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

“Aye, the worst language you’ll ever hear is from a Scot in a sand bunker.”

“Is there golf on Islay?”

Keir nodded. “A neighbor by the name of Gordon Catach laid out a nine-hole course on his property.”

“Golf is a civilized sport,” Merritt said. Perhaps it was grasping at straws, but she was happy to learn about any kind of culture on Islay. “I find that encouraging.”

He laughed. “I dinna want to give you a false impression. The course is ruggit and patchy with muckle stones, and we usually have to clear the livestock off the fairway before we play.”

“It’s still nice to learn there’s a golf course.” She reached into the basket she’d brought and unearthed an enameled tin flask with a lid.

“What’s this?” Keir asked as she handed it to him.

“Tea with honey.” Merritt reached in again and withdrew a napkin-wrapped parcel. “And I thought you might want these.”

Unwrapping the napkin, Keir discovered a trio of sausage pasties, miniature pies with sausage filling. A brilliant smile crossed his face. “Merry …” He reached out, curved a hand around the back of her neck, and guided her head to his. He kissed her ardently, trapping her laugh between their lips.

After he had devoured the pasties and drained the flask of tea, he wrapped his arms around Merritt and coaxed her to lean back against him.

“Isn’t this uncomfortable for you?” she asked in concern.

“No’ if you stay still,” he said. “How my arms love the feel of you, lass.”

She smiled, her eyes heavy-lidded as she stared into the fire, the flames shivering and snapping at the breeze. One of his hands drifted over her gently, coming up to stroke the side of her throat and twine a stray lock of hair around his finger.

After a contented silence, Keir said lazily, “When this business about Lord Ormonde is settled, and all is safe … will you visit Islay with me? You could have a look at the island, to help decide if you could make a life there.”

“Do you think I would be happy on Islay?”

“’Tis no’ for me to say what your needs are. ’Tis for you to say, and me to listen.”

“First, I need you.”

She felt him smile against her hair. “You already have that,” he said. “What else?”

“I need a comfortable home with enough rooms for my family and friends to visit.”

“My house is too small for that,” he said regretfully. “And although ’tis comfortable for me, I dinna think you would find it so.”

Her fingers slid into the cuff of his sleeve, reaching far enough to play lightly with the glinting hair of his forearm. “What if I wanted to build a house for us on the island, with my money? Would you be too proud to live in it?”

Keir made a quiet sound of amusement. “I’ve sacrificed my pride for worse reasons. I’ll live wherever you want, my heart. But we may no’ have to spend your money. I think I may be able to pay for it.”

Carefully she turned her head on his chest to give him a questioning glance.

His lips brushed her temple before he explained. “I told you before that I wanted to renounce my trust and let Lord Ormond have it. But that was when I thought I was leaving you for good. Now I’ve thought better of it. I’ll take the inheritance my mother intended for me and try to do some good with it. We can start with a house.”

“I think that’s a fine idea,” Merritt said.

But Keir sounded less than enthusiastic as he commented, “The trust comes with commercial lease-holds that have to be managed. I’ll no’ be giving up my distillery to collect rents and spend my days with contractors.”

“Of course not,” Merritt said. She sat up and maneuvered to face him, running her palm up and down his chest as if to soothe away his worries. “We can hire managers and keep close oversight.” Leaning closer, she brushed her lips over his, feeling the heat of his mouth afterward as if she’d been softly branded. “We’ll find the answers together.”

He caught her wrist and looked at her with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Lass, if you’re after calming me by stroking me with your wee hand … ’tis having the opposite effect. You’d better stop if you dinna want to be ravished right here on the beach.”

Merritt crinkled her nose and laughed. “You wouldn’t do that,” she said. “Not out in the open.”

Keir dragged her hand down his body to the hard, aroused ridge behind the front placket of his trousers. “There’s something you need to learn about Scotsmen,” he said. “We never back down from a challenge.”





Chapter 31


KEIR WAS JOKING. HE had to be. Except he’d started to kiss her in a way that meant business. Teasing at first, but soon deepening into a slow, molten exploration. Her eyes closed, a slight pinch of concentration between her brows as she was inundated with too much feeling, seeming to come from every direction. The warm pressure of his hand cradled her cheek and jaw, carefully angling her face as he caught her mouth at a deep angle. He tasted like tea and honey and the fresh, subtle flavor she’d come to recognize as his alone.

Her arms went around his shoulders, but the position was awkward. She was heaped between his thighs, her walking skirt twisted and bunched all around her. The spoon busk of her corset, with its bottom edge curved slightly inward, dug into her abdomen. Perceiving her discomfort, he rearranged their position and hiked up her walking skirts in handfuls. As he guided her knees to the outside of his, she realized he wanted her to kneel astride him.