by Linda Cajio
Night Music is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
2013 Loveswept eBook Edition
Copyright © 1991 by Linda Cajio.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States of America by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.
eBook ISBN 978-0-307-80832-5
Cover Design: Susan Schultz
Cover Photograph: © Patricia McDonough/Getty Images
Originally published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, in 1991.
www.readloveswept.com
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
The Editor’s Corner
Dedication
Prologue
It was the family meeting to end all family meetings. Frustrated, annoyed, and generally feeling “we’ve had enough and we’re not taking it anymore,” each one of the occupants of the room had come at the first call. Lettice Kitteridge had poked, prodded, and interfered in her grandchildren’s lives long enough. They were out for revenge.
“After what she did to Miles and me over my grandfather’s will,” Catherine Wagner-Kitteridge said, “she has to be taught a lesson about this matchmaking. She went too far this time.”
“Absolutely,” Ellen Kitteridge-Carlini added. “She threw me at Joe.”
“I threw me at you,” her husband, Joe, said. “Or did you forget the skating rink, El?”
Ellen smiled. “You were in desperate straits.”
“And using desperate measures.”
“She did a full-blown American invasion on me,” Rick Kitteridge said, his English accent noticeably pronounced among his cousins. He and his wife, Jill Daneforth-Kitteridge, had flown over from England especially for this meeting.
“You never would have met me if she hadn’t,” Jill pointed out. “Think of all the fun we had.”
“I could have skipped my brief career as a cat burglar,” her husband grumbled.
Jill giggled and whispered something in his ear about nights in white satin.
“She never trusted Remy,” Susan Kitteridge-St. Jacques said, interrupting her brother’s wife.
“You never trusted me, chère,” Remy said. “Fortunately it took just one look for me—especially in that bikini you were wearing.”
Susan blushed, then chuckled. “Grandmother didn’t like that either.”
“You all forget that I was subjected to the worst torture of all,” Anne Kitteridge-Farraday said. “She moved in with me!”
“Unforgettable,” her husband, James, agreed, then added hastily when his wife glared at him, “You, I mean. Not Aunt Lettice.”
“Obviously we have all had our share of Lettice’s matchmaking attempts,” Catherine said, bringing the family conclave back to order. “But the point of this meeting is to stop her before she strikes again.”
Devlin Kitteridge studied his sister-in-law as she spoke. Leave it to his brother to marry a beautiful go-getter, he thought. Glancing over at his twin, he had to admit that Miles looked happy enough. But Devlin wasn’t there to celebrate the newlyweds’ bliss. He was there to get his grandmother off his back. Ever since Miles had married, his grandmother had paraded woman after woman under his nose. She’d even sent them down to his charter-boat business in Wildwood, New Jersey, when he refused to come up to her home in Gladwynne, Pennsylvania. It had reached a point that any time he saw a woman under the age of thirty-five walking on the same side of the street as he, he was certain she’d been sent by Lettice to trap him.
As far as he was concerned, women were only an occasional recreational requirement. Go beyond that and they could break a man. He ought to know. So should his brother. Catherine had jerked Miles’s chain countless times, yet the man came back for more. He even called her his earth angel.
Dev grimaced. Obsession could easily turn to tragedy. Quickly, as he had for years, he turned his mind away from that thought and back to the current discussion.
“I have only one question,” he said. “How are you going to stop her?”
“Worried?” Miles asked, chuckling.
“Annoyed. I’m the only victim left.”
“Why don’t you find someone for Great-grandmother?” Anne’s son, Philip, asked, having wandered into the room in the middle of the discussion.
In one swift motion all the adults swiveled around to face him.
“I mean … she found someone for all of you,” he added, looking nervous at the sudden attention. “Maybe if she had someone, she’d be happy and leave everyone alone.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Anne murmured.
“He’s a Kitteridge,” someone said.
James ruffled his adopted son’s hair. “He’s a Farraday.”
“Any ideas who we could match her up with?” Catherine asked. “All the older gentlemen I know are scared to death of her.”
Philip shrugged. So did the rest.
“Wait a minute,” James said. “My grandmother told me a long time ago about Aunt Lettice being engaged to someone before she married your grandfather. Something about it being a great tragedy—”
“Call her,” Dev snapped impatiently.
James merely looked at him.
“Chill out, big brother,” Miles admonished. “Save the orders for your boat.”
“You’re not her next intended victim,” Dev reminded him.
Anne nodded decisively. “Call her,” she said to her husband.
“I know, I know,” James said. “I got the ‘obey’ part in my end of the wedding vows.” He rose and walked over to the telephone.
He was back a minute later. “Marshall Rayburn.”
Joe whistled. “The surgeon? I didn’t even know they knew each other.”
“Neither did the rest of us.” James grinned. “He’s a widower.”
“Well, well,” Miles said.
“There’s more.” James was laughing now. “He’s got a granddaughter, Hilary, who’s single. Are you all thinking what I’m thinking?”
Suddenly the very air changed, and Dev, who had been so irritated a moment ago with the slow pace of this meeting, now felt as if his relatives were reading one another’s minds at lightning speed.
“It’s going to be tricky,” Remy said.
“We’re going to have to blind-side her,” Susan added.
“Is it fair to Dr. Rayburn to saddle him with her?” Rick asked.
“This is no time for a conscience,” Jill said. “The plan’s got to be foolproof, because Lettice is no fool.”
Ellen laughed. “We’re going to sucker-punch her.”
Anne joined her. “I love it.”
“I think of it more as a merger,” Miles said.
“If we play it right, it’ll be the coup of the decade,” Joe said.
“The century.” Catherine rapped on the coffee table. “Then we’re all agreed.”
“What?” Dev asked. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’ve been away too long,” Miles said. “Even Rick, who lives across the ocean, got it. We’re going to trick grandmo
ther into being matched with Marshall Rayburn.”
“Oh.” Dev grinned. “Hell, let’s go for it.”
“I’m glad you’re in agreement. We’ll just drop the hint to Grandmother about the granddaughter. You should probably go see Hilary first, to let her know to play along for a dinner or two.”
Dev frowned. “What dinner or two?”
They told him. His jaw dropped in astonishment and horror.
“No,” he said. “No! No! No!”
The family smiled.
One
“Dresden?”
Hilary Rayburn watched Devlin Kitteridge—who looked distinctly out of place in her elegant living room—casually handle her most prized possession, a two-hundred-year-old ceramic shepherdess. “Yes,” she replied.
He looked her up and down as if she were a piece of meat in an Armani suit, then set the shepherdess on the glass shelf of the étagère with a clang. “Thought so. They always look as cheap as their knockoffs.”
Hilary bit her tongue against a caustic remark. He could be a prospective customer, she told herself, and she couldn’t afford to offend any at this point in her business. She tucked her silk scarf higher on her shoulder, then walked over to the étagère and closed and locked the door. Smiling sweetly, she said, “That one survived four border disputes, two revolutions, and two world wars before my grandmother smuggled it out of Hungary. If it looks careworn, it has a right to.”
He grinned at her, seeming not at all embarrassed. Hilary knew some members of his family, including his formidable grandmother, but she had only heard about him. And she had heard nothing good. His appearance certainly lived up to his black-sheep reputation. Tall and lean, he was dressed in worn jeans and a maroon polo shirt that had seen better days. His features were all sharp, rugged angles and could have been carved in granite. His skin was darkly tanned, the crow’s-feet at his eyes obvious, giving his face an older look. His eyes were a stunning blue-green, the kind of sharp contrasting color that Paul Newman possessed. As those eyes fixed on her, she felt he could easily strip away the social mask she always kept in place, suddenly exposing the real Hilary. She didn’t like that notion.
Their gazes still locked, he pushed his hair off his forehead. As she watched his tanned fingers thread through the dark and sun-streaked strands, she wondered if all the air had left the room. She couldn’t quite catch her breath. The scent of male and the sea teased her senses, and she felt a primitive awareness course through her bloodstream. At last she realized she was staring at him, and with effort she turned away.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she stepped over to a chair and sat down, “but I can only give you about ten minutes, Mr. Kitteridge. I have a dinner engagement.”
He frowned. “I didn’t drive for two hours just to talk for a few minutes.”
“Then you should have called first.” She smiled pleasantly, deciding the man was a complete idiot. A good-looking one, though. Her breathing still wasn’t back to normal.
“Break the dinner date.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”
He slouched down on her sofa, his hands in his pockets. “Look, it’s important.”
“Then I suggest you get started, Mr. Kitteridge.”
He gave her a look that could have frozen hell over. She held on to every ounce of her courage against it. She couldn’t change her plans, even if she wanted to. And she was damned if she wanted to for an arrogant, egotistical, nasty boy like Devlin Kitteridge. She’d be a fool to agree to work for him. No matter what he paid, it wouldn’t be worth it. She opened her mouth to tell him so.
“My grandmother is going to try to match you up with me,” he said, then added bluntly, “I want you to go along with it.”
Hilary gaped, her mind whirling. “Match us up?”
He made a face. “Yes, like in Hello, Dolly. She thinks she’s Carol Channing in disguise.”
“You … and me?” She stared at him, at his disreputable clothes. He must be nuts.
“Yes, you and me. Ludicrous as that sounds.”
“This is a joke, right?” she asked.
“I wish.” He straightened and rested his forearms on his thighs, his gaze intent on her. “It’s simple, really. My grandmother has been making a habit of finding mates for her grandchildren. I’m her last intended victim, and she’s driving me crazy with it. My family wants a little revenge by matchmaking her, and I want to be left alone to run my boat charters. My family’s discovered your grandfather was once engaged to my grandmother, and they think something could be rekindled. They also think the best way to get the two of them together is through us. I know this sounds like the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard, because it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever said.”
Hilary sat back in the chair, stunned. Clearly he didn’t want a dinner party catered. If she had been asked to guess why the crude, rude Devlin Kitteridge had come to see her, it wouldn’t have been this.
A picture of her grandfather came into her mind. He had always been so vital, but ever since her grandmother had died a year ago, he’d changed. He was apathetic now, refusing to go anywhere except to her town house. Instead of gradually coming out of mourning, he was rapidly sinking into real depression. She didn’t know how to stop it. But now …
She remembered the scrapbook she’d once found in her grandfather’s office. It had been filled with clippings of Devlin’s grandmother, sixty years’ worth. The opportunity was so perfect, she’d be a fool to pass it up. And she’d be a fool to do it too.
Devlin suddenly stood up, waving his hands. “Forget it. This is absurd, and I was absurd to even come here. No way any sane woman would agree—”
“Please. Mr. Kitteridge,” she said. “Sit down.”
“I’m not a nut,” he said, slumping back down on the sofa. “Maybe you know my brother, Miles, and his wife, Catherine? They can vouch for this. But I know it’s stupid, so thanks for patiently listening to my family’s ravings.…”
She knew his brother slightly and knew the two were twins. And, talk about “good twin, bad twin …” she thought. Devlin was the exact opposite of Miles, the charming, successful banker.
“… All we’re asking,” Devlin was continuing, “is that you go along with it for a few … dates. Just to get the ball rolling.”
She tucked the scarf closer around her chest, took a deep breath, looked Mr. Macho-man right in the eye, and said, “All right.”
Dev blinked. Of all the answers he’d expected, it wasn’t this one.
“You’ll do it?” he asked in shock.
She nodded. “Yes.”
He couldn’t refrain from asking the obvious. “Why?”
“Because I think your family’s right about my grandfather and your grandmother. I’m willing to do anything to see him happy.”
“Including suffering with me,” Dev added, rubbing his unshaven chin. He’d been up since four that morning. Probably he should have shaved before he’d come, but he’d been in a hurry to get the whole business over with.
He glanced at her, irritated by the sleekly tailored suit she was wearing … the perfect little scarf tied so perfectly in an intricate knot on her shoulder … the shoulder-length hair, whose simple cut probably cost more than his loan payments … the flawlessly creamy skin and porcelain features … the slender hands with scarlet-tipped nails … the full breasts pressing against the suit jacket … the thighs enticingly outlined by her slim skirt …
He resisted the urge to haul her body against his and find sweet oblivion. He must be nuts to think there’d be any oblivion with Miss Prim. Ms. Prim, he corrected himself. She probably took pride in that abbreviation.
She rose to her feet, and he nearly groaned when he saw her skirt was deliciously wrinkled just at the junction of her legs. “If that’s all, Mr. Kitteridge, I have to go.”
“Yeah, the date.” He pushed himself up off the sofa, wondering what jerk she was seeing and whether or not he knew him from the old days
. “I expect my grandmother will be calling you soon, once my cousins get it into her head that you and I would be a ‘perfect’ match.”
“Fine,” she said, smiling like a robot. “Good-bye, Mr. Kitteridge.”
“Dev,” he corrected her. “If we’re going to be matched, we’ll have to act the part.”
“Devlin,” she conceded.
He looked heavenward. Perfect opposites, he thought. Everything about her was everything he’d hated for so long. Too bad it was all attached to a great body.
She led the way to her front door. He followed, loving the way her skirt outlined her hips and thighs. She had one helluva backside. A man would kill to smooth his hands down its soft curve, then slip around to find the lushness beyond.…
He nearly bumped into her when she stopped to open the door, and the fantasy burst in a large dose of reality. Still, the scent of her perfume was doing subtle, sensual things to his senses. Okay, so she had great perfume, but that didn’t mean he had to be a fool.
He stopped on the threshold. “Look, you don’t have to worry that this matchmaking crap will actually work with you and me. I just want my grandmother off my back, and I’m willing to do anything to do it.”
“Only a baboon would think we’re compatible,” she agreed.
She didn’t have to put it quite so bluntly, he thought.
“Right,” he said, and walked out the door.
It banged shut after him.
As he drove home, two things occurred to him. The first was that she had agreed awfully quickly to the proposition, despite her claim that she wanted to see her grandfather happy. It was enough to make him wary. The second was that he was too damned interested in her date that night. It had been bothering him ever since she’d mentioned it.
A third thought struck him. She had gotten him in and out of the house in eight minutes.
The date must be a hot one.
And he didn’t like that at all.
“Hilary Rayburn?” Lettice repeated into the phone, carefully giving her voice the right touch of astonishment. Her granddaughter, Ellen, was completely transparent, she thought. All of her grandchildren were.
