Night Music (18 page)

“It’s me,” Devlin said.

“Hello, me.” She swallowed back the lump of despondency even as she forced herself to be casual.

He chuckled. She loved his chuckle.

“We need to make a slight change in plan,” he said.

Marsh sat at the Flamingo bar, one of several on the
Princess Beatrice
luxury liner. He stared at the dwindling level of Scotch in his glass and proceeded to dwindle it some more.

“I see you’re along for the ride too,” Lettice said, sliding onto the bar stool next to him.

“You!” He turned sharply at the unexpected voice. He hadn’t been expecting her, but somehow he wasn’t surprised by her presence. “I had nothing better to do.” He motioned to the bartender. “Gin and tonic for the lady.”

“You remember.”

He shrugged, then smiled. “It was easy to remember.”

And it had been. Maybe it was time he stopped being so bullheaded and started admitting it. He’d done a lot of thinking about young girls and their freedoms sixty years ago. They hadn’t had much. He’d even come to a reluctant realization or two. Besides, if he was stuck on the same boat with Lettice for two weeks, he might as well admit a certain amount of defeat. She was a familiar face in the crowd at least.

“They’re not here, you know,” she said.

“I know. I checked with the purser. They never got on board.”

“Do you have the feeling we’ve been outwitted?”

“Without a doubt.”

“I probably should tell you that I think our grandchildren are extremely suitable,” she said, after taking a sip of her gin and tonic. “In fact I have always thought Dev would be lucky if he got Hilary.”

“That’s not what you said before,” he reminded her.

“My grandson, idiot that he is, responds better in a defiant mode. I was attempting to get him to rebel in the right direction with what seemed like my disapproval of Hilary.” Lettice smiled. “Instead he sicced you on me.”

“He’s not a bad kid,” Marsh conceded.

“Except that he’s related to me.” She shrugged. “You can’t have everything, Marsh.”

He took a healthy swallow of the whiskey. It went down smooth and mellow. His indulgences were few and far between, for a person could get to like this too much. Just as a person could get to like the woman sitting next to him too much.

“I can’t make up for what happened, Marsh,” Lettice began.

He hushed her. “Shhh. It’s the past.”

“I’m in the mood to walk the treadmills in the gym,” she said after a moment’s silence. “Want to come with me? We can check our hearts afterward.”

“Are you propositioning me?” he asked.

“Eventually.”

“Then lead the way.”

Dev had had plans, special plans.

“Screwed-up plans,” he muttered, then cursed heartily. The day couldn’t get any worse. His partner on the gambler dinner cruises to Atlantic City had fallen ill and couldn’t make the run. Dev had had no choice but to do it. The ferry wasn’t a small fishing boat. It required tougher licensing, which none of the rest of the crew had and which he did.

Now he was stuck with a boatload of hungry, screaming gamblers demanding the ride
and
their money back. Next time he took on a partner, he’d make damn sure they had a qualified backup captain. And that the backup had a backup. He was supposed to be a
silent
partner. This was the last time he’d ever do this—especially after taking out a charter that morning. He’d been up nearly twenty-four hours.

He had one bright spot. Hilary, when she’d heard of his predicament, had insisted on coming down and helping him. He didn’t see what she could do, but he was grateful for her company. Maybe he could salvage something once they got to Atlantic City, he mused. Then he cursed again, remembering he had to take the gamblers back to Wildwood at one in the morning. Nothing was
going right. He looked around for Hilary on the bridge. She wasn’t there.

She was seasick again, he thought, feeling as if his worst nightmare were opening up before him.

“Take the wheel,” he said to the other crew member. The man was cleared for open water.

After relinquishing the wheel, Dev scrambled down the gangway and headed for the saloons. People were gathered in little knots around the tables and bars, talking and chatting, waiting for dinner to be served. Hilary wasn’t among them. He glanced at his watch as he passed through. The ferry would be docking in about an hour. The chef was cutting it close for dinner.

Hilary wasn’t in the next saloon either, or on deck. He began to worry as he walked through the employee doors toward the stern, just in case she had wandered back there. But he knew the truth. She was in one of the ladies’ rooms, clinging to a bowl for dear life. The night couldn’t get any worse.

On the threshold of the galley he stopped dead and watched in amazement as Hilary, standing amid culinary chaos, calmly and expertly opened clams.

“You’re not seasick,” he said, dodging past a waiter to reach her.

She smiled briefly. “I would be if I had time.”

“What are you doing in here?”

“Your chef’s drunk. The guys tell me this isn’t the first time. So I thought I’d help out.” Her cool voice clearly showed her disdain for the man. When she turned to the waiters, though, she gave orders in a warm, gentle tone. “Marco, here’s the last of the clams. Get the passengers in and started on their appetizers. Peter, turn those fillets while I start plating the food.”

The men went to work, smiling gratefully at her. Dev didn’t know how she was able to walk in and take over the way she had. Maybe the galley staff was too shorthanded to be anything but appreciative.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said.

Her body stilled. She turned to him. “I owe you this, Devlin.”

He frowned. Her words had an ominous ring to them, and her eyes looked almost … sad.

“Hilary,” he began.

She smiled and shook her head. “We’ll talk later. Now, go drive the boat.”

He chuckled, as the others snorted in amusement. “Okay, I’ll go ‘drive’ the boat.”

There was no other woman in the world like her, he thought. All elegance and hidden passion, with new facets to discover every day. His little bump of uneasiness was unfounded. When he got her to Atlantic City, he’d make up for lost time. For a lot of lost time.

He turned back to the bridge, to “drive the boat.”

Hilary slowly wiped down the last counter in the galley, trying to stretch the job out for as long as possible. She’d been hiding down here, ever since she’d discovered the cruise’s chef drunk and the waiters running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

She shook her head in disgust as she thought of Devlin’s partner who was cutting corners too sharply. One questionable chef to prepare a meal for fifty? No wonder the man got drunk. She really had to speak to Devlin before his investment went bankrupt.…

That was the problem, she admitted. She didn’t want to speak to Devlin, because she’d have to speak about more than a business problem. Something she was
not
ready to do.

“Want to do a little gambling?”

She jumped at the sound of his voice and whipped around to face him. He was leaning against the doorway, hands in his jeans pockets, grinning knowingly at her.

“Did I scare you?” he asked, strolling into the galley.

“A little,” she said stiffly, trying to keep an emotional distance.

“I can never thank you enough for your help.” He put his arms around her. Though she tried to hold herself still and not respond, the feel of his body so close to hers was sending undeniable erotic signals through her. He added, “I even heard several of the passengers raving about the food when they left.”

“Good,” she said, trying to regain her control. “I was glad I could help.”

“Want a job as a chef on a boat?”

She snorted. “No thanks.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, straightening away from her.

She shrugged, then decided to get one topic started. She turned around to face him, but leaned back against the counter to keep her distance and her equilibrium. “I think your partner is making some bad judgments on these gambler cruises. You need more than one person for a kitchen staff if you’re going to feed the kind of numbers you’re feeding here. You especially don’t need a chef whose reliability is questionable.”

Devlin nodded. “So I’ve already seen. There’s a
lot more going on here besides the problem in the galley. Changes will have to be made, if my money stays in.”

“Oh.” She was out of conversation. It was time. “Devlin, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking—”

“About us,” he guessed, suddenly becoming wary.

She scrubbed at a nonexistent spot on the counter. “Yes.”

“Look, if you’re mad about what happened tonight, well, I’m sorry—”

“It’s not tonight,” she broke in, not looking at him. “It’s … it’s everything. We live so far away—”

“Move closer to me.”

She gaped at him. “You move closer to me!”

“I have my business.”

“And I have mine!”

“I know that. It’s just that I couldn’t move too far from the shore because of the hours. I was thinking that maybe you could turn over more of the business to Jane and Jeremy.…”

“Me? Me? You turn over more to Billy!”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he admitted.

That knocked some of the wind out of her sails. Hilary told herself to be rational, to control her temper. “It’s not just that, Devlin. Our basic outlooks are completely different—”

“I know we’ve had some problems coordinating ourselves.”

“And then we’re only together for the sex.”

“What else is there?” he asked, chuckling.

She straightened. “There’s love.”

He stared at her speechless.

She turned her back to him, knowing she’d opened her heart in a way she’d never meant to. “I know you don’t feel the same way. I’m a form of
rebellion to you, Devlin. I don’t think you realize it, but I am.”

“That’s ridiculous!” he said.

“No, it isn’t.” She sighed and faced him again. “If you think about us for two minutes, you’d know it was true. You wanted absolutely nothing to do with me, until your grandmother decided we were ‘unsuitable.’ She drew out the word sarcastically. “Then you couldn’t get me into bed fast enough, and you’ve kept me there with every one of your grandmother’s protests.”

He gaped at her. “I’ve always tried to get you into bed! That had nothing to do with Grandmother.”

“See? Just sex,” she said triumphantly.

He glowered at her. “Hilary, I don’t know what the hell is wrong, but you’re spouting nonsense.”

“I wish I were.” She closed her eyes against a sharp thrust of pain, then opened them. She kept her gaze steady on his. “I tried to tell myself I was wrong, that it was silliness, insecurity, whatever. Devlin, you’ve rejected your family and what they stand for. You even named your boat what you did to prove it to the world—and to remind yourself to keep people at arm’s length.”

“Hilary—”

She went on, ignoring him. “You practically hated me at first, because you thought I was a hanger-on trying to break into all that. Your grandmother wanted us together then, remember? And then when she didn’t, the next morning,
that very next morning
, you do a complete reversal.”

“What about you?” he asked. “You weren’t jumping for joy over me at first. One moment you didn’t like me either. And then boom! You were all over me like peanut butter on bread.”

“I was not!” she exclaimed, her cheeks heating. “I fell for you!”

“Did you ever think that maybe I did too?”

She shook her head, squeezing back the tears that threatened to spill. She was positive she was right. He would never see it, never admit it. That was just another form of his rebellion. “Not with your track record.”

“You’re practicing psychiatry without a license,” he snapped.

“I’m telling you the truth!” she snapped back. “And when you’re done rebelling, you’ll realize this was all a mistake, apologize, and walk away. I can’t wait for that. I can’t!”

“Hi,” Marco said, coming into the galley. Then he stopped, his eyes widening as he clearly caught on to the confrontation.

“I’ve had enough of this crap,” Devlin said, and stalked out of the galley.

Hilary slumped against the counter.

“I’m sorry,” Marco said. “I’ve interrupted.”

Hilary blinked back her tears. “No. It was going in circles anyway.”

And now, she thought, it wasn’t going anywhere.

And he’d thought the day couldn’t get any worse.

Dev swung the wheel viciously in his anger. The boat veered sharply toward the Wildwood docks. He corrected the steering and brought the boat into the berth without incident.

“Finish it up,” he said to the nearest crew member. He made an effort not to snap at the man. It wouldn’t be fair to take his mood out on an innocent bystander. Better to take it out on the
walls … or the windows … or the equipment.…

Damn her, he thought as he left the still-intact bridge. He couldn’t believe the ludicrous accusations she’d made in the galley. How could she even think those kinds of things about him? How could she say them?

He wouldn’t ask, he decided. He had too much pride for that. His anger had built all the way home. She had hurt him in ways he’d never thought possible. He had thought—Clearly he’d been wrong about her. He had opened himself up to her, but she was just like all the rest. No, worse.

The stars were shining brightly as he stepped out onto the deck. He realized he hadn’t seen Hilary since the incident in the galley. He had stayed on the bridge, and she had stayed who-knew-where. For all he knew, she could have left the ferry before it disembarked from Atlantic City.

She wouldn’t have, he thought, looking frantically among the tired passengers gathering along the deck rails. It was too dark to make out faces, but logic told him she wouldn’t have left her car behind in Wildwood. She would at least come back to get that.

He spotted her just coming up from below deck and heading toward the bow. He walked over and took her arm, pulling her away from the people.

“You’re wrong,” he said as soon as they were sheltered under the threshold to the forward saloon. “What can I do to convince you?”