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

Merritt sagged against the doorjamb and stared fixedly at the doctor.

A week, she thought numbly. A small loss, most people would say, all things considered. She might have said the same thing herself, not long ago.

But now she knew how important a week could be. A life could change course in a few days. In an hour. A single moment. People could gain and lose the world.

A heart could be broken.

FOR HOURS, MERRITT occupied a chair in the corner of the guest room and watched as Garrett took care of Keir. She did what she could to help, taking away used rags and towels, emptying basins of soapy water, and holding the oxygen mask over Keir’s face while Garrett stepped out of the room from time to time.

“Why don’t you go to your room and lie down for a bit?” Garrett had offered, around midnight. “I promise to wake you if there’s any change in his condition.”

“I’d rather stay, if you don’t mind. You probably think I’m very foolish, carrying on over a man I’ve known only a matter of days.”

An odd little smile crossed Garrett’s face. “Someday I’ll tell you about my courtship with Ethan.”

At approximately two o’clock in the morning, there came a tap at the guest room door, and Merritt heard her brother’s voice.

“Merritt. It’s me.”

She sat up in the corner chair she’d occupied for hours, and rubbed her sore, tired eyes. “Come in.”

The door cracked open to reveal Luke’s grimy face. “Better not,” he said ruefully. “I’m filthy, and I’ve been toasted like Welsh rarebit.” He glanced around the edge of the door, surveying the scene.

Keir was sleeping on his side, while Garrett sat nearby, monitoring his condition and administering oxygen at intervals.

Merritt stood and stretched her sore back, and went out to the hallway to talk with Luke. He was sooty, muddy, and clearly exhausted, and his clothes reeked of smoke. “Poor old Buster,” she said with a frown of concern. Luke had earned the affectionate family nickname as an energetic toddler, mowing down everything in his path and leaving broken teacups and vases in his wake. “What can I do for you? Are you hungry? I’ll make sandwiches and tea. Do you—”

“First tell me how MacRae is.”

She relayed everything Garrett had told her about Keir’s condition.

“Naturally we’ll make sure he has the best of care,” Luke said. “But he can’t stay here, sis. He really can’t.”

“It’s not up to you, dear,” Merritt replied gently.

“Hang it all, I know that. But you still can’t—”

“Did you send word to the insurance company?”

“Yes, and then I went to the docks. The fire’s under control now. The transit shed burned down, but the other warehouses are intact.”

“That’s a relief.”

Luke nodded and rubbed the back of his neck wearily. “I saw Ethan Ransom there with the fire inspector, and I went over to talk with them.”

Merritt blinked in surprise. Garrett’s husband, Ethan, held a position of considerable power and authority in the Metropolitan Police. Even though the warehouse fire had been serious, an investigation would ordinarily have been handled by someone much lower down.

“Do they suspect arson?” she asked.

“Yes. It had to be. As I told Ransom, every Sterling employee knows the fire safety rules. They routinely check their pockets for stray matches every morning before entering the warehouse. No machinery was in operation, so it couldn’t have been a stray spark. The only person who had access to the building was MacRae, and I can’t conceive he would have been fool enough to start a fire in the flat. Furthermore, even if he had, it would have been contained in there, because the flat—and the stairwell leading up to it—were built with fireproof brick walls instead of frame.” Luke paused. “Ransom asked if he could stop by here tonight to check on his wife and ask a few questions in the bargain. I told him I thought you wouldn’t object.”

“On the contrary, I’ll be very pleased to see him.”

“Good, because he’ll be here soon.” Luke paused before asking hopefully, “Did you say something about sandwiches?”

Merritt smiled. “I’ll bring a tray to the front parlor.”

She went to the kitchen, fetched various items from the larder and pantry, and set the teakettle to boil. Although most ladies of her position rarely, if ever, set foot in the kitchen, Merritt had fallen into the habit of making small meals for herself on Cook’s days off. It was faster and more convenient than waiting for things to be brought to her, and there was something soothing about puttering in her own kitchen. She made sandwiches with brown bread, ham, and mustard, and added hard-boiled eggs and pickles on the side.

By the time Merritt brought a tray out to the front parlor, she found Luke talking with Ethan Ransom.

“My goodness,” she exclaimed, entering the room, “I didn’t hear you arrive, Mr. Ransom. Luke, dear, if you’ll take this and set it on the low table—” She handed the heavy tray to her brother and turned to Ethan. “I’m so very glad to see you,” she said, giving him both her hands.

Ethan Ransom pressed her hands firmly in his and smiled down at her. “My lady.” He was a good-looking man with black hair and dark blue eyes, his handsomeness agreeably roughened by a scar or two, and a nose that had once been broken. He had the perpetually vigilant gaze of a man who was all too familiar with the more dangerous streets and rookeries of London. But when he was among family and friends, he had a quiet, relaxed charm that Merritt liked immensely.