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

“How do you know about that?” Keir asked, his eyes narrowed.

“You told me, during dinner in London.”

“We were at a dinner?”

“You came to my home. It was just the two of us.”

Keir didn’t seem sure what to make of that.

“We were exchanging stories about our families,” Merritt continued. “After you told me about the shirt cuff, I told you about the time I spilled ink on a map in my father’s study.”

He shook his head, looking baffled.

“It was a rare two-hundred-year-old map of the British Isles,” Merritt explained. “I’d gone into my father’s study to play with a set of inkwell bottles, which I’d been told not to do. But they were such tempting little etched glass bottles, and one of them was filled with the most resplendent shade of emerald green you’ve ever seen. I dipped a pen in it, and accidentally dribbled some onto the map, which had been spread out on his desk. It made a horrid splotch right in the middle of the Oceanus Germanicus. I was standing there, weeping with shame, when Papa walked in and saw what had happened.”

“What did he do?” Keir asked, now looking interested.

“He was quiet at first. Waging a desperate battle with his temper, I’m sure. But then his shoulders relaxed, and he said in a thoughtful tone, ‘Merritt, I suspect if you drew some legs on that blotch, it would make an excellent sea monster.’ So I added little tentacles and fangs, and I drew a three-masted ship nearby.” She paused at the flash of Keir’s grin, the one that never failed to make her a bit light-headed. “He had it framed and hung it on the wall over his desk. To this day, he claims it’s his favorite work of art.”

Amusement tugged at one corner of his mouth. “A good father,” he commented.

“Oh, he is! Both my parents are lovely people. I wish … well, I don’t suppose there’ll be a chance for you to meet them.”

“No.”

“Keir,” she continued hesitantly, “I’m not in a position to speak for the duke, but knowing him as I do … I’m sure he would never want to replace your father, or take anything from you.”

No response.

“As for the duke’s past,” Merritt continued, “I don’t know what you may have heard. But it would only be fair to talk to him yourself before making judgments … don’t you think?”

Keir shook his head. “It would be a waste of time. My mind is set.”

Merritt gave him a chiding smile. “Stubborn,” she accused mildly, and took the empty glass from him. “You should rest for a bit. I’ll find some proper clothing for you and come back later to help you dress.”

His frown reappeared. “I dinna need help.”

Thankfully, years of working in the rough-and-tumble environment of the South London docks had taught Merritt patience. “You’ve been ill,” she pointed out calmly, “and you’re recovering from serious injury. Unless you want to risk falling and causing yourself more harm, you should probably let someone assist you.”

“No’ you. Someone else.”

That stung, but Merritt steeled herself not to show it. “Who, then?”

Keir heaved a sigh and muttered, “The auld ball sack.”

“Culpepper?” Merritt exclaimed, baffled. “But you were so cross with him. Why would you prefer his help to mine?”

“’Tis no’ proper for you to do it.”

“My dear man, you’re shutting the door after the house was robbed. There’s not an inch of you I haven’t seen by now.”

His color heightened. “No man wants a woman to see him in the a’thegither when he’s gone ill and unwashed for days.”

“You have not gone unwashed. If anything, you’ve been water-logged. I’ve cold-sponged you constantly since we arrived.” Smiling wryly, she went to the threshold and paused with her hand on the doorknob. “I’ll send Culpepper later, if that’s what you prefer.”

“Aye.” Keir paused before muttering, “Thank you, milady.”

“Merritt.”

“Merritt,” he repeated … and gave her an arrested glance that jolted her heart.

Why was he staring at her like that? Had he remembered something? Her fingers clenched over the doorknob until her palm throbbed around the cool polished brass.

“’Tis a bonnie name,” he finally said distantly, and turned his gaze to one of the windows, silently dismissing her.





Chapter 20


KEIR AWOKE THE NEXT morning just as a maid quietly left the room with the wood scuttle. A small fire snapped in the hearth, softening the night’s chill. Sounds drifted from other parts of the house as servants went about their daily chores. He heard a few low-voiced exchanges, a delicate rattle of china or glass, shutters being opened, a carpet being swept. His nose twitched and his mouth watered as he detected the faint hint of something rich and salty frying—bacon, maybe?—and the sweetness of baking bread. Breakfast soon, he thought, his usual appetite asserting itself.

Carefully he got out of bed and hobbled to the washstand. The left side of his rib cage was as sore and tender as if it had been split by a plowshare. He had a headache and a come-and-go ringing in his ears. But worst of all were his lungs, weak and wheezy, like a ruptured blacksmith’s bellows.