Kit Marlowe braced himself for the scent of human blood that waited on the other side of the closed door. He seldom came to the Barley Mow, but it was the best place for local gossip. He grasped the k.n.o.b, remembering to hold it gently-no point in mangling doork.n.o.bs and getting unwanted attention. He stepped into the crowded bar, every nerve and sense alert and watchful. He froze. She was in here. He knew it. Nonsense! His senses hadn't developed that well. He might sense a known quarry when he hunted, but not this unknown Miss LePage. Besides, he wasn't hunting her. His only interest in her was an invitation into her house. The village telegraph claimed she'd arrived but the house was as deserted as ever.

Why did he sense her so keenly? Was she one of them? A member of another colony? Maybe. If Justin was to be believed, Vlad Tepes had half-populated the States with his offspring, but only mortals filled the crowded bar. He'd have scented one of his own kind immediately. He glanced around, nodding at familiar faces, noting the visitors, and found her almost at once.

Why? He just knew her the minute he saw her, sitting alone with a book. Auburn curls fell across her face as she read. He had a glimpse of smooth skin and a creamy hollow at the base of her neck. He sensed, scented the richness of her and forced himself to concentrate on the task in hand. He couldn't afford distractions. No matter how desirable.

A man walked across the bar to her table. Eyes green as church window gla.s.s looked up from beneath silky lashes. Angry eyes in a calm, cold face. Given the man standing over her, he didn't blame her. Caughleigh's nephew! She had brains equal to her looks if she already disliked Chadwick. She wrinkled her nose as if a.s.sailed by an unsavory smell. Kit smiled to himself, noted the gla.s.s she clutched like a weapon, and crossed to Vernon at the bar.

Close up, her skin had the bloom of early roses. The pulse at the base of her neck beat in perfect rhythm beneath flawless skin.

She smelled of night air, lavender soap, and human blood. She never even noticed him. Her attention was focused on Chadwick. Her irritation was focused on Chadwick. The quiet thud of heavy gla.s.s on wood broke the tension as Kit put a new Guinness in front of her.

"Here you are, sorry it took so long."

She looked up. "River emeralds" was a better description for her eyes. Such sensuality didn't belong in any church window.

She gaped when he put the second gla.s.s on the table. He let her gape and turned his will on Chadwick. He wasn't hard to bend.

"Marlowe? You're with her? I... I never... I didn't... didn't realize." His pale eyes popped like a demented Pekingese.

"Really?" One word. That was all it took.

"Didn't know you were with Dixie. See you later." James grabbed his tankard and disappeared into the crush.

Kit took the empty seat. "May I join you?"

She looked straight at him, chin up, her brows creased, studying him like a specimen. She met him eye to eye without faltering, a flicker of amus.e.m.e.nt twitching the corner of her mouth. Was she mere mortal? With a presence like this? With her ancestry, who knew?

"Suppose I say no?"

"Suppose I retire and give Chadwick another chance?""Too late, he just left."

"I'm desolate."

"I'll bet you are! You chased him off deliberately. What if you've destroyed a great romance?"

He liked her sense of humor. "I didn't."

The corner of her mouth tightened. He'd infuriated her. Women hadn't changed no matter how much the world had. "What makes you so sure?"

Elbows on table, he rested his chin on his hand. "I could smell the antagonism between you."

She opened her mouth to complain. Then shook her head and smiled as their eyes met. "Could you also smell too much beer?"

"Any amount is too much for Chadwick." He leaned back in the chair and watched her, willing himself to ignore the warm blood singing through her veins. "You despise him."

She shook her head. "I wouldn't go that far. He irked me the first time I met him. He isn't my type. You can't despise someone you've only known one day."

"It's possible. Trust your instincts."

"Yes, much safer than trusting a stranger who tries to pick me up in a pub." She looked around as Vernon thumped a plate down in front of her.

Her dinner. Good. A nice distraction. Dixie stared at the plate in front of her. A jacket potato was baked, without sour cream.

She wanted to eat and read in peace. Fat chance. Man number two was a distinct improvement over James but anything would be. Dixie mashed b.u.t.ter into her potato as she thought about the tall man sitting opposite. He wasn't that tall. He just blocked out the rest of the room with his broad shoulders, black turtleneck and black slacks. All he lacked was the black hat to complete the villain outfit. But he had disposed of James Chadwick for her. That was a definite recommendation. Even if he looked like Long John Silver with his eye patch.

"Bon appet.i.t," he said.

She looked him straight in the eye. Straight in his one eye, dark and warm as velvet. "You're going to sit there and watch me eat?"

The corner of his eye wrinkled. Was he smiling? "You'd rather I left?" Placing his hands flat on the polished tabletop, he made to stand.

"No!" She grabbed his wrist. Stunned at her action, she met his eye again. This time the smile was unmistakable.

He looked down at the hand circling his wrist. "I'll stay, if you insist. Why don't you eat before it gets cold?"

Dixie didn't think she'd ever be cold again. But he was.

His wrist felt cold and dry. Hardly surprising, the night was cool. Hadn't she gone back for a sweats.h.i.+rt? She took her hand off his wrist. "I've no idea who you are."

"The name's Marlowe, Christopher Marlowe." Dixie noticed a silver signet ring with a black stone on his offered hand.

Long, cold fingers met hers. Strong, cold fingers. "Here to meet Will Shakespeare?" His fingers stiffened in her hand. His brow wrinkled. "Sorry. It just slipped out. I bet everyone you meet makes that crack."

"You're not the first." He smiled. He had a very nice smile. She wasn't about to think about his smile. Or the goose b.u.mps 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 gla.s.s. "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." Rea.s.surances 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 b.u.mps 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 s.h.i.+mmering 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 facade, 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 gra.s.s, 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 cl.u.s.ter of outbuildings huddled over by a high brick wall. Deep Previous Top Nextshadows 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 gra.s.s 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 home. Are you alright? You're shaking." Strong hands gripped her shoulders.

That last bit was true. She shook from her knees to the shoulders he held. Dixie stepped back from his hands and looked sideways. They stood in a narrow, unpaved lane. Behind her loomed the high brick wall and ahead, distant lights from the new houses glimmered through the trees.

He stepped closer. "Something scared you. What are you doing here at this time of night?"

"Looking at my house." Had he been the intruder? He'd been suspiciously close but he wasn't breathing heavily.

After that sprint across the garden, a marathoner would be wheezing. "You really live out this way? You said you lived by the station."

"It's a shortcut." One hand went back to her shoulders. "You shouldn't be wandering around here after dark. It's not safe for a woman."

She'd ignore that. "Someone was there, in the house. I saw a light. He ran out this way."

"And you thought it was me?"

How did she answer that one? She still did-halfway. "There's no one else."

"I promise it wasn't me. I don't wander around empty houses by torchlight."

"You think I imagined it?" Let him dare answer yes.

"No. It's probably some teenager braving out a dare. The house is supposed to be haunted. You likely interrupted some lad's attempt at machismo. This time I am walking you home. You're scared and it's not wise to wander around after dark."

She let him walk her back to Emily's. Familiar with the path, he warned about roots and hazards hidden by the shadows.

Crossing the edge of the Green, he took her elbow. "There's a dip here, watch out," he said. She stopped and explore with her foot. There was a hollow, deep enough to trip on but hidden by the gra.s.s.

"How did you know?" she asked, looking up at his pale face in the moonlight.