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

“You don’t have a single facet that wants to live in a hut.”

“I didn’t say he lived in a hut!”

“Five pounds says it has a stone floor and no indoor plumbing.”

“I never take bets,” Merritt said loftily.

“Which means you think I’m right.”

Merritt’s reply was forestalled by the sound of muffled shouting and a thump or two—like something being thrown against a wall. It seemed to be coming from the direction of Keir’s room. Instantly alarmed, she set aside her teacup and saucer and sprang out of bed.

“What in heaven’s name is that?” Phoebe asked.

“I think it’s Mr. MacRae,” Merritt said in alarm.





Chapter 19


AFTER DONNING HER ROBE and slippers, Merritt sprinted along the hallway with Phoebe close behind. As they neared Keir’s room, they saw Kingston approaching from the other direction.

“Father,” Phoebe exclaimed.

“Hello, darling,” the duke said pleasantly. “I didn’t know you’d arrived.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt your meeting with the solicitors.”

“We just finished.” Kingston reached for the door. “What the devil is this all about?”

“I have no idea.” Merritt hurried into the room.

They found Keir sitting up in bed, cursing at Culpepper, the duke’s elderly valet. “You’ll no’ go by me again, you damned doaty auld ball sack!”

Merritt’s heart was wrenched with worry as she heard the wheeze in Keir’s breath. “What’s the matter?” she asked, hastening to the bedside.

“I’ve been skinned like a hare for stewing!” Keir said wrathfully, turning to her.

Merritt was dumbstruck at the sight of his clean-shaven face.

Dear God. He was beyond handsome. The cushioning thick beard was gone, revealing the brooding masculine beauty of a fallen angel. His features were strong but elegantly refined, the cheekbones high, the mouth full and erotic. She could hardly believe she’d slept with this dazzling creature.

“They shaved off my beard while I was drooged,” Keir told her indignantly, reaching out to clamp a hand on her skirts and tug her close.

The duke responded with an innocent look. “You’ll have to forgive my valet,” he said smoothly. “I instructed him to do a bit of grooming and tidying. It appears he assumed I meant a shave as well. Isn’t that right, Culpepper?”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” the old man replied dutifully.

“Culpepper tends to be impetuous,” Kingston continued. “He needs to work on controlling his impulses.”

Keir flushed with outrage. “He’s no’ a brash wee laddie, he’s ninety-eight fookin’ years old!”

“You may go now,” the duke said to his valet.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Merritt focused all her attention on Keir. “Try to relax and take deep breaths,” she said urgently, leaning over him. “Please. Look at me.” Staring into his eyes, she inhaled slowly, willing him to follow. His gaze locked with hers, and he struggled to breathe along with her. To her relief, the rough panting began to ease. She dared to reach out and push back a heavy lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. “I’m so sorry about your beard. I’m sure it will grow back quickly.”

“’Tis the principle,” he grumbled. “I was off my head and dinna know what was happening.”

Merritt clicked her tongue sympathetically, her hand sliding briefly to the hard, clean angle of his jaw. “They shouldn’t have done such a thing without asking. If I’d been here, I wouldn’t have allowed it.” She was thrilled to feel him lean subtly into the pressure of her hand.

“In any case,” she heard Kingston remark casually, “one can’t deny it’s an improvement.”

Merritt twisted to send him a threatening glance over her shoulder, willing him not to antagonize Keir further. “It was a very nice beard,” she said.

The duke arched a brow. “It looked like something I had to wrestle away from the dog last week.”

“Uncle Sebastian,” Merritt exclaimed in exasperation.

Keir’s attention, however, was fixed not on Kingston, but on the frozen figure by the doorway. “Who’s that?” he demanded.

Merritt followed his gaze to Phoebe, whose face was carefully blank. What a shock it must be for her, to be confronted with a man who looked so eerily similar—almost identical—to her father as a young man. “Dear,” she said apologetically to Phoebe, “about that story I was telling you … there was a part I hadn’t yet reached.”

Her friend replied slowly, staring at the duke. “I think perhaps my father should explain it to me.”

“I will,” Kingston said, giving his daughter a reassuring smile. “Come with me.” He ushered her from the room, saying, “We’ll leave Merritt with her fiancé.”

“What?” came Phoebe’s bewildered voice, just before he closed the door.

In the raw silence, Merritt brought herself to meet Keir’s baffled, accusing gaze.

“Fiancé?” he repeated. “Why did he call me that?”

Wishing she could throttle Kingston, Merritt said uneasily, “You see … I had to resort to … erm … a small prevarication.”