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

At the moment, Merritt didn’t feel like justifying her actions to anyone, least of all a younger sibling. But during the past year, she and Luke had formed a working partnership and friendship that made their bond unique. She would tolerate more from him than from nearly anyone else in her life. “I would probably caution her that she was acting impulsively,” she admitted, “and advise her to rely on the counsel of those who love her.”

“All right, then. I’m counseling you to stay in London and let Ransom and Uncle Sebastian decide what to do with MacRae. Whatever it is you feel for him, it’s not real. It happened too fast.”

In her weariness and strain, Merritt’s temper had a lower flashpoint than usual. She could feel it beginning to ignite, but she grimly tamped it back down and managed a calm reply. “You may be right,” she said. “But someday, Luke … you’ll meet someone. And from one breath to the next, everything will change. You won’t care whether it makes sense. All you’ll know is that a stranger owns your every heartbeat.”

Luke’s mouth twisted. “God, I hope not.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m going home for a few hours of rest. Tomorrow’s going to be busy.”

Merritt felt a strong twinge of guilt, leaving him to manage the company on his own at the worst possible time. “I’m sorry for abandoning you in the middle of a crisis,” she said.

Luke looked down at her with a hint of reluctant amusement. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I can handle this. If I can’t, I have no business running the company.”

After her brother had collected his hat and coat and departed, Merritt went upstairs with Kingston.

As they ascended the staircase, the duke remarked, “You handled that well. I doubt Phoebe would have been able to summon as much restraint in the face of a younger brother’s criticism.”

“Well, you see,” Merritt said ruefully, “Luke wasn’t wrong. I … I think I have gone a bit mad.”

The duke gave a soft huff of amusement. “I wouldn’t worry. If you can say you’ve gone mad, or at least allow for the possibility, you’re not.”

They reached the guest room, and Merritt tapped on the door before opening it cautiously. In the dim light shed by a small lamp, Keir lay on his side, eyes closed, while Garrett stood at the bedside and talked quietly to Ethan.

Upon seeing Merritt and Kingston, Garrett came to the doorway and curtsied. “Your Grace.”

“Dr. Gibson,” the duke said. “A pleasure to see you, as always.” His gaze went to the shadowed figure on the bed. “What is his condition?”

Garrett described Keir’s injuries succinctly, and added with a frown, “I understand the necessity of moving him, but I certainly wouldn’t recommend it. He’s in considerable pain, and he needs rest and quiet.”

“Can’t you give him something?” Merritt asked.

“Not while his breathing is so labored. Morphine tends to depress lung function.”

Kingston’s attention seemed riveted on the injured man. “I’d be obliged, Doctor, if you would make a list of what he’ll require on the trip down to Sussex. You’ll accompany us, of course.”

Garrett frowned and caught briefly at her lower lip with her teeth before replying. “I’m afraid I must remain here. I have surgeries scheduled, and also …”

Ethan came to his wife’s side and added, “My wife and I have an agreement that whenever one of us travels, the other will stay at home with the child. And I’ll be away from London, working on the investigation.”

“If you like,” Garrett told the duke, “I can recommend a colleague, Dr. Kent, who has a practice near Heron’s Point. He was trained according to Sir Joseph Lister’s methods, just as I was, and will provide first-rate care to Mr. MacRae.”

“Very well. I’d be obliged if you would contact him on our behalf. I want him waiting at the estate when we arrive.”

“I’ll wire him in the morning, Your Grace.”

The duke took one last glance at Keir’s sleeping form, his face inscrutable. But as he turned to leave, the mask of composure slipped to reveal a flash of anguished tenderness. Merritt blinked, and the expression vanished so quickly, she wondered if she’d imagined it.

Once they were out in the hallway, the duke told her, “You need pack only a few essentials. We’ll send for more in a day or two.”

“I should send a note to my family,” Merritt said, trying to collect her scattered thoughts.

“You can write one on the way and dispatch it from Heron’s Point.” With a wry quirk of his lips, he added, “I beg you to word it carefully. Despite my deep and abiding affection for your parents, I’d rather not be overrun by Marsdens for the time being.”

“Neither would I,” Merritt assured him. “Papa would ask a great many questions I have no wish to answer, and Mama … well, as you know, she’s as subtle as a marauding Viking.”

The duke laughed softly. “In the interest of self-preservation, I’ll withhold comment.”

The brief grin reminded Merritt of Keir, and nearly made her heart stop. “His expressions are so like yours,” she said impulsively.

Kingston followed the abrupt turn of thought without needing explanation. “Are they?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the guest room. He turned back to her with a faint, pensive smile, and headed to the staircase.