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

Merritt was naked and profoundly relaxed, the tip of her breasts a little chafed. The soft flesh of her vulva was filled with lingering sensitivity after having been caressed, kissed, bitten, teased, invaded. Remembering the pleasure Keir had given her, she writhed a little and felt her toes curl. He’d lain on top of her, between her thighs, his weight nudging her pelvis with each deliberate thrust. He’d felt so powerful, his body claiming hers, invading her with deep, delicious strokes, and it had gone on forever. She’d been exhausted afterward, but she’d mumbled that they had to make plans and talk, and spend the day packing and preparing for their trip to Islay, and she was sorry if he was unhappy that she insisted on going with him. Keir had hushed her and held her against his hard, hairy chest, until she hadn’t been able to stop sighing and yawning. That was the last thing she remembered.

The sunlight pressing in through the shutters was very bright. How late had she slept?

She stretched and began to roll over—

—and twitched at the unfamiliar feeling of something sliding down her arm. She felt for it, realizing it was a chain.

A bracelet?

Hastily Merritt climbed out of bed, snatched up her nightgown, and pulled it on. She hurried to the windows and opened the shutters, and stared down at the bracelet in a flood of sunlight. It was a gold watch chain, fastened around her wrist by the tiny gold padlock.

She was shaken by a confusing mixture of emotions, all wrapped in panic.

Keir had left without her.

She wanted to break something. She wanted to cry. How could he leave without telling her? And what was she going to do about it?

Her mind summoned three words.

“Be fierce, Merritt.”





Chapter 35


MERRITT HAD TOLERATED THE long railway journey to Glasgow quite well. It was after a sail on a mail packet down Loch Fyne, however, and then another packet steamer down the loch of West Tarbert, that she began to feel tired and a bit queasy. It was a pity she couldn’t enjoy the trip down the freshwater loch on the handsome black and white paddle ship, adorned with a striped awnings over the deck seating. But she’d made the mistake of starting out in the large ladies’ cabin down below, and the subtle rocking had set her system in revolt. She left one of the deck chairs and went to the railing, hoping the rush of cold air over her face would help to calm her unsettled stomach.

“Milady?” she heard someone ask hesitantly, and she turned to see an elderly couple approaching. The woman, stout and attractive in a striped skirt and dark green traveling cloak, was a stranger, but the man with her, wizened and lean, with a shock of silver hair beneath a flat cap, looked vaguely familiar. As she stared at him, she remembered he’d been one of the distillerymen who’d first come with Keir to London.

“Mr. Slorach,” he said, tapping his chest, “and ’tis my wife Fia.”

“Mr. Slorach,” Merritt exclaimed, summoning a weak smile. “How delightful it is to see you again. And Mrs. Slorach … a pleasure …”

“I cannae believe my eyes,” the man exclaimed, “to see such a grand lady on a steamer from Tarbert!”

Grimacing, Merritt turned back to the water. “Oh dear,” she said thickly. “Not so grand at the moment. How mortifying, I’m so …” Leaning over the railing, she panted and sweated.

Mrs. Slorach came to stand beside her, producing a white linen cloth from somewhere and handing it to her. “Now, now, poor lass,” she said, patting Merritt’s back gently. “A wee brash of the heaves is nothing to worry about. Dinna fash. Go on and let it oot.”

To Merritt’s everlasting embarrassment, she did just that, retching helplessly over the railing. When the spasms were over, she used the cloth to wipe her mouth. She apologized profusely as the couple guided her to an empty section of deck seating. “Thank you, Mrs. Slorach, I’m so sorry—”

“Fia.” The woman looked over her kindly. “There was no’ much to come up,” she remarked. “Hae you eaten today, lass?”

“I had a slice of toast for breakfast …” The very thought of it made her ill.

“Ye need more than that for your inwards. Never set off on an empty stomach.” She rummaged in a basket she’d been carrying over her arm, and took out a little napkin-wrapped parcel. “Nibble on one of these, dearie, and it will set you to rights.”

“How kind. I’m not sure—what is it?” Merritt recoiled as Fia unwrapped a little stack of square-shaped beef sausage without casings, the slices fried and cooled. “Dear heaven, no, please, that will be the death of me.”

“A wee nibble. Just one.” A sausage square, held in a napkin, followed the movements of Merritt’s face as she tried to avoid it.

Having no choice but to surrender, Merritt suppressed a gag and bit off a tiny corner.

Mercifully, the sausage was bland and slightly dry. She forced it down. To her astonishment, the nausea began to fade miraculously. She took the patty and began to consume it slowly.

“That’s the way of it,” Fia said, a smile crossing her round face. “Common beef sausage is what aye put me to rights when I was in your condition.”

“Condition?” Merritt repeated, nibbling and chewing.

“Why, biggen with bairn, of course.”