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

Chapter 15


IN THE MORNING, GARRETT decided Keir’s lungs had improved sufficiently to allow for a light dose of morphine. He was suffering from such a severe headache that he didn’t object to the hypodermic syringe, and hardly even seemed to notice it. To Merritt’s relief, the injection eased his misery enough to let him sleep.

“Poor chap,” Garrett said quietly, settling an ice bag against his ribs. “He’s in for a rough few days. He’ll have to be up and moving before he feels like it, and in spite of the injured ribs, he’ll have to do deep breathing exercises to prevent pneumonia.”

“If you write out the instructions,” Merritt assured her, “I’ll see that it’s done.”

“I’m sure you will.” Garrett smiled at her. “Don’t neglect your own care, my friend. You’ll need rest if you’re going to be of any help to him.”

THEY TRAVELED IN the duke’s private railway carriage, a handsomely appointed vehicle trimmed with the blue and cream of the Challon family coat of arms. Merritt stayed at Keir’s bedside to watch over him as he slept in one of the carriage’s staterooms. Kingston, meanwhile, sat in the main compartment, poring over the instructions and medical records Garrett had sent with them.

Halfway through the journey, Kingston appeared at the stateroom’s threshold. “May I come in?” he asked quietly.

Merritt looked up with a smile, trying to conceal her weariness. “Of course.” She wrung out a cloth that had been soaking in ice water, and folded it in a long rectangle.

The duke approached the bedside. Very gently, he reached down to lay a hand across Keir’s forehead. “He has fever,” he commented.

“Dr. Gibson said the wound on his back will probably have to be cleaned and drained.”

Kingston nodded with a frown. “I bloody hate fever,” he muttered.

Merritt draped the cold cloth over Keir’s dry, hot forehead. He made an incoherent sound and turned toward her, seeking the source of coolness. She murmured a few soothing words and used another iced cloth to stroke his face and throat. Keir subsided with a soft groan.

Kingston’s eyes narrowed with interest as he saw the fine steel chain among the fleece of chest hair. “What’s that?”

“A token from his … from the woman who bore him. He always wears it.”

Kingston’s long, elegant fingers slipped beneath the chain and carefully tugged upward. As the little gold key emerged, the duke’s breath caught. He picked it up for a closer look, and he began to draw the chain over the sleeping man’s head.

Merritt reached for it reflexively. “Wait.”

“I need to borrow this,” he said brusquely. “I’ll return it to him safely.”

“Uncle Sebastian—”

“You have my word.”

“No.”

To say the least, it was not a word the duke was accustomed to hearing. He went still, regarding her with an arched brow.

Merritt stared back at him calmly, doing her best to conceal how incredibly uncomfortable she felt at having to deny him something he wanted. But the key was precious to Keir, his only link to the mother he couldn’t remember, and she couldn’t allow it to be taken from him. Not for a day, an hour, or even a minute. Not while he was helpless.

She didn’t let herself look away from those piercing light eyes, no matter how she wanted to cringe.

“This is a matter of personal significance to me,” Kingston said coolly.

“I understand. But until Keir is able to give his consent … I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”

The duke didn’t like that, she could see. And she knew how easily he could have demolished her with just a few words. Instead, he said, “I’m the last person you need to protect him from.”

“Of that I have no doubt, but … the key is sacred to him. He wouldn’t want you to take it.”

“Borrow,” Kingston muttered.

Merritt made her voice soft and cajoling. “Of course, Uncle. But … it’s important that you and he start off on the right foot, isn’t it? What difference would a few days’ wait make in the grand scheme of things?”

His mouth tightened. But to her vast relief, he let go of the key.

After another forty-five minutes, the train reached the station at Heron’s Point, a seaside town located in the sunniest region in England. Even now in autumn, the weather was mild and clear, the air humid with healthful sea breezes. Heron’s Point was sheltered by a high cliff that jutted far out into the sea and helped to create the town’s own small climate. It was an ideal refuge for convalescents and the elderly, with a local medical community and an assortment of clinics and therapeutic baths. It was also a fashionable resort, featuring shops, drives and promenades, a theatre, and recreations such as golf and boating.

The Marsdens had often come here to stay with the duke’s family, the Challons, especially in summer. The children had splashed and swum in the private sandy cove, and sailed near the shore in little skiffs. On hot days they had gone to a shop in town for ices and sweets. In the evenings, they had relaxed and played on the Challons’ back veranda, while music from the town band floated up from the concert pavilion. Merritt was glad to bring Keir to a familiar place where so many happy memories had been created. The seaside house, airy and calm and gracious, would be a perfect place for him to convalesce.