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

Keir’s thoughts were interrupted as a footman emerged from the holloway and approached carrying a small polished wood chest.

The duke reached up to take the box from the footman. “Thank you, James.”

“Your Grace, shall I—”

“No, I’ll take care of it,” the duke said pleasantly.

“As you please, Your Grace.” The footman bowed smartly and made his way back to the holloway with sand-filled shoes.

Kingston opened the latch of the chest and pulled out a small whisky decanter. He held it up with a questioning lift of his brows. “Too early?”

Keir smiled, thinking the morning was improving rapidly. “No’ for a Scot.” He watched with anticipation as Kingston proceeded to pour the whisky into a pair of crystal tumblers.

After taking the pleasantly weighty glass, Keir studied the glowing amber color appreciatively. He gave it a swirl and bent his head to take in the aroma.

His breath caught. His fingers tightened on the glass. Dazedly he wondered how it was that a smell could go straight to the part of the brain where memory lived.

The whisky was from the special forty-year-old batch his father had made.

“You brought samples to Jenner’s,” he heard the duke say. “I happened to be there that day, and we spoke briefly. Do you remember?”

Keir shook his head. To his horror, his throat had gone very tight, and hot pressure was accumulating at the corners of his eyes.

“My steward placed an order for all two hundred and ninety-nine bottles of Lachlan’s Treasure,” Kingston continued. “To my regret, it was destroyed in the warehouse fire. But we still had the samples.”

A long silence passed, while Keir struggled to gain control of his emotions. Breathing in the dry, woody, smooth fragrance of his father’s whisky made him feel as if Lachlan were close by. He could almost see the craggy face, and black eyes snapping with humor. He could almost feel the wiry, compact arms that had once held him with such strength.

When Keir was finally able to lift his head, the duke gestured with his glass. “To Lachlan MacRae,” he said simply.

Bloody hell, Keir thought. He’d just been guddled. He drank, the mellow heat of the whisky sliding over the hard lump in his throat … and noticed something in Kingston’s eyes he’d missed before. A quiet glow of understanding and concern. A paternal look. Being the focus of it felt … not bad.

After taking a swallow, Kingston spoke carefully. “Had I been told about you, Keir … I would have taken you in and raised you with all the care and devotion a father could give a son. You would have been a joy to me. From the moment I received that letter from your mother, I’ve run the gamut from fury to fear, wondering what your life had been like. My only consolation in all of it has been hearing that MacRae was a loving father. For that, if he were still alive, I would kiss his feet.”

Keir grinned crookedly, staring into the contents of his glass. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever seen his feet.”

He heard Kingston chuckle, and he found himself relaxing. And as they sat there on the beach listening to the endless rustle of waves, with the taste of Lachlan MacRae’s whisky on their lips … they were finally able to talk.





Chapter 24


MERRITT HAD NO ILLUSION that Uncle Sebastian would be able to persuade Keir to stay at Heron’s Point. She’d seen the tension in Keir’s posture, the way he’d gripped one hand inside the other. It was the look of a man whose nerves had been chafed raw. Short of chaining him to a heavy article of furniture, there was no way to keep him from leaving, regardless of what danger awaited him.

She supposed she should make plans for her own departure. She would leave tomorrow morning.

A feeling of utter gloom rolled toward her like a bank of storm clouds. She couldn’t let it engulf her.

Before she returned to London, she would go to Hampshire. She needed to see her family, especially her mother, who would surround her with inexhaustible warmth and vitality. Mama would hug her tightly, and demand to hear every detail, and send for a tray of sweets from the kitchen, and ask the butler to bring wine, and they would talk for hours. By the end of it, life would seem bearable again. Yes, she would go home to Stony Cross Park tomorrow morning.

Clinging to her resolve, Merritt wrote a telegram and dispatched a footman to post it, and went to find a quiet place to read correspondence. She settled on the tapestry room, a cozy wood-paneled space hung with glowing French tapestries. Sitting at a small gilt-wood desk positioned in front of a window, she read a detailed letter from Luke about meeting with insurance executives, and putting a vessel into dry dock for repair, and getting a builder’s estimates on constructing a new bonded warehouse.

What a fine manager Luke was turning out to be, she thought with pride. Reliable, attentive to detail, confident in charting a difficult path. A natural leader. She couldn’t imagine leaving the company in better hands than his as she went on to the next stage of her life … whatever that turned out to be.

She could stay in London, surround herself with people, go to dinners and parties, and become a patroness of worthy causes. But that would be far too similar to her life with Joshua. She’d outgrown all that. She wanted something new, something challenging.

Before she made any decisions, perhaps she should travel abroad. Italy, Germany, Spain, Greece, China, Egypt … She could visit the seven wonders of the world and keep a journal. What were the seven wonders? She tried to recall the poem a governess once taught her to help remember them. How did it go? … The pyramids first, which in Egypt were laid … Next Babylon’s garden, which Amytis made … Now that she thought of it, who had made the list in the first place? In a world full of wonders, seven seemed an awfully stingy number.