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

Despite his weakened condition, Keir was easily able to pull her down beside him with a commanding tug. One of his hands settled beneath her arm to lock her in place. “I dinna know what that means,” he said, “but it sounds like a fine-feathered word for lying.”

“It is,” she admitted in a sheepish tone. “And for that I’m very sorry. But saying we were betrothed was the only way I could accompany you here, to take care of you.”

Keir leaned back against the pillows, leveling a surly glance at her. “Why?”

“It wouldn’t be proper, since we’re both—”

“No, I meant why did you want to?”

“I … I suppose I felt responsible because you were injured while staying in my company’s warehouse.”

“No one would ever believe I’d offer for you. ’Tis a daft notion.”

Surprised and offended, Merritt asked, “Do you find me so unappealing?”

Keir seemed startled by the question. “No, of course not. You’re …” He paused, staring at her as if mesmerized. The hand beneath her arm had slipped a bit lower, his long thumb beginning to stroke the side of her breast in a caress he didn’t seem to be aware of. “You’re as bonnie as a wild rose,” he said absently. Merritt shivered beneath the gently erotic touch, the tip of her breast gathering into a hard peak. Suddenly realizing what he was doing, Keir snatched his hands from her. “But I’d never take a wife so far above me.”

Merritt’s heart was beating high in her throat, making it difficult to speak. “We’re all woven from the same loom,” she said. “That’s what my father says. He married an American. My great-grandmother was a laundress, as a matter of fact.”

Keir shook his head dismissively. “You’re a highborn lady with fine ways.”

Merritt frowned. “You make it sound as if I were some pampered creature who could barely lift a teacup. I’ve had to work very hard. I run a shipping company, a very large one—”

“Aye, I know.”

“—and I’ve spent a great deal of time managing men who are far less civilized than you. I can be as tough as nails when the situation calls for it. As for the betrothal … I’ll take the blame for breaking it off. I’ll say I changed my mind.”

Looking irritable, Keir reached up to stroke his jaw, and swore softly as he seemed to realize anew that his face was bare. “I need to see to the running of my own business,” he muttered. “My men will have worrit when I dinna return on schedule. Do they know what happened?”

“I’m not sure. They may have sent an inquiry to the Sterling office. I’ll ask my brother.”

“I’ll leave tomorrow,” he decided, “or the day after.”

“But you can’t,” Merritt exclaimed. “Your lungs need at least another week to heal. I have a list of breathing exercises for you to start on. And your ribs are either fractured or badly bruised. According to the doctor—”

“I’ll heal as well at home as I would here.” Keir paused. “Where is ‘here,’ by the way?”

“We’re at the duke’s estate in Sussex. In a seaside resort town called Heron’s Point.”

At the mention of the duke, Keir fastened a brooding gaze on the window, and let out a long sigh. “I look like him,” he eventually said, his tone grim.

Merritt’s reply was gentle. “Very much so.”

“Does he think I’m …” Keir didn’t seem able to finish the sentence.

“He’s almost certain of it. He’s had an investigator searching for evidence.”

“I dinna care what he finds. I had a father. There’ll be no replacing Lachlan MacRae.”

“Of course not,” she said. “He was your father in all the ways that truly mattered.” She smiled absently as she recalled one of the stories he’d told her about his parents. “How could anyone replace the man who stayed up late to mend the cuff of your Sunday shirt?”

Keir had told her over dinner that when he was a boy, his mother had made him a shirt out of blue broadcloth, meant to be worn only to church or formal occasions. But Keir had disobeyed and worn it on a Saturday, when he’d gone to sweep and clean the coppersmith’s shop for a shilling. He’d been trying to catch the eye of the man’s daughter, and had hoped the new shirt would improve his chances. Unfortunately a cuff had caught on a nail while he was working, and had torn almost completely off the sleeve. Fearing his mother’s disapproval, Keir had confessed the crime to his father. But Lachlan had come to the rescue, for he’d known how to sew.

“Dinna trooble yourself, lad,” Lachlan had reassured him. “I’ll stay up a wee bit later than usual, mend the cuff, and you can wear it to church tomorrow, with your mither none the wiser.”

The plan would have worked brilliantly, except when Keir had dressed for church the next morning, he’d discovered that Lachlan had accidentally stitched the sleeve closed. It had been impossible to slide a hand through it. The shamefaced conspirators, father and son, had gone to confess to Elspeth. Her annoyance had soon been swept away in convulsive giggles as she’d inspected the sealed shirt cuff. She’d laughed for days, and had told her friends about it, and the story had been joke fodder among the women for years. But both Keir and Lachlan had agreed it was worth looking foolish, for Elspeth to have taken such enjoyment in it.