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

“Common interests can be acquired,” he pointed out. “What matters most is having similar values.”

“Oh? What values do you and Evie have in common?” But the question sounded teasing rather than mocking.

Sebastian thought for a moment. “She and I have both always wanted me to be happy.” As Lillian laughed heartily, he offered an arm to her. “Shall we rejoin the others?”

“No, I’m going to walk out to the cove and do some thinking. You may tell the other two I’ve regained my sweet temper and am no longer breathing fire. And don’t fret over things you can’t change. ‘Life must be lived forwardly.’ That’s from a philosopher Marcus has taken to quoting lately, I can never remember the name.’”

“Kierkegaard,” Sebastian said. “Life can be understood only by looking back, but has to be lived forwardly.”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Impulsively Lillian gave him her hand, and he held it in a brief, warm clasp.

“Pax, old friend?” Sebastian asked gently.

Her lips quirked. “After thirty years, we may as well give it a try.”





Chapter 30


KEIR SAT NEXT TO the firepit at the sandy cove, watching shore birds feed. Dunlin, plovers, and stints ran delicately across the wet sand to peck and probe for mollusks. They whistled plaintively and kept a wary eye on a gull digging for a buried shellfish.

Before long, he thought wryly, he would be driven to forage for mussels right alongside them. He was hollow with hunger. All he’d had so far that day was the cup of tea Culpepper had brought before shaving him.

The valet had told him that Lord and Lady Westcliff were breakfasting with the duke and duchess. Assuming Keir would join them, Culpepper had brought an elegant morning coat and vest, and trousers made of striped gray wool for him to wear. Keir had assured him emphatically that he had no intention of going down for breakfast. He was heading to the cove, and would need casual clothes and canvas shoes. Although the old valet obviously hadn’t liked that idea, he’d brought a new set of garments after the shave.

Keir felt like a coward, slinking out of the house rather than face the Westcliffs, but he had no intention of meeting them and the duchess all at once.

“Perhaps you should lie low,” Merritt had suggested to Keir, “while I go downstairs and assess the situation.”

Keir had thought that was a good plan, in light of the fact that Merritt’s mother had just caught them in bed together. He’d told Merritt he would probably walk out to the cove, as the weather was mild and no one else would be out there.

If only he weren’t so hungry.

Sighing, he poked at a birch log. It sank heavily into a blaze of collapsing kindling, pluming the air with smoke and sparks. Through a dance of light-flecks, he saw a figure emerging from the holloway.

It was a woman wearing a black cloak. She stopped at the sight of him, seeming disconcerted to find someone else at the cove.

Keir rose to his feet, reaching up awkwardly to remove his hat before remembering he wasn’t wearing one.

The woman crossed the beach toward him with an easy, energetic stride. As she approached, he saw she was beautiful, with heavy dark hair, an oval face, and merry brown eyes. She was an elongated, less bosomy version of Merritt, as if someone had carefully stretched her about five inches north and south.

Lady Westcliff, he thought, and a blaze of embarrassment raced over him.

“Is that a signal fire?” she called out in breezy manner, her accent distinctly American. “Are you in need of a rescue?” She had Merritt’s smile, the one that started with a little crinkle of her nose and made her eyes tip-tilted.

Keir’s trepidation began to fade. “Aye,” he said, “but I’m no’ sure what from yet.”

She was about to reply, but she stopped in her tracks with startling abruptness, her astonished gaze sweeping down to his feet and back up again. “Flaming fuckbustles,” she exclaimed under her breath.

Keir looked at her blankly, having never heard such language coming from a woman.

Lady Westcliff snapped her mouth shut. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that you look like—”

“I know,” he said with a touch of chagrin.

“So much like him,” she said, still disconcerted, “particularly as he was in a less-than-charming period before he married Evie.” She frowned. “But that has nothing to do with you, of course.”

Keir nodded, unsure how to reply.

The conversation collapsed like a pricked balloon. They both stood there pondering how to breathe life into it.

“Milady … did you want to speak with me?” Keir asked.

“Actually, I came out here to do some thinking. I didn’t expect to find anyone at the beach.”

“I’ll leave,” he offered. “I’ll stoke up the fire for you and—”

“No, please stay.” She paused. “What are you doing out here?”

“Hiding.”

That amused her. “Not from me, I hope.”

Her laugh sounded so much like Merritt’s that he felt his heart lean toward her like a garden seeking the sun. “You’re no’ the only one I was trying to avoid.”

“I’m avoiding them too.”