one side. "To go? You mean takeaway? I'll see what I can do. It's been busy here without Vemon. I'll spiflicate him when he turns up."

"What happened to Vemon?"

"Lord knows. Never arrived for work Monday and he doesn't answer his phone. I'll advertise his job if he doesn't show up tomorrow."As she drained her gla.s.s, a foil-wrapped package appeared. "One cheese and chutney 'to go,'" he said with a grin.

Dixie tucked the package under her arm and added a couple of bottles of Guinness for good measure. Sitting in the bar brought back too many memories of Christopher. Better go home.

She slid between the worn linen sheets, tented the covers over her knees and dropped crumbs on the crocheted cover as she munched down on her sandwich. Flipping the lid off her last Guinness, she questioned the wisdom of three in one night but swigged it down anyway.

She felt under her breast for the carefully-taped dressing. She'd have a scar there forever, and a worse one where it wouldn't show. But Christopher was safe.

Fuzzy headed from alcohol, heartache and fatigue, she snuggled down under the covers. As she drifted off into sleep, two thoughts struck her: she was in love with a vampire and she still had twenty-five pounds of ripening chicken liver in her pantry.

The next morning she buried the chicken livers between the gooseberry bushes and the raspberries. She was raking the earth smooth when Emma walked in the gate. "Just came to see how the delivering's going."

Dixie hadn't given it a thought. She'd been very definitely otherwise occupied. "I planned on doing them this afternoon."

Emma smiled. "Shouldn't take too long. It's just from here down to the station and the houses behind you. You won't have to walk up to Dial Cottage now. That's one saved."

"What do you mean?" How could she know?

"You don't know? How you slept through all those fire engines beats me."

"What fire engines?"

"Monday night, or maybe Tuesday morning."

"I was up in London. With a friend."

"Anyone I know?"

She'd have to be careful. Whatever she told Emma would be broadcast on the village telegraph by lunchtime. "A friend from college."

"Was he worth it?" Emma asked, eyes glinting with curiosity as heat rushed to Dixie's cheeks. "You're a quiet one. Here we were, thinking you did nothing but work in your house, and you've got a man up in town! When are you bringing him down to show him off?"

"He's leaving for the States soon." Gran had been right. One lie did lead to another. Time to change the subject. "What happened Monday night?"

"Oh, a proper knees-up, it was. Fire engines all over the place. Two of them came right past the lane here. We watched the fire from our bedroom. Dial cottage burned to the ground. They never got Christopher out. Seems he was smoking in bed and set the place on fire."

Christopher hadn't died in the fire Monday night. They'd soon find that out without her help. She couldn't tell the truth. She didn't know the whole truth.Dixie headed out with Emma's list and a sheaf of St. Michael's Trumpets. She had a valid excuse to knock on total strangers'

doors and tap the village fondness for gossip.

Taking the opportunity to chat at each house, she asked leading questions about the Dial Cottage fire and learned nothing new.

Except that people disagreed about the exact number of fire engines.

Dixie walked up the lane towards Christopher's Cottage. The walls were still standing, but not a pane remained intact in a single window. The wide roof beams that had outlasted storm, winds and the Luftwaffe stood charred and naked against the blackened trees. Crisscrossed footprints marked the once-smooth lawn, and feet or hoses had flattened plants and broken shrubs. A line of blue and white police tape framed the desolation.

"Madam, you can't go in there. It's an investigation area." Dixie turned at the shout. Sergeant Grace stood at the corner of the ruin with two men. "Miss Page, isn't it?"

"LePage."

"Just the person we need."

"Miss LePage," the tallest man said, "I'm Detective-Inspector Jones and this is Detective-Sergeant Wyatt." The other man nodded but didn't smile. Jones looked at the sheaf of blue papers in her arms. "I wouldn't bother to leave one of those. He won't read it now."

"You're right." Her eyes strayed to the charred sh.e.l.l that had been Christopher's home.

"I gather you knew Mr. Marlowe. Perhaps you can help us," Jones said.

Dixie looked at Sergeant Grace and his two companions. They didn't carry guns. They didn't have badges. They looked like a pair of accountants. So why did cold apprehension settle like a lump of lead in her chest?

"You saw quite a bit of Mr. Marlowe I understand," Jones said. "Did you go out with him?"

What was this, the morals police? "I don't quite follow you." Heck, she was catching Britspeak.

"Don't take it the wrong way, Miss LePage," Wyatt said. "We just need to find someone who knew his habits and ways.

Everyone seemed to know him, but no one knew anything about him, so to speak. We thought perhaps..." He left the rest unsaid.

"You think I know more than people who've known him for years?" She wanted to choke. She did know more, and there was no way she'd tell.

Jones nodded. "You wouldn't happen to know his doctor or dentist would you?" Dixie shook her head. They were on different wavelengths. "Pity. We need them to help identify the body."

How could there be a body? "I've no idea."

"Not to worry, Miss LePage," Grace a.s.sured her. "We'll find them. Can't be too many doctors who have one-legged patients."