Devil in Disguise (The Ravenels #7) by Lisa Kleypas

The warehouse was dark and quiet as Keir returned to his flat. After sitting heavily in the chair near the stove, he glanced morosely at the adjoining room, where the small, solitary bed awaited. It might as well have been a torture rack. How could he be so tired and yet so reluctant to go to bed? His body was cold everywhere except for the wound on his back, which glowed with heat. It was tender, oddly tight, pulsing with a precise and regular throb. He sat there, staring blindly at the little stove, and considered lighting it to warm the flat. No. Everything was too much effort.

Heaving a sigh, Keir finally let himself think about Merritt.

He couldn’t believe he’d have to go the rest of his life without her. He wanted, needed, to see her one last time. Just for one minute. A half minute. Ten seconds. God, he was sick with longing. If he could just have a glimpse at her, he’d never ask for anything else in his life.

Maybe … he could go to her? No, don’t be a witless arse. He’d barely managed leaving her once. Leaving her twice would be the death of him.

But even knowing that, Keir found himself rising to his feet and reaching for his coat. His heart thudded with anticipation. He would just ask after her well-being. Even if she didn’t come to the door—if she were abed and he could only speak to the footman—that was still better than sitting here doing nothing.

He left the flat and began down the staircase leading to the outside door. But his steps slowed as he saw a cloud of smoke at the bottom of the stairwell.

Fire. A chill of alarm went through him in a flash, raising gooseflesh. He was stinging all over.

There was no such thing as a small warehouse fire. The stairwells and elevator shafts acted like chimneys, funneling flames and heat upward to spread the inferno across the wide-open floors.

With a curse, he barreled down the rest of the stairs and reached for the door handle.

It was gone.

Keir stared at the doorplate incredulously. The handle hadn’t fallen off, it had been neatly removed, with the bolt turned to the locking position. Someone had deliberately trapped him in here.

A warehouse for bonded goods was designed to be as secure as a bank vault. The door, wrapped in steel sheets and attached with industrial hardware, could not be broken.

A dull roar came through the wall between the stairwell and the building’s storage area. The sound of fire. Soon it would reach thousands of casks of whisky.

He was fucked.

Cursing, Keir turned and raced back up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. He went back into the flat, fumbling slightly as he unlocked the door. He ran to the window, pulled back the fastening bar, and opened it wide. A glance down the side of the building revealed nothing in the way of stairs or fire escapes.

Three stories yawned between him and the hard-paved ground, with no way to break or soften his fall.

Very fucked.

He focused on a one-story transit shed, built approximately ten feet away from the warehouse. If he could manage to reach it, the distance of the fall would be cut by a third. But without a running start, Keir wasn’t sure he could jump that far. And even if he could, he probably wouldn’t survive hitting the shed’s metal roof.

On the other hand, it was preferable to being roasted like an egg.

Breathing hard, Keir levered himself up to the window and stood carefully on the sill, gripping the jamb for balance.

It occurred to him that he’d probably end up being buried in England … far from his parents’ graves and the island he loved.

Someone wanted him dead, and he’d never know why. The thought charged him with fury.

And he jumped.





Chapter 11


MERRITT STOOD IN HER bedroom as Jenny unfastened the back of her dress. It had been a long day, fraught with work she hadn’t felt like doing. She hadn’t been able to focus on anything for more than five minutes. Her mind had pulled back from every task like a cantankerous mule.

Her gaze strayed to the nearby bed, freshly made with pristine smooth sheets and blankets, the pillows nicely plumped. There were no signs of the torrid activity of the previous night. But for a moment, her mind conjured an image of a sleek golden body, broad shoulders rising over hers, the flash of the tiny key as it dangled from his neck and dragged gently between her naked breasts.

She gave a brief shake of her head to clear it. The bed was too large for one person, ridiculously so. She would get rid of it, she decided, and buy one half its size. Should she have the brocade counterpane cut down to fit the smaller bed? No, she would give it away and have a new one made. Perhaps something in blue—

Her musing was interrupted by a deep boom from outside, rattling the glass lamp housings and the crystal drops in the chandeliers.

“Holy Moses,” Merritt exclaimed, “is that thunder?”

Jenny was frowning. “I don’t think so, milady.”

They hurried to the window and drew back the curtains. Merritt flinched at a blinding flash close to the horizon, instantly followed by another thunderous sound. It was coming from the direction of the docks, she realized. Her stomach turned to ice.

“Fasten my dress back up, Jenny,” she said tensely. “No—first shout for Jeffrey and tell him to have the carriage readied, then help me with the dress.”

Approximately ten minutes later, Merritt was hurrying downstairs. There was a hammering at the front door. Before she could reach it, someone shouldered inside without waiting for a response.