Devlin's Light (43 page)

“Whatever was I thinking?”

“You read to me when I was too sick to move.
Gone with the Wind.
My all-time favorite book.” She grabbed hold of the front of his shirt. “You put fresh sheets on the bed and worry about Corri worrying about me.”

“Clearly, I’ve been out of line.” He ran his fingers through his hair and glanced toward the ceiling. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“You hired a string quartet to serenade me on New Year’s Eve,” she sobbed.

“I should be punished.” He hung his head, pretending to appear contrite. “Would you like to beat me?”

She laughed in spite of herself and pulled him closer.

“You are so
right,”
she told him, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. “How can I not fall in love with you, Nick, when you are so
right.”

“What have you got against falling in love with me?” He stroked the back of her head.

“If I fall in love with you I’ll close the door on ever going back to Paloma.”

“Explain to me why this might be a bad thing, when all
the people you love—the people who love you—the places you love, are all in Devlin’s Light.”

“It used to make sense to me,” she said. “It really used to make sense to me. Now I don’t even remember why. My work there was—
is
—important to me.”

“The work will always be important to you, Indy, and it should be. You do a great job, you do what needs to be done. But you can do it anywhere you choose. You can have your cake and eat it too, as the saying goes. You don’t have to go back to Paloma to fight bad guys. We have bad guys of our own down here. Come home and fight them, Indy.”

“I think I have to give serious consideration to doing just that.” She sighed. “It all seemed so easy before. There was so much going on in Paloma, so little going on here. Now I’m not so sure just how much that matters.”

He gently eased her back onto the pillows, a twinkle in his eye. “It must have been the love potion I slipped into the chicken soup.”

“Enright, you’re the last man in the world who would need to resort to potions when it comes to getting women.” She traced his jawline with the back of her hand.

“I don’t want ‘women,’” he told her. “I never wanted ‘women.’ I never wanted more than one woman in my life, and I knew if I waited long enough, I’d find her. And I have. The only woman I ever really wanted, the only one I can’t do without, is you. I love you to distraction, India Devlin, and once you’re all better, we’ll discuss what I propose we do about that.”

He kissed her forehead, then frowned. “But in the meantime, you’re still warmer than you should be, and your eyes are getting a little bit of a sleepy glaze on them again. Why don’t you call Corri and August now so you can talk to them while you’re still lucid, then we’ll watch a movie till you fall asleep.”

“Okay.” She reached for the phone and dialed the number. She
was
tired all of a sudden. “Aunt August? Hi, it’s me. A little better, yes.”

Nick opened the curtains behind the bed and let in the light from a stark gray morning.

“What time is it?” India stretched.

“Time for breakfast, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“I am. I’m almost hungry today.”

“That’s a good sign. How ‘bout scrambled eggs and some toast made with homemade bread?”

“That’s what I smelled.” She smiled.

“I think there’s some obscure law that says that on cold, snowy days in early January, it is mandatory to have a fire burning and homemade bread in the oven.”

“It’s snowing?”

“Like a blizzard. Are you strong enough to come into the other room to eat?”

“Yes. Let me just wash my face, then I’ll be in.”

She felt stronger, her legs less wobbly, and her head was not so foggy. She splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth with toothpaste on her finger. Feeling almost human, she followed the fresh-bread scent through the house.

Breakfast was set up in front of the fireplace, in which blazed a healthy log or two to warm and cheer the big room. Music floated from several speakers to seep through the silence and wrap around the room like a turban. It was cozy and intimate, and she knew in her bones that she would never want to be anywhere else, with anyone else.

“Come look out the window.” Nick stood with his back to the room. “The snow is incredible. The bay has simply disappeared into a white blur.”

India came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. He felt good and solid, wonderful and strong. He felt like no one else ever had, or ever would.

“Nick?” she said, her voice still raspy.

“Yes, Indy?”

“I love you, Nick.” She rested her head against his back and rocked slightly.

“Are you sure it isn’t the fever come back?”

“No fever. I’m feeling much better. I’m feeling well enough to
know,”
she said. “And what I know is that I’ve never loved anyone else. I never will. I never want to be without you, Nick.”

“That is one thing you will never have to worry about.” He turned to her and took her in his arms. “I’ll never be farther away than you want me to be.”

They rocked slightly together in front of the big window.

“So, what was it that put you over the edge?” he asked, a trace of merriment in his voice. “It was the chicken soup, right?”

“It’s everything,” she said simply, “everything you did to show me that you cared. It’s everything you do and everything you are.”

He started to sway with the music, the sweet, poignant cry of Clapton’s guitar. “Wonderful Tonight.” The world outside was wrapped in a swirling blanket of white, the snow blocking out everything but the two of them and the music.

“How much better are you feeling?” he asked when the music had stopped.

“Much,” she assured him. “Come over in front of the fire and you can see for yourself just how good I feel.”

Chapter 26

“India, I really think this is unwise of you. August was trying her best not to lecture. After all, India was a grown woman. Still, her aunt felt compelled to state the obvious. “As sick as you have been, going to the Twelfth Night Ball is sheer folly. You’ll have a relapse. You’ll expose yourself to other people’s germs, you’ll—”

“Have a wonderful time in spite of all of those things.” India sponged small dots of liquid foundation onto her nose, hoping to make the red go away. “It’s no use, I look like Rudolph. Maybe I should wear a mask and keep it on all night and no one will notice.”

“Well, perhaps Nick will have enough sense to bring you home early,” August rationalized.

“Aunt August, I have not been to the Twelfth Night Ball in years. I have been looking forward to going with Nick and dancing my little feet off. And I’m going to do exactly that.” India smiled to herself, thinking she sounded a little like Scarlet O’Hara. Any other time she would have bristled at the very thought that she, India Devlin, that straight-shooting, tough prosecutor, could have anything whatsoever in common with the little flirt from Tara, but on Twelfth Night it tickled her. She was determined to dance until she dropped and have a wonderful time.

She had hoped that they could attend the dance classes
the first week of January so that Nick could learn and she could brush up on the period dances that would be featured that night, but, given her recent illness, India knew that she was lucky to be going at all.

“I will be keeping an eye on you, miss,” August reminded her.

“I know that you will, Aunt August.” India laughed.

“Indy?” Darla called from the bottom of the steps.

“Up here, Dar, come on up,” India called back.

“Wow! Look at you!” India exclaimed as Darla swept into the room in a blue satin gown that once belonged to one of India’s twin great-great aunts.

“Is this too funny?” Darla laughed. “Just like prom night. Except this time we’re going with the same man.”

“Nick will have the time of his life,” India assured her. “Here, help me get this dress over my head and then I’ll put your hair up.”

“And I’ll do yours.” Darla slid the gossamer satin over India’s head and fastened the back with the little hooks that closed women’s dresses a hundred years earlier.

“We could still pull it off,” India said as she swept Darla’s hair atop her head and secured it with bobby pins.

“You want to see if we can fool Nick?” Darla grinned.

“Of course we can fool Nick.”

When India’s hair had been identically swept up, they stood side by side in front of the mirror.

“Nah, we’ll never get away with it.” Darla shook her head wistfully. “Not after I’ve had two children. Your waist is much smaller, India.”

“Not ‘much,’ maybe a little. And speaking of children, the baby-sitter should be here any minute. It was a great idea to share a sitter tonight, Dar.”

“Well, you know, since Kenny’s been taking the kids more often, they’ve settled down a bit. Jack was with him over the weekend and they spent all day Sunday out at the nature sanctuary.”

“I’m glad that’s working out a little better. I felt badly for Kenny, to tell you the truth, Darla. It must have been very difficult for him when you left.”

“It was.” Darla sat down on the edge of the bed, careful
not to wrinkle the borrowed ball gown, and crossed her legs. “I think I didn’t give Kenny enough credit back then. All I knew was that I was unhappy and wanted out. No wonder he went a little crazy. I mean, I worked so hard for so long to be such a good little wife and mother, he never knew how unhappy I was. Then I just walked. I was so unfair to him.”

“Dar, we can’t change the past. The important thing is that Kenny has reconciled with his children and is spending more time with them. That’s what matters.” India heard a car door slam and flew to the window to look out. “It’s Nick. I promised the dance master we would be there a little early so that he could put us through our paces for the grand march. Let’s see what he thinks of our twin look.”

Look alike they may have, but it was clear that Nick only had eyes for India, a fact that no one in the old Devlin mansion could have doubted.

August stood proudly to one side in the festively dressed ballroom and watched her beloved niece take her place at Nick’s side just inside the doorway, where they awaited the music that would signal the start of the Devlin’s Light Historic Society’s Twelfth Night Ball. She was beautiful, her girl was, and she was
here
, poised to lead the grand march on the arm of the man that she was, judging by all indications, totally in love with. Just as she herself had once done, years ago, before the world called to her and lured her away with the promise of something better, more exotic. She had never found it, had never found anything better, anything more exotic than what she had felt on that night long ago when she had stood in exactly the spot where India was standing. Other nondancers began to filter into the room to spectate, and August moved slightly toward the bandstand to accommodate the crowd.

“Seems I might know that bonnie blue dress she’s wearing,” a voice rasped in her ear. “Seems I might have seen it before.”

August turned to find Captain Pete dressed in his best naval uniform and leaning on his cane.

“You would remember such a thing,” August said softly.

“There are some things a man never forgets,” he said without looking at her. He moved his fingers slowly against
the palm of his hand, as if feeling the cool of the satin between them, and for the first time in years, Augustina Devlin blushed.

Just as the music began, India closed her eyes and let it all soak in, just for the fun of it. Here she was, dressed in elegant satin with sparkling hairpins holding up her hair and a mile of pearls wrapped around her neck, holding the hand of the most handsome, wonderful man on the face of the earth. Nick’s Christmas earrings caught the light and glittered. The music echoed of another time when other musicians played similar tunes in this very room, and other ladies, dressed in their finest, had lined up in the wide hallway to await the music’s invitation to enter, to dance, and perhaps to fall in love.

The small orchestra, which specialized in period music, began to play, and at the signal from the dance master, India and Nick swept into the room, which was brilliantly lit with the tongues of a thousand candles, as tradition dictated. Once the grand march had ended, and the guests had all taken their places, the candles would be extinguished and the electric chandeliers turned on. But for now, the candles lent a romantic glow, and, combined with the strains of the expertly played music and the graceful dancing, the evening was off to a joyful start.

After the first two waltzes, India tugged on Nick’s arm, trying to catch her breath. “I have to sit down.”

“I keep forgetting that you’ve only been out of bed for two days. Let’s find a chair for you and I’ll get you a cup of punch.”

“This seat right here will be fine.” India sank into the first empty chair she saw.

Nick set off in search of the punch bowl while India watched the other dancers, their silks and the satins spinning like colored tops across the highly polished dance floor.

Nick divided his waltzes between India, Darla, and August, with a gallant turn now and then for others from August’s circle, all of whom clucked knowingly and approvingly as they watched Nick swirl around the dance floor with India in his arms.

“I think I’ve had it.” India sighed and sank back into the
amply padded chair. “My feet cannot dance another step. But look, there’s Darla over there with that bore Ted Reynolds. Do you think you could rescue her?”

“I believe she did promise me this dance.” He nodded. “And then we might think about leaving.”

“Oh, but it’s early,” she told him. “There are fireworks at midnight, then a lovely supper, then the unmasking—”

“But there’s also a lovely piece of moon over the bay,” he whispered in her ear, “and I’m not so sure I wouldn’t rather have a little
private
unmasking, if you get my drift.”

“On the other hand”—she opened her white lace fan and fluttered it coyly—“I suppose, having been ill, one should take care of oneself and get to bed early.”