Keep Me Forever

by Rosemary Laurey

Genres: Paranormal Romance

Synopsis

Rosemary Laurey is back with another wickedly delicious tale of love, lust, and the otherworldly with a new, and decidedly sexy, twist. . . Some Guys Are Real Animals. . . Antonia Stonewright isn't about to change her views on love. A sexy mortal companion is fine every now and then, but a soul mate? A partner for life? Please. She was burned once, and hundreds of years haven't healed the wounds. But reclusive potter Michael Langton is. . .different. His gorgeous wares are perfect for her new art gallery--and his gorgeous body is perfect for her. She can't get enough of his toned muscles or his amazing, dark eyes. Their nights together make them both purr with pleasure--except in Michael's case, purring comes naturally. So much for finding a regular boyfriend. Antonia has a truly sexy beast on her hands. . . "Great stuff!" -- Romantic Times on Kiss Me Forever/Love Me Forever

Release date: April 1, 2006

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

“This is it!” Antonia Stonewright announced, opening the wide front door. “What do you think?”

Elizabeth Connor looked around the beautifully proportioned hall; the wide, curved staircase with its shallow, broad steps; and the airy drawing room just visible through the half-open door to her right. “It’s absolutely lovely. No wonder Dixie hated to leave.”

“Part of me thinks it a shame to use it for base moneymaking activities, but heck, we’ve tried for a year to rent it out with no luck. Seems the locals consider it tainted.”

“That oily estate agent said as much.”

Antonia creased her high forehead. She’d been as unimpressed with Mike Jenkins as Elizabeth had. “Nasty little snirp, wasn’t he? Mind you, he was helpful—dealing with painters and electricians and so forth. No doubt made a little on the side, but it’s done.” She walked across the polished floor and opened wide the double doors into the drawing room. “This is going to be one of the main sales rooms.”

The only furniture was the built-in corner cabinets. “When are the tables and other stuff coming?”

“In the next couple of weeks. Sooner, if we’re lucky. We’ve still got the outside work to do. Dismantling some old buildings and removing an air raid shelter left over from the Second World War and expanding the stables to make the tearoom.”

“And when will that get done?”

“Right away, now that I’m here.”

Elizabeth didn’t doubt it. Vampires had a way of getting what they wanted. “Want to unload the computers and so forth?”

“Might as well. We don’t have an audience, so we can work at our own speed. We can set up our office in the breakfast room.”

Elizabeth threw open the back doors of the van. It was packed to the roof with desks, computers, a printer, and filing cabinet, everything Antonia deemed necessary to set up a temporary office. “We should have taken sleazy Jenkins up on his offer to come out to the house with us. He could have helped heave this little lot. He did offer to help whenever we needed, didn’t he?” Elizabeth couldn’t resist a grin. The man had fairly oozed at them. “We could call him over. He’d make dinner for you.”

“Spare me! I’m particular where I put my fangs.”

Antonia was particular about everything, including the exact positioning of desks to avoid direct sunlight from the French windows. And she was not happy that the promised phone line was not connected. “Make that the first priority in the morning,” she told Elizabeth. “That and internet connection. I’m getting this show on the road if I have to throw glamors over half the population.”

They had everything set up in time that would have left mortals blinking. Antonia surveyed the room with grudging satisfaction. “At least it looks as if we mean business. I’ll drop you at the car hire place, and we can meet back at the hotel.”

“Let me see the attics Dixie mentioned first.” Antonia obviously didn’t like the idea. Too bad! It hadn’t been that long since the entire vamp colony had been very happy to have a witch on their side.

Antonia followed her into the kitchen and up the narrow staircase, concealed behind a door. At first sight they were in two attics with pitched ceilings and tiny windows overlooking the garden, but…Elizabeth looked around. The shelves were bare, but in the middle of the floor sat three packing cases addressed to her. She pulled one open, delved in the shredded packing, and pulled out a jar with spidery, dark handwriting on a yellow label. She was actually looking at mandrake root. Bless Dixie! She had it all packed up as promised. Elizabeth pulled out half a dozen jars—some almost empty; others containing shriveled contents, ground powders, desiccated leaves or petals—before realizing Antonia was watching with a wry expression. “I’ve never before had a chance to actually go through an old-time herbalist’s storeroom.”

“Don’t forget the lot you inherited this from were more than little old lady herbalists.”

“I know, but not all of this is harmful. Look, this is arnica. Used to heal bruises and aches.” She set the jar on the table and smiled at Antonia. “You’ll be telling me next that your mother kept all this on her kitchen shelves.”

Antonia smiled. “No, ghoul. My father had a skilled herbalist in his service. My mother spent her time trying to convert my father to her newfangled Christianity.”

That was a conversation for another day. “What am I going to do with all this? Have it sent on to Tom’s, I suppose.” They were eventually converting these attics and the kitchen into the caretaker’s accommodation.

Not often Antonia laughed, but that tickled her funny bone. “Better warn him first. On the other hand, since he’s sleeping with a witch, he can’t be too put out at…”

“Stow it!” Inelegant, yes, but really, vamps did have a tendency to intrude.

“You mean you’re not sleeping with him?” Antonia deserved a shove in the ribs for that, but no point in risking breaking an elbow. “We don’t actually sleep that much,” Elizabeth replied with a grin. “I only need a couple of hours a night, assuming I feed, and talking about feeding, I really need to before I go meet the Collins’s. Don’t want to get dizzy driving.”

“Think you can last while we check the rest of the house?”

She could.

They went through every room: The long drawing room with sliding doors that gave onto a parlor that looked over the back garden and caught the morning sun. The dining room paneled in exquisite pear wood with beautiful built-in china cabinets and a vast mirror in the overmantel that Antonia avoided. Upstairs were five rooms, and the old book room still lined with shelves. “We can take those out if we need too,” Antonia said, “but I keep hoping we can find a bookseller to join us.”

They ended up in the kitchen with its vast Aga and delft-tiled fireplace. “We are keeping those, aren’t we?” Elizabeth asked. Seemed a shame to yank them out.

“Yes, but not here. The Aga will be a feature in the tearoom. Not sure what to do with the tiles.” She frowned a little as if thinking. “I knew a potter once. Dutch. Refugee. Odd people, potters.” Elizabeth was tempted to ask when and a refugee from which war? But Antonia ran her hand through her short hair and said, “Let’s grab something for you to eat and then get you a car.”

They were heading for the door when the bell chimed. Antonia opened the door to a smiling, bright-faced young woman in the advanced stages of pregnancy. “I’m Emma Gordon,” she said. “One of your neighbors. I nipped in to say hello and bring you a basket of goodies. I thought with moving in, you’d like something to nibble on.”

If the fates were kind, there would be meat in the basket of goodies. “How nice of you,” Elizabeth said. “You live close?” This had to be the Emma Dixie had mentioned.

“Next door but two. Just past the new semidetached. That’s us. I thought you could use a cup of tea. There’s a thermos in there and cups. I know what it’s like moving. We just moved half our stuff next door, and it took me ages to find spoons and spare socks.”

“Won’t you come in and join us?” Antonia asked. “We’ve not much furniture, but we’ve desks and chairs.”

It didn’t take long to unpack Emma’s basket of goodies and pour tea.

“You moved next door?” Elizabeth asked. Seemed odd.

“We needed the space. Where we are used to be a terrace of four cottages. Then they got converted into two houses. We bought ours when Peter was born. This”—she patted her bump—“will be numbers four and five. Plus I run a catering business—you’ve got a few samples there.” She nodded toward the basket. “So, when our next door neighbor moved away, we got a truly frightening mortgage and bought the other half. It’s brilliant. We have bedrooms and to spare, and a wonderfully massive kitchen for the business.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Ian says I have the shortest commute to work in history: downstairs and turn left.”

Elizabeth took a sip of tea. “The catering business sounds fantastic, but a heck of a lot of work. How old are your children?”

“The eldest is in school. The other two in a play group this afternoon, and when they’re not, I have a wonderful au pair, Nina from Sweden.” The scent of meat from the basket was getting close to overwhelming. Steak, from what it smelled like. “She’s fantastic, and the sprogs love her, and even better, listen to her,” she paused. “That’s enough about me. If you ever need food for a party or dinner, my phone number and price list is in the basket.”

“I’ve heard great things about your food.” Elizabeth said.

Emma stared. “Was it Mike Jenkins?”

“No.” Might not be the moment for this, but who knew? “It was Dixie.” She went on in the face of Emma’s shock. “Dixie LePage.”

“You know her!”

Elizabeth tamped down the guilt at causing shock to a pregnant woman. “I met her in the US, by chance as it happened.” That much was true. “We got talking, and she mentioned she had a house in the south of England she was trying to sell. I knew Antonia was looking for somewhere near here, so here we are. She told us a lot about Bringham and mentioned several names, including yours.” Hopefully prolonged shock wasn’t harmful to pregnant women.

“I’ll be blowed!” Emma let out a little gasp. “You’re American too, aren’t you?” At Elizabeth’s nod, Emma went on. “Talk about a small world. I’ve so many questions to ask, I don’t honestly know where to start but…Is she alright?”

More than alright, but Emma didn’t need to know all that. “Fine. She’s living in Ohio and running her own business. Gave us a lot of helpful information about Bringham. I got the impression she had mixed feelings about selling, this being family property.”

Emma jumped right on the hint. “I’m not surprised. She loved it here, but after all that happened…” she broke off. “I shouldn’t really gossip, but…”

“Yes?” Antonia prompted. “She mentioned a spot of bother.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “‘Spot’ doesn’t begin to describe it. Honest. While she was here, we had the most excitement in Bringham since a German bomber pilot parachuted onto the common back in the middle of World War II.” She paused to take another drink of tea. “In a nutshell, we had arson, murder, a mysterious disappearance, and one of the village worthies going bonkers and accusing himself and half the village of heaven knows what. Some of it turned out to be true. Most of it got written off as lunatic ravings. You wouldn’t believe some of the tales that got out. Witches, vampires…”

Elizabeth met Antonia’s eyes. They had no trouble believing. “All settled down now though?” Antonia asked.

Emma nodded. “Pretty much. Did cause a lot of upheaval though. Disturbed a few lives. My neighbor Sally moved after Sebastian, the solicitor who went loony, accused her and a number of others of helping to murder someone. Nothing was ever proven, but it was a nine days’ wonder while it lasted.”

“I bet it was,” Elizabeth said. “Anything interesting happened since then?”

“Not much,” Emma replied. “One of the school teachers broke her leg on the ice last winter; there was a big debate over the new sign in front of the Barley Mow, and a couple of people claimed to have seen the Surrey puma.”

“The Surrey puma?” Antonia asked.

Emma laughed. “Our local big wildcat. Frankly, I think it’s a stray dog or sheep. Heck, it’s been seen at intervals since my mum was a girl. I doubt pumas in the wild live that long. Every so often, someone sees a stray dog or a sheep, usually at dusk when visibility is poor, and Bob’s your uncle, everyone digs up the old stories, and off we go again.” She stood up. “I must go. Only popped over to say hello. Enjoy what’s in the basket.”

“Thanks for the goodies,” Elizabeth said. “They really are welcome.” More than this mortal could ever guess.

“Enjoy. It’s really just a not too subtle way of pushing my wares. Oh, is it true you’re opening a craft market and center here?”

“Yes. We plan to open in September and be in full swing for Christmas. We’re going to be selective, but if you know any local artists or craftspeople who might be interested, spread the word.”

“I will.” She frowned as if thinking. “The vicar’s mother-in-law does watercolors of kittens and puppies, but I don’t think they’re the sort of thing you’re after.” Antonia tactfully nodded. Emma went on, “There’s the Misses Black. Old, old ladies—one’s almost blind, but they do knitting. Some of it is beautiful. And you might want to contact Michael Langton. His stuff has been in galleries and shows in Town.”

“A painter?” Antonia asked, not recognizing the name.

“A potter. Lives out on the edge of the common. A bit of a recluse, but he does make beautiful stuff. Someone gave us one of his lamps as a wedding present.”

“We’ll check him out,” Elizabeth said.

“Bye.”

As the door closed on Emma, Elizabeth made a pounce for the basket. A baguette filled with slices of rare steak and a packet of chicken goujons disappeared as she wolfed them down. “Sorry,” she said, wiping her mouth on one of the neatly folded napkins tucked in the side of the basket. “The smell was driving me crazy. Hadn’t realized how much I needed food.”

Antonia gave her a wry look. “I’m glad you managed to contain yourself. Might have put Emma off a bit, finding her nice new neighbors gnawed their food.”

“Darn tasty—for cooked meat, that is. Mind you, who are you to talk? Good thing she didn’t peek in the cooler you have in the kitchen.”

“True,” Antonia agreed. “With people coming in and out, we’d better get a fridge and keep it in the attics over the kitchen. We can leave those rooms untouched for a while.”

Elizabeth nodded as she gathered up the remains of the picnic basket: fruit tarts, some sort of pâte and crackers, and a generous bowl of salad. “Pity we have to toss these. If Sam were here, he’d make short work of them.”

“But since he and Stella aren’t due for another week…”

“I know, I know. It’s just Adela did such a job on me about not wasting anything in the Universe.” Elizabeth sighed, thinking how much she really missed her stepmother.

“Out of curiosity,” Antonia asked, “was the food good?”

“Yeah! Very good, in fact. I’m not that great on sausage rolls, but those were good, and the chicken was delicious.”

“Good enough to consider for our tearoom?”

Why not? “Definitely. She does catering after all, and heck, this would be convenient for her.”

“Better keep her in mind.” Antonia glanced out of the French windows. “Assuming it ever gets built.”

“It will! Use your vampire mind control if they drag their feet.”

That got her a raised eyebrow. “Isn’t it time we checked into the hotel? Let’s do that, then go over to Collins Car Hire. I need transport.”

 

“Monica’s gone to get the boys from school,” the gray-haired woman said, watching Elizabeth with sharp, intelligent eyes. “She left the keys and the forms for you to sign. I can take care of it if you’ll give me your license.”

Elizabeth put her license and credit card on the counter—her real ones, now recovered at long last—and waved at Antonia through the open door. If she had fridge buying to do, no point in waiting, and besides, on her own, Elizabeth might find inclined to chat a bit.

“You must be Ida Collins.”

The woman looked up from studying the license, raised a gray eyebrow, and nodded. “I am. This was my son’s business. I help my daughter-in-law with it now. American, aren’t you?” Elizabeth agreed, she was. “You bought Orchard House?”

“No, my employer did. I’m just going to be working down here, so I’ll need a car.”

“Is your employer American?”

“Antonia? No, she’s British.” No need to say just how ancient a Briton she was.

Ida copied down the license number. “After the previous owner, I wondered. She was American, you know?”

“I do. It was through Dixie that I learned about the house being on the market.”

“I wish your employer better luck than the last owner.” Ida pushed the license back across the counter. Elizabeth closed her hand over the plastic rectangle and hesitated, hoping Ida would say more.

She didn’t.

“Dixie didn’t talk much about Bringham. Said just that she’d inherited the house from distant relatives and they sounded like local characters.”

“Characters!” Ida almost spat it out. “Nasty, tightfisted, spiteful old bisoms they were.” She paused as if about to say more. Elizabeth waited, but Ida had gone silent.

“Dixie mentioned finding books on herb lore and Wicca in the house.”

As a conversational probe, that wasn’t much help. Ida nodded. “Those two were always up to something.”

“And according to Dixie, they blatantly ignored the Reede to do harm to none.” That earned her a sharp look, but nothing more. Ida just finished filling in the forms and reached over to a hook for a set of keys. “My stepmother is a practicing Wiccan. She taught me a fair bit, and I wondered if there’s anyone around who practices the old ways.”

The keys jangled as Ida slapped them on the countertop. “You’re new here. If you’re planning on staying around a bit, don’t mention witches, Wiccans, or whatever you call them to anyone. No one wants to hear anything about that. Not now!” She turned the paper around so it faced Elizabeth. “Sign here and here and initial those three boxes. You’ve got the car for a month. If you want it longer, let us know.”

She’d been fishing for a response and certainly caught one. Interesting. “Thanks.”

Ida separated the back copy and handed it to Elizabeth with the key. “The car’s the red one. Fred’ll show you.” She called behind the service center, “Fred, customer’s ready for the red Fiat.”

“Thanks,” Elizabeth said. “Sorry if I offended you.”

Ida acknowledged the attempt at conciliation. “You weren’t to know. I doubt Dixie told you all that happened here. Come to that, she couldn’t. Half the trouble was after she left, and I don’t blame her running off the way she did. Must have scared the willies out of her. Someone tried to kill her.”

And finally succeeded, but that was by the way. “How terrible! What happened?” Tom and Dixie between them had told her everything, but Ida’s slant on it might be illuminating.

“The bastard got my only son instead. That’s why I’m working here. I moved back to Bringham to help out Monica. She wanted to keep the business going for her sons, but it’s too much on her own, and that useless mechanic…” she paused. “Fred! Customer’s waiting for the Fiat!” For a septuagenarian, Ida still had fine voice projection.

“Coming!” a voice called from outside.

“Thanks,” Elizabeth said to Ida. “Sorry again if I said the wrong thing.” Ida smiled and waved it off, and Elizabeth went out into the June sunshine with Fred.

The car was a zippy little compact with a hatchback that might well come in handy. After listening patiently to Fred demonstrating windshield wipers and automatic windows, Elizabeth drove off. Following Fred’s sketchy directions, she headed back toward Bringham.

 

As the car pulled out of sight, Ida reached for the phone, punching in the numbers with a shaky finger. “Emily Reade. It’s important.” While she waited to be transferred, her free hand tapped on the counter. This was bad news. Why did these darn Americans have to keep on turning up and causing trouble? Not that this one had done anything yet, but Ida trusted her instincts, and her instincts sensed upheaval and disharmony.

“Emily,” she all but snapped when Emily finally answered. “We have to meet. Soon. Very soon. I’ve just spoken to the woman who bought Orchard House. She’s a friend of Dixie’s and knows far too much. Dixie told her about the house, her aunts, and I don’t know what else! Even dropped hints about us! Too darn nosy for her own good. We have to do something. We can’t risk any more trouble.”

Emily was not about to argue. They both knew she’d kept her job in the bank by a slender chance. “Better warn Mildred then,” she replied. “We’ll meet at my house tomorrow after I get home. Six o’clock. Will you tell her?”

After Emily rang off, Ida dialed another number and caught Mildred Rowan at home. “Mildred,” Ida said, her voice shakier than ever. “We’ve run into a snag.”

When Elizabeth waved from the open door of the little office, Antonia took it as ‘All’s well,’ waved back, and drove down the lane. Elizabeth seemed set, and no doubt, would have a nice time chatting witchy stuff to Ida. The thought didn’t give Antonia as much of the creeps as it would most of the colony, or at least the newer members. She remembered the days when the old religion still held sway in the woods and around isolated campfires. Still, she wondered how Tom, raised when witches were publicly tried and burned, quite handled getting intimate with one. Not that it was any of her business really, but one couldn’t help thinking about it.

Still, if Gwyltha as leader of the colony accepted Elizabeth, who was she to question it? Besides, she liked Elizabeth and needed her skills to get set up, and the prospect of working closely with someone and not having constantly to conceal her nature was more than welcome.

And meanwhile…

Antonia covered the few miles from the Collins’s in Horsley to the outskirts of Bringham in a short time. After pulling to the side of the lane to consult Dixie’s lists and maps, she drove through the village, turned right at the church, took the next left, and parked in front of a modern house. The vast Victorian rectory that had housed former vicars and their offspring and servants was now an old people’s home. The current incumbent had far more modest and vastly more comfortable surroundings.

A glance at the immaculate rose beds and lush hanging baskets showed someone in the house was a very eager gardener—or they hired one. Might be handy to get the name and add it to her list. They’d need help with the wilderness around Orchard House. The lawn cutting service didn’t extend to weeding or pruning.

Hoping someone would be in—it was the vicarage after all—Antonia rang the bell.

The genteel ding-dong-ding of the chiming doorbell was drowned out by what sounded like the baying of a wolfhound. The gray shape that appeared through the reeded glass in the front door pretty much confirmed it.

“Hush, Pansy! Hush!” a woman’s voice called, and as the dog quieted, the door was opened by a fresh-faced young woman. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“I was hoping so, but is this an inconvenient time?”

“No worse than any other. I’m afraid Mum’s out if you wanted her.”

“If your mother’s the vicar’s wife, yes. I had hoped to speak to her. I just moved into the village. My name’s Antonia Stonewright.

“Oh! You bought Orchard House and are turning it into a B and B.” She gave the dog a yank back as it tried to sniff at Antonia. “Behave yourself, Pansy!” She looked back up and smiled, “Sorry. Excuse my manners.” She held out her free hand. “I’m Judy Abbott. Dad’s the vicar here, and I just got down from Uni. Come in.”

Antonia stepped over the threshold. Pansy decided she was persona definitely grata and started sniffling and licking her hands.

“Want a cup of tea?” Judy asked as she led the way back to a large kitchen filled with sunshine and overlooking a back garden every bit as immaculate as the front. “Oh, Pansy, leave her alone!” Judy gave the dog a gentle nudge, and then Antonia noticed that Pansy wasn’t merely large and fat, she was expecting. After Emily this morning, Bringham appeared to be a font of fecundity.

Pansy lumbered her bulk into a vast dog bed and, after turning around several times and scratching the pillow, settled, but kept her eyes on Antonia.

It was a darn good thing animals didn’t really react to vampires the way they did in some fanciful fiction. “She’s a beautiful dog,” Antonia said. “My father had several wolfhounds.”

“Several?” Judy looked around from filling the kettle. “I hope you had a bigger house than this one!”

It had been a hall: vast, draughty, dark, and large enough to sleep a hundred men. “It was.”

Judy plugged in the kettle and reached for the teapot. Antonia would have sighed if she still could. Another cup of tea! Better get used to swallowing them if she planned on knocking on doors. After all, at her age, she could ingest gallons of tea without ill effect. She hoped. “Mum should be back soon,” Judy said. “If you want to wait, that’s fine, or if I can help…” She walked over to the table and cleared away a heap of sewing and a workbasket. When the kettle boiled, she took two mugs from a row hanging beneath the countertop. “Tea bags alright?”

“Perfect.” The mugs caught Antonia’s eye—souvenirs of the London Dungeon and the All England Tennis and Croquet Club just didn’t seem to mesh exactly. But who knew how mortals viewed these things?

Judy filled each mug and swirled the tea bags around. “So you need help? About the Bed and Breakfast? If you need staff, Mum can spread the word, but an ad in the local paper might get better results.” She squeezed out the bags, added milk without asking, and handed Antonia the London Dungeon mug. “Sugar?” She put a small pottery bowl of sugar on the table.

“No, thanks.” The tea was hot, so it had better sit. Swallowing boiling liquid tended to get noticed. “Actually, it’s not a B and B. I’m opening a small art gallery and craft center. We plan to open in September and be in full swing for Christmas. What I was hoping was your mother might be able to help me find someone. I was given a name, but can’t find him in the phone book.”

“Maybe I can. If not, Mum or Dad might. Who is it?”

“A potter. A Michael Langton.”

“Oh! The reclusive potter!” Judy smiled and shook her head. “He’s hard to find, ex-directory and ex just about everything. Beats me how he runs a business, but he seems to sell all over the place. I’ve never met him. Dad has. When we had a silent auction to raise money for repairs to the church, Michael Langton donated a really beautiful soup tureen and plates. Told Dad he was happy to contribute as long as he didn’t have to come. Odd sort, but his stuff was beautiful.”

“You have any?”

Judy shook her head. “It all went and got a good price, too. Someone from Effingham bought it and thought they got it for a song. Seems he’s known all over the country. As for where he lives,” she paused, “let me call Sylvie, who edits the parish mag.”

Judy picked up the phone and speed dialed a number. After enquiries about Sylvie’s Dad’s health and how much he was looking forward to two weeks in Brittany, she wrote down what was either a long address or extremely complicated directions. “The address is Manor Farm cottages, but you can’t get there from Manor Farm Road.” She handed Antonia the paper. “Here are Sylvie’s directions verbatim. If you get lost, I’ve written her number at the bottom. Call her. She’s been there to deliver parish magazines.”

The paper was covered with large, loopy handwriting, but it was legible enough. Antonia tucked it into her pocket. “Thank you so much; you’ve been really helpful.”

“Glad I could be. The odds were I couldn’t have as I’m gone more than I’m here, but it so happened I remembered Mum and Dad talking about him.” She paused. “Want Mum to spread the word in the village you’re looking for people for craft sales? Or do you have particular requirements, nonamateur stuff and so forth?”

“I’ll be very selective.” Abel help her, she was going to have to be. “But I’ve nothing . . .