Devlin's Light (32 page)

If she told him what she really wanted he’d fall off his chair.

Respectable, she told herself sternly. Keep it
respectable.

“Well, it might be fun to stop in at the parlor concert. Aunt August said the singer, Margarite Cosgrove, is truly wonderful.”

“You know, I might enjoy that.” He nodded. “I’m beginning to get suckered in to all this small-town stuff. All these Devlin things.”

India laughed.

“The concert’s for a good cause. All the money they raise during the year goes to maintenance of the good captain’s property. Then at the end of the Christmas season, they have the Twelfth Night Ball and everyone gets to come and see how their money was spent that year.”

“Would you like to go?” he asked.

“Go… to the concert?”

“To the Twelfth Night Ball.”

“Really? You’d go?”

“I’ve heard people talking about it since I moved to Devlin’s Light. It sounds like it might be fun.”

“Oh, Nick, it is!” She laughed, her eyes brightening. “It’s fancy dress, costume-y clothes, with the men in velvet waistcoats and the women in ball gowns. The fun part is that the dress can be from any time period from the 1600s to the present, because there has been a Twelfth Night Ball in that house every year except during wartimes. So the house has seen colonial-style gowns as well as Empire and Victorian. It’s wonderful. And there are dances from each time period—” She stopped and frowned. “I don’t suppose you know too many of them.”

“I know how to waltz.”

“Hah!” She leaned back in her chair. “The waltz is just the start of it. Actually, the ball begins every year with the Grand March.”

“Lost me,” he told her.

She took his hand and pretended to study his palm. “I see music in your future,” she said, lowering her voice dramatically. “And dancing. Lots of dancing. Dancing
lessons
, to be more exact.”

“I didn’t know you were part gypsy.”

“Everyone has a touch of gypsy.” She laughed. “Would you be up for dancing lessons if anyone is giving them this year? I’d hate to see you miss out on all the fun.”

“I don’t mind, but who will I be learning with?”

“I’ll go with you.”
Anywhere.

I’d go with you anywhere.
“Will you be home in time?”

“I’d like to be home by the weekend before Christmas. I’d like to go to Corri’s Christmas play and the Olsons’ Christmas Eve open house. I want to go caroling and I want to go on the House Tour.”

“Why, India Devlin, you sound homesick.”

“I didn’t even realize how much I missed it all. I had a chance to do this all last year with Ry and Darla. And I stayed in Paloma and worked. No one remembers the name of the case I worked on, whether I won it or lost it, whether there was an appeal or a retrial.” India swallowed hard. “But Darla remembers every minute of the last holiday season she spent with my brother.”

Nick’s hand reached over, his fingers tracing tiny circles on the inside of her wrist. “I’m glad you’ll be home. I want you to be home. I want to share the holidays with you this year.”
And every year
, he could have added. Instead, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the very spot where the invisible circles had wound around her wrist.

“Dessert?” The waitress appeared from nowhere and broke the spell his voice was weaving around India.

“You know, there’s a lot of dessert-type things left over from last night,” India told him pointedly. “We could skip the parlor concert and have dessert at home. You could build a fire.”

He got the picture. Corri out. Aunt August out.

Nick and Indy would stay in.

“Aunt August?” India called from the foot of the steps.

“I thought she went to the concert?”

“Just checking,” India said innocently.

“Hmmm.” Nick nodded. “Well, how ‘bout if I get that fire going? It’s chilly in here. And you can make us some coffee and get us dessert, and we can have it right here.”

India went to make coffee and to cut slices of cranberry apple tart with hands that were just slightly shaking. Hands that wanted to be touching his warm skin, fingers that wanted to run through that dark hair.

Keep it together, Devlin. Maintain a little dignity.

India managed to do just that for roughly thirty seconds after she set the tray on the coffee table in the sitting room and he pulled her down to the floor in front of the fire. He sought her mouth before she had a chance to seek his and together they plummeted into a swirl of sensation, of warm hands that sought warmer skin, of tongues seeking tongues and bodies needing bodies. His lips led a long slow trail followed by his all too clever tongue, down her throat from chin to collar bone, to where the neck of her sweater kept him from the rest of her. Her breath came in hot little bursts and she began to undo the buttons, his mouth following behind her fingers to tease every inch of her skin. He moaned softly when he reached her breasts, and he cupped each one in his hands while she caressed the sides of his face. She was too soft, her skin too delicious, his hands too wise. Her lips parted and a soft gasp escaped when he eased her breasts free and sought them with his mouth. She tugged him to her, fitting him to her body, wanting more of him, wanting all of him. Wanting-

“What was that?”

“What?” She opened her eyes but barely.

“It sounded like a car door.” He rose up on one arm. A car door? Now?

“Yup. That’s a car, all right.” Nick forced a cheerfulness he did not feel into his voice. “Darla’s car.”

“Darla?” India squeaked. “Oh, she’s bringing Corri home from the party.”

Nick bent down to kiss her swollen lips. “The child needs a lesson in timing.” He sat up and pulled her by the arms until she was seated next to him. “Why don’t you button yourself up while I let her in.”

“Do we have to let her in?” India teased.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Maybe we should send her right to bed. It is late for a little girl to be up.”

“Good thinking, sweetheart.” Nick laughed as goodnaturedly as one could under the circumstances and stood up. “And you’re right, it’s almost eight o’clock. Much too late for a six-year-old to be up on a Friday night.”

India stuck out her tongue at him and he laughed again.

Looking out the window, he said, “Oh, and there’s more good news. Darla and Ollie are coming in too.”

India sighed and began fumbling with the buttons on her sweater.

“Faster, sweetheart,” he told her. “I hear the pitter-patter of little feet on the porch.”

“You might as well go and let them in then, since they aren’t likely to go away.”

“Nick’s here!” Corri squealed from the door. “I won a prize at the party. In the scavenger hunt. And look at my balloon, it’s a Pilgrim. Ollie got the turkey, see? Get it, for Thanksgiving? Where’s Indy?”

“You make my head spin sometimes, Corri.” He laughed. “India’s in by the fire.”

Corri and Ollie flew in to show off their balloons and their party favors, little cornucopia baskets filled with candy.

“Just what you need.” India sat Indian-style, her back to the fire.

“Can we have milk?”

“Sure. Help yourselves. Darla, can we get you some coffee?”

“Sure,” Darla replied brightly.

“I’ll get it, Dar,” Nick told her, gesturing for her to sit in a chair near India’s feet.

“So, Indy. How was dinner?” Darla asked.

“It was fine. Great.”

“Umm. I see you decided to have your dessert and coffee back here. Nothing good on Carol’s menu tonight?”

“We just had so much left over from last night, we thought…”

Darla reached over and took a sip from India’s cup. “Well, your selection of desserts may be better, but I’ll bet Carol serves her coffee hot.”

India stood up and put her hand out for the cup.

“I was just on my way into the kitchen,” India said, avoiding Darla’s eyes, “to warm that up.”

“India … “Darla grinned meaningfully.

“What?”

“This.” Darla tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh as she tugged on the front of India’s sweater.

The buttons, hastily fastened, were done up out of sequence, making a bulge here and a gap there.

India reddened and cleared her throat. “I … ahem… well, you see, Dar …”

“Oh, I see.” Darla laughed as she rebuttoned India’s sweater for her. “I see perfectly well. And I think it’s about time.”

Carol’s Crabcakes
(makes 8-10 crabcakes)

1 tablespoon butter

1 clove garlic, minced

1 onion, finely chopped

2 teaspoons sweet red, yellow or green pepper

tablespoons flour

1/3 cup whipping cream

1 pound fresh lump crabmeat (carefully picked over for shells)

cups finely ground bread crumbs (divided in half)

1 egg

1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh parsley

2 teaspoons dry mustard

1 teaspoon lemon juice

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper

1 teaspoon grated lemon peel

2 tablespoons butter

Melt 1 tablespoon butter in a large, heavy skillet over medium heat. Add garlic, chopped sweet peppers and
onions. Cook 3-5 minutes, stirring frequently. Stir in flour, cooking 4 minutes more, then gradually add whipping cream. Cook until thickened, stirring constantly.

Stir in crabmeat, 1-4 cup of the bread crumbs, egg, mustard, lemon juice and peel, salt and pepper. Mix well, remove from heat. Cover and refrigerate for 4 hours.

When mixture has chilled, shape into 2-inch patties. Coat with remaining bread crumbs. Melt 2 tablespoons butter in large skillet. Cook crabcakes over medium heat until golden.

Chapter 19

“Are you sure we can’t talk you into coming with us, India?” Delia Enright, elegant in a cashmere coat that floated around her tall frame like a sigh, stepped into the hallway ahead of her son. “I’m sure that we could find a seat for you somewhere in the theater.”

“I’m certain, but thank you,” India assured her.

“Well, maybe you’d like me to stay home with you then.” Nick followed India through the doorway of the sitting room.

She laughed. “Then I’d be guaranteed not to get a damned bit of work accomplished.”

“Oh, but you’d enjoy every minute of every page you did not read.” He leaned closer and kissed the tip of her chin.

“No doubt I would. But I really have to—”

He silenced her with a kiss and she drank him in. Kissing Nick was like nothing she had ever experienced before, and it was becoming a very addictive habit.

“Nick,” she reminded him, “your mother is in the hallway.”

“Umm-hmm.” He nodded. “With your aunt. And Corri.”

He bent down as if to kiss her again when Delia called him from the hall. “Nicky, dear, we’re all waiting. Please
don’t make me embarrass India by asking you what you’re doing.”

He laughed and hugged India to him, asking, “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay home with you?”

“Nick, I’m a big girl. I can stay home alone. Honest. I’ll be fine.” She followed him into the hall. “You all have a wonderful time, and tell Georgia I said hello.”