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

“Would you like to sit by the fire with me?”

“I would,” she said. “Let’s pretend we’ve done all the small talk, and go straight to a real conversation.”

“NOT LONG AGO, you made up your mind never to marry again,” Merritt’s father reminded her as they walked along the holloway to the cove. They had talked for at least an hour after breakfast, just the two of them, lingering over tea in the morning room. It was always a relief to unburden herself to Papa, who was pragmatic and sympathetic, and had an uncanny ability to quickly grasp the details and implications of a problem.

Now Merritt had set out to find Keir, carrying a small lidded basket with a few tidbits from the sideboard. Her father had asked to accompany her, suspecting his wife had encountered Keir at the cove.

“That’s true,” Merritt admitted. “I couldn’t fathom why I’d want to take a husband after Joshua. There was no reason. But then I met this man, and … he was a shock to the system. No one’s ever had this effect on me before. I feel ten times more alive.” She laughed self-consciously. “Does that sound silly?”

“Not at all. I understand. Your mother had the same effect on me.”

“Did she?”

The earl let out a gravelly chuckle as he thought back to those days. “She was a fearless, free-spirited beauty with all the self-restraint of an unbroken horse. I knew she wasn’t suited to the only life I could offer her. But I was mesmerized by her. I loved her enthusiasm and warmth, and everything that made her different from me. I thought if we were both willing to take a chance on each other, we might have a good marriage. It’s turned out to be an extraordinary one.”

“No regrets, then?” Merritt dared to ask. “Even in the privacy of your own thoughts?”

“Never,” he said promptly. “Without Lillian, I would never have known true happiness. I don’t hold with the common wisdom that a couple must have the same tastes and backgrounds. Married life would be dull indeed without some friction: one can’t light a match without it.”

Merritt smiled. “I adore you, Papa. You’ve made it nearly impossible for me to find a man who doesn’t suffer in comparison to you.”

They reached the cove, and saw her mother and Keir sitting on the beach next to a crackling fire. To her delight, they appeared to be talking companionably. As Keir went to pick up a split birch log and toss it onto the fire, flames leaped with new vigor and burnished him with light. He was a breathtaking sight, golden and godlike, his long-limbed form sensuously lean and powerful. He belonged in this natural setting of sun and salt water, the gilded layers of his hair ruffled by a sea breeze.

“Somehow,” her father said dryly, “I think that fellow will survive the comparison to me.” He paused before adding beneath his breath, “Good God. There’s no doubt as to his sire.”

Lillian remained seated on a wool beach blanket, grinning as they approached. “Hello, dears. My lord, this is Keir MacRae. We’ve been having the most delightful chat.”

“A pleasure, MacRae,” the earl said, with a precise bow, which Keir reciprocated. “It appears there’s something we need to discuss, in light of a rumor I’ve heard.”

“Sir?” Keir asked warily.

“Kingston mentioned you’re an angler.”

Keir relaxed visibly. “Aye, now and then I’ll take a brown trout from one of the lochs on Islay.”

“I occasionally try my luck at dry-fly casting on a Hampshire chalk stream.” The earl glanced at Merritt and smiled reminiscently. “My daughter has accompanied me a time or two. She has excellent aptitude but little interest.”

“I lose patience with the fish,” Merritt said. “They take too long to make up their minds. I prefer going shooting with you—it takes far less effort.”

“Are you a good shot?” Keir asked.

“I’m not bad,” she said modestly.

“She’s the best shot in the family,” Lillian said. “It drives her brothers mad.”

The earl went to his wife and lowered to his haunches until their faces were level. “My lady,” he said, his voice softening with a warm, tender note, “I came to ask if you’d be willing to listen to some groveling.”

“How much groveling?” Lillian asked, sounding interested.

“A one-man symphony. ‘Grovel in D minor.’”

Lillian chortled. She gave him her hands and let him pull her to her feet with him. “I’ll settle for a short overture,” she said. Rising on her toes, she kissed her husband impulsively.

Despite the impropriety of the gesture, the earl returned the kiss soundly. Keeping an arm around his wife, he said, “We’ll continue our discussion later, MacRae.”

“I look forward to that,” Keir replied.

As her parents walked away, Merritt went to sit on the blanket. The radiant heat of the fire sent a pleasant shiver through her. “I hope my mother didn’t shock you,” she said as she watched her parents walk hand in hand to the holloway.

“She’s a charming woman,” Keir replied, sitting beside her. “I like her very well. She dinna shock me, although … she swears like a Scottish golfer.”

“Oh, dear. Are Scottish golfers really that profane?”