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

“Why do you want air to circulate?”

“Improves the flavor.”

“How do you move the casks in and out of the racks?”

“It still takes brute force to lift them up,” he admitted, “the same as with vertical storing. But to take them down, ’tis a simple matter of pulling the levers at the end of each row. It releases the stops, and the barrels come rolling out.”

“That could be exciting,” she said dryly, looking at the endless rows of barrels waiting to tumble.

Keir reached out and eased her against him, and nuzzled a few kisses beneath her jaw and along her throat. “Have you seen enough of the distillery for now, love? I could do with a wee nap.”

She slid her arms around his neck and lifted her mouth to his for answer.

Aside from that brief encounter with Duffy, they saw no sign of Ethan or his men. They were so absorbed in each other, relishing the novelty of being able to do whatever they pleased with no concern about anyone’s schedule, that the hours slipped by without their notice. They cooked a simple meal, drank wine, made love, and had a long, relaxed conversation before the fire. In the evening, they took Wallace for a walk around the property, and looked out at the sea through binoculars as dolphins cavorted.

Merritt had never been so happy, but at the same time, the lurking, nagging worry about potential danger was ever-present. And there was also the question of what was happening in court. It had been two days since Kingston had appeared at Chancery to reveal he’d located Keir, but so far there had been no word of any legal developments.

“He’ll telegram when there’s something to report,” Keir said. “Or Ransom will find out and tell us.”

As it turned out, Ethan knocked at the front door early the next morning. Keir dressed hastily and went to let him in while Merritt hurriedly put on a robe and set a kettle on to boil.

Ethan looked tired and tense as he entered the kitchen and held his chilled hands over the stove to warm them. “I have shocking news,” he said, rubbing his hands briskly to distribute the heat. “Do I have to broach it carefully, or can I simply come out with it?”

“Is it shocking in a good way or a bad way?” Merritt asked.

Ethan considered that. “Not bad, on the face of it. But I don’t know the details yet.”

“What is it?” Keir asked.

“Lord Ormonde was found dead in his home late last night.”





Chapter 38


A SENSE OF UNREALITY CAME over Merritt. She struggled to wrap her brain around the information and decide what it meant, but her usual thought process seemed to have been disassembled. She glanced at Keir, who had turned to busy himself with measuring tea into the teapot. His face was difficult to read, but she knew he had to be stunned and profoundly worried by the fact that everything was falling on his head at once … inheriting the trust and almost certainly the viscountcy and estate as well.

“Was it natural causes?” Keir asked calmly.

“I don’t know yet. He was certainly of an age for that possibility. I have to leave for London immediately and oversee an investigation.” Ethan went to a basket of food, lifted a cloth, and took out a bannock. He took a bite of the dry, crumbly oat bread without seeming to taste it. “I want to take Wilkinson with me and leave Duffy here, if you don’t object.”

Merritt frowned. “I might object.”

Ethan glanced at her speculatively and swallowed the bite of bannock. “With Ormonde’s death,” he said, “there’s no motivation for Brownlow to come all the way here and carry out the wishes of a dead man. It’s unlikely MacRae will be troubled by him again.”

“Unlikely,” Merritt said, “but not impossible.”

“Which is why I’m leaving Duffy with you,” Ethan said evenly, eating more of the bannock.

Keir slid his arm behind Merritt’s back and patted the side of her hip. “We’ll be all right,” he said. “We’ll stay safe in the house and plan of what to do next. There’s the distillery needing to be started up again, the trust properties needing to be managed … and an estate in … where is it?”

“Cumberland,” Merritt replied.

“Cumberland,” Keir repeated, and went to pour hot water into the teapot. He spoke while facing away from her, sounding wry. “If only I could divide myself into three men, each doing a job well, instead of being one man doing three jobs badly.”

“Three of you,” Merritt mused, her natural sense of humor asserting itself. “That would be rather too much for me to manage. Depending, of course, on how many of you would want me as your wife.”

Keir turned to glance at her over his shoulder, his hair tousled, his blue eyes glinting with a smile. “My heart,” he said, “there’s no version of me that would no’ choose you as my wife. ’Tis the first thing I would do.” His gaze held hers, and he added softly, “The very first thing.”

AFTER ETHAN AND Wilkinson had left for London, Duffy went back to the change-house to rest in preparation for his solitary night watch. Merritt spent the afternoon talking with Keir, the two of them cuddled together on a very small settee. She would have to order one at least twice this size, she thought, when it came time to build a new house on the island. She watched with amusement as Wallace paced restlessly around the overloaded settee, obviously trying to calculate how he too could sit there.