Devlin's Light

READ THESE SUPERB ROMANCES
FROM BESTSELLING AND
AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR

MARIAH STEWART

BROWN-EYED GIRL
PRICELESS
MOON DANCE
WONDERFUL YOU

Look for her delightful tale “Swept Away”
in the bestselling story collection

UNDER THE BOARDWALK

All available from Pocket Books

Don’t miss Mariah Stewart in the thrilling
romantic suspense anthology

WAIT UNTIL DARK

Coming soon from Pocket Books

“So, India Devlin”—he reached
out to touch her hair
—
“what
do we talk about now?”

She tried not to act like the wide-eyed girl she was beginning to feel like as he inched closer.

“Let’s see, we’ve talked about Corri. And August. Darla’s business. How we will proceed to investigate Ry’s death. Horseshoe crabs … bird migrations. Have we missed anything?”

His hand was on her elbow and he guided her toward him even as he moved toward her, bridging the slight distance between them with his body until his face was inches away from hers.

“I didn’t think so,” he murmured.

Praise for
Carolina Mist

“A wonderful, tender novel with romance of a period past and love with a little mystery and adventure woven in.”

—
Rendezvous

“An inspiring tale of love, life and friendship that will live on in readers’ hearts long after the last word is read. Make sure you have plenty of time when you pick this one up because you will not want to put it down. …”

—Gina Gomez, America Online Romance Review Bulletin Board

“Contemporary romance lovers will find a lot to appreciate in this new offering from Mariah Stewart. All the good stuff is here….”

—Cathy Sova,
Romantic Reader Web-Site

“An entertaining read. … As with Mariah Stewart’s other books, atmosphere abounds. …”

—Annette Carney,
The Literary Times

“First-rate. … Mariah Stewart provides her fans with an extremely interesting novel.”

—Harriet Klausner,
Affaire de Coeur

“As she has proved in the past, talented author Mariah Stewart excels at creating emotionally complex novels that are sure to touch your heart.”

—Jill M. Smith,
Romantic Times

“Ms. Stewart has written a touching and compassionate story of life and love that wrapped around me like a cozy quilt. …”

—Tanzey Cutter,
Old Book Barn Gazette

Praise for Mariah Stewart’s
Award-Winning Debut Novel
Moments in Time

“A sensational debut… [an] unforgettable first contemporary release. … a truly engrossing read.”

—Jill M. Smith,
Romantic Times

“Cleverly and excellently done—Ms. Stewart is an author to watch. Her star is on the rise.”

—
Rendezvous

“I loved it! A powerhouse of a book. I couldn’t put it down.”

—Gail Link, author of
Encantadora
and
Forsaking All Others

“A fast-paced, page-turning tale of love’s discoveries, trials and triumphs.”

—Kasey Michaels, author of
The Promise

Praise for the Award-Winning
A Different Light

“Engrossing from beginning to end! A wonderful story. … compelling, touching and romantic!”

—Kristina Wright,
The Literary Times

“An excellent read.”

—
Rendezvous

“A book of personal growth and triumph. … terrific. …”

—
The Paperback Forum

“Warm, compassionate, and fulfilling. Great reading.”

—Jill M. Smith,
Romantic Times

Books by Mariah Stewart

Moments in Time

A Different Light

Carolina Mist

Devlin’s Light

Wonderful You

Moon Dance

Priceless

Brown-Eyed Girl

Voices Carry

Published by
POCKET BOOKS

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

An
Original
Publication of POCKET BOOKS

Copyright © 1997 by Marti Robb

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN: 0-671-00415-8
ISBN-13: 978-0-6710-0415-6
eISBN-13: 978-1-4516-3301-6

First Pocket Books printing August 1997

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

Dedicated with love to Carol Gimbel Loder,
whose courage and faith humble me.

Chapter 1

With cool impartiality, India Devlin regarded the face of each and every mourner who stood at her brother’s open grave, wondering if perhaps she were, at that moment, looking into the deceptive eyes of a killer who hid a terrible secret while at the same time offering well-rehearsed condolences.

Everyone who was
anyone
in Devlin’s Light—and many who were not—had come to pay their last respects to Robert Forman Devlin. India, the only sibling of the deceased, shifted her sights first to the group gathered on the opposite side of the waiting grave, then to the large coffin, still draped and flower strewn, which rested almost at her feet. She tucked a strand of unruly blond hair behind her ear and shifted her weight, one foot to the other, all the while watching, watching, praying that someone would do something to give themselves away.

Ludicrous, she chided herself. As if Ry’s killer would step forward and announce that he—or she—was the guilty one.

But who?

Ry Devlin had been the last of the male line of those same Devlins who had come south from the New England colonies in the mid-1600s and whose name was borne by both the lighthouse they had built and the settlement they
had founded on the uncertain coast just west of the point where the Atlantic Ocean met the Delaware Bay. Handsome, affable, full of the Devlin charm, Ry had been well liked, admired, respected by all who knew him, and he had seemed to be without an enemy in this world.

Well, he’d had at least one.

India shook her head, incredulous that she should find herself here, in this centuries-old burying place, at so unlikely an event. Once, as a child, India had unsuccessfully attempted to count the number of Devlins whose final resting spots lay behind the small, whitewashed church that had served many generations of the town’s residents. The weathered structure had gone unused for years, since long before India’s birth, though it was faithfully maintained through the efforts of the Devlin Trust; for the country church, like the ancient cemetery and much of the coastal boundary of Devlin’s Light, was on Devlin land.

Beyond Ry’s grave, in this corner of the churchyard, lay the remains of their father, Robert Sr., their mother, Nancy, and their paternal grandparents, Benjamin and Sarah. A little farther down a well-worn path, side by side and for all eternity, lay Benjamin’s parents and, a bit farther more, their parents. And so on, through more generations of Devlins all the way back to Eli, Samuel and Jonathan, the first Devlins to stand on the shores of the Delaware Bay.

And there, about six feet to the left of Ry’s intended eternal home, was the marker erected but two years earlier for Maris Steele Devlin. Ry’s wife of eight months, Maris had taken a rowboat out into the bay to go crabbing one summer morning and had been caught in a sudden squall. Now Maris was memorialized here, amidst the remains of a family she had never belonged to, had never really been part of.

Unconsciously India sought and found the hand of her late brother’s stepdaughter and gave it a squeeze, then gathered the little girl to her in an embrace meant to comfort, all the while wondering if this child would ever know comfort again. As dismayed as India had been over Ry’s choice of a wife, India had adored Maris’s daughter, Corrine. Sweet, shy Corri, who had dealt with loss
far too often for one so young and who now, at six, believed she faced the world alone.

Not while I have life
, India promised silently, her fingers gently untangling one of Corri’s strawberry-blond curls. She knew exactly how deep the little girl’s grief would be, and she sought, in whatever way she could, to absorb some of it.

India bowed her head and squeezed her eyes closed against the tears welling up behind them and tried once again to swallow the lump that would not be swallowed away as the Reverend Corson cleared his throat and began the final prayers over the heavy bronze coffin. It was long and wide—“oversized,” the funeral director had noted absently—to hold the body of the deceased. Ry had been a big man, tall and broad-shouldered. Agile as a cat, though, and gentle as the wishes they made when, as children, they had sat upon the rocks overlooking the inlet, waiting for the first of the evening stars to appear in the night sky.