Devil in Disguise

by Lisa Kleypas

  “Oh, Keir,” she said softly. How that must have hurt Uncle Sebastian.

  “Then he reached in his waistcoat and took out a wee lock on a watch chain.”

  “The one from your mother?”

  “Aye. He asked if I wanted to try the key on it.”

  “And did you?” Merritt asked gently.

  Keir shook his head, his color rising, his gaze troubled and guilty.

  Tenderness washed through her as she reflected that through no fault of his own, he’d been thrown into a situation with no easy choices. “I’m sure you’re worried about all the things that key might unlock,” she said. “How could you not be? Since you arrived in England, you’ve had to endure more upheaval and pain than any of the rest of us. What you need is time to recover and reflect on all of it. Eventually you’ll know the right thing to do.”

  His shoulders relaxed, and he turned to face her fully. “What will you do?”

  Merritt summoned a smile. “You needn’t worry about me. I expect I’ll be making plans to travel abroad. My brother Luke will take care of all the issues related to the warehouse insurance, and make sure you’re reimbursed.”

  Keir gave a brief shake of his head to indicate he wasn’t concerned about that.

  The half-hour chime of the desk clock floated through the air as delicately as a soap bubble. Merritt felt her heart sinking, anchoring her so deeply in this moment of loss, it seemed she would never be able to move on to another feeling. “You’ll have to leave soon,” she said, “if you’re going to reach the station in time.”

  “The duke said Culpepper would pack for me. All I have to do is wash up.”

  She smiled at him blindly. “Let this be our good-bye. I hereby release you from our engagement. You were a very nice fiancé”—she paused to give him a mock-reproving glance—“although I do think you might have tried to kiss me at least once.”

  “’Tis only that I know better.” Keir smiled slightly, his gaze traveling over her, collecting every detail. “Scotland has a long history of border warfare, ye ken. There are many ways to attack a fortified hold: battering rams, siege towers, cannons . . . but the best strategy is to wait.” He reached out to touch a loose tendril of her hair and stroke it gently behind her ear. “Sooner or later,” he continued, “the drawbridge has to be lowered. And that’s when the invaders force their way through.” His eyes held her fast in silver heat. “If I let you slip past my guard, Merritt . . . I’d be leveled to the ground.”

  “Then we’re fortunate that didn’t happen,” she managed to say.

  He took both her hands and lifted them to his lips. “Lady Merritt Sterling . . .” His voice was slightly hoarse. “I’m glad to have met you. I owe you my life. And though I shouldn’t say it . . . you’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman, and more.” His fingers tightened briefly before letting go. “’Tis the ‘more’ that’s the problem.”

  “I think we would all agree it was a peculiar visit,” Phoebe told Keir dryly, as the carriage rolled along the drive leading away from the estate at Heron’s Point. They were followed by another carriage conveying the nanny, nursemaid, and footman. She cuddled Eden on her lap, gently shaking a carved wooden rattle in front of her. The baby’s gaze followed the toy with rapt attention. “I do wish my mother had been there,” Phoebe continued. “You would have liked her tremendously. But I suppose it’s soon for you to start meeting the rest of the family.”

  “I may never want to meet them,” Keir said. “Or at least, no’ for a while.”

  Phoebe regarded him pensively. “Merritt said anyone in your situation would feel overwhelmed, and we must let you set the pace.” She smiled. “But I hope you don’t think I’m going to let you vanish into the proverbial Scottish mist, never to be seen again. You need a sister, and I happen to be excellent at sistering.”

  Keir responded with a distracted nod. The mention of Merritt’s name had infused his blood with restless, uneasy energy.

  After saying good-bye to her in the tapestry room, Keir had gone to bathe and change into the traveling clothes Culpepper had laid out for him. Only for traveling, the valet had emphasized, as they were made of heavier, darker fabrics designed to withstand the rigors and filth of the journey.

  When it was time to depart for the railway station, Kingston had gone out to the front drive to see them all off. He’d helped Phoebe and Eden into the carriage, then turned to Keir.

  “I’ll visit you on Islay soon,” Kingston had said in a tone that would brook no argument. “Naturally I’ll send information from Ethan Ransom as soon as I receive it. In the meantime, you’re to take no chances, and you’ll hold to our agreement about the porter. I’ve already wired one of the club managers, and he’s making the arrangements.” To Keir’s surprise, the duke had handed him his familiar folding wallet. “This is yours, I believe.”

  It had been filled with a thick wad of Bank of England notes.

  “What’s all this?” Keir had asked blankly.

  “You’ll need cash for the journey. No, for God’s sake, don’t argue, we’ve done enough of that today.” The duke had seemed pleased that Keir had dutifully tucked the fat wallet inside his coat. “Be safe, my boy. Look sharp, and don’t let down your guard.”

  “Aye. Thank you.” They had exchanged a handshake, a good solid grip that had imparted a surprising measure of reassurance.

  Keir glanced out the carriage window as the team of horses pulled them along the graveled drive with gathering momentum. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin. Tangled up in something, the way kelp, with all its leathery strings and straps, could snare an unwary swimmer off Islay’s shore. Random muscles in his arms and legs twitched with the need to walk or run, but all he could do was sit.

  “What are you going to do about Merritt?” Phoebe asked.

  “Nothing,” he said gruffly. “What needs doing?”

  “You’re not going to write to her? Visit her?”

  “I bid her farewell, and that’s the end of it.”

  “I suppose that’s for the best. Although the two of you did seem to have . . . what’s the word . . . an affinity?”

  Keir sent her a dark glance. “Some birds can swim and some fish can fly. But they still dinna belong together.”

  “Yet another fish analogy,” Phoebe marveled.

  The bulk of the overstuffed wallet was bothersome. Keir reached into his coat and fished it out. Brooding, he began to sort through the cash in the wallet, discovering a variety of denominations . . . one-pound notes, fivers, tenners . . . so much that it wouldn’t allow the wallet to stay folded. He would give some of it to the footmen and carriage drivers, he decided, and began to remove a wad of notes.

  A little slip of paper fell from the side pocket of the wallet, fluttering to the carriage floor like the slender leaf of a rowan tree. With effort, Keir clasped one hand to his ribs and bent to retrieve it. He sat up and regarded it curiously.

  Mr. Keir MacRae Lady Merritt Sterling

  The names had been typed . . . but why? . . . what for? . . .

  Bits and pieces of memory whirled in his head . . . thoughts wheeling just beyond reach. As he struggled blindly to catch hold of something, make sense of the tumult, he heard Merritt’s voice . . . stay for one night just one . . . and there was the smell of rain and the cool darkness of night, and the warmth of a bed . . . the tender plump curves of a woman’s breasts, and the hot clasp of her body pulling at him, squeezing in voluptuous pulsation, and the sweet, wracking culmination as she cried out his name. And there was the sight of her in candlelight, flames dancing in guttering pools of wax, catching glimmers from her eyes, hair, skin . . . and the glorious freedom of yielding everything, telling her everything, while inexhaustible delight welled around them. And the despair of leaving, the physical pain of putting distance between them, the sensation of being pulled below the surface of the sea, looking up from airless depths to an unreachable sky. Tap. He saw Lady Merritt’s fingertip pressing a typewriter key.
Tap. Tap. Tiny metal rods flicked at a spool of inked ribbon, and letters emerged.

  Keir was panting now, clutching the slip of paper, while his brain sorted and spun, and pin tumblers aligned, a key turned, and something unlocked.

  “Merry,” he said aloud, his voice unsteady. “My God . . . Merry.”

  Phoebe was looking at him with concern, asking something, but he couldn’t hear over the wild drum of his heartbeat.

  Turning too quickly in his seat, Keir ignored the stab of discomfort in his ribs as he hammered the side of his fist on the panel of the driver’s box. As soon as the carriage stopped on the drive, he told Phoebe brusquely, “Go on without me.”

  Before she could reply, he climbed out of the carriage and headed back to the house at a full-bore run.

  Chapter 25

  After Phoebe and Keir had departed for the railway station, Sebastian went back into the house, intending to finish reading reports from his estate managers. But he hesitated at the threshold of his study, reluctant to return to his desk. Frustration gnawed at him. It had gone against every instinct to let his son leave the sphere of his protection while still recovering from his wounds. Keir was a target, and if there wasn’t someone hunting for him now, there would be soon. Lord Ormonde would make certain of that.

  Thinking of the selfish hatchet-faced bastard, and the hell he must have made Cordelia’s life, and most of all how he’d almost succeeded in killing Keir, Sebastian was filled with a cold white flame of fury. It was an unholy temptation to go find Ormonde and personally beat him to a pulp. However, murdering Ormonde, while highly satisfying, would result in consequences Sebastian wasn’t particularly fond of.

  Why was Ethan Ransom taking so bloody long to report to him? Why hadn’t the hired assassin been caught and interrogated by now? He couldn’t have disappeared into thin air.

  Brooding, Sebastian flexed the tense muscles of his shoulders and reached up to rub his tight neck.

  Damn it, he thought wearily, I miss Evie.

  When she was away, which thankfully was seldom, the world stopped spinning, the sun went dark, and life devolved to a grim exercise in endurance until she returned.

  At the outset of their marriage, Sebastian had never dreamed a shy, awkward wallflower, who’d spoken with a stammer since childhood, would turn out to have such fearsome power over him. But Evie had immediately gained the upper hand by making it clear he would have nothing from her—not her affection, her body, or even her thoughts—unless he’d earned it. No woman had ever challenged him to be worthy of her. That had fascinated and excited him. It had made him love her.

  Now he was left counting the remaining nights—four, to be precise—of waking in the middle of the night blindly searching the empty space beside him. And the hours—ninety-six, approximately—until Evie was in his arms again.

  Christ, it was undignified to pine over one’s own wife.

  He was the one who’d encouraged Evie to accept the invitation from their friends Sir George and Lady Sylvia Stevenson, the newly appointed British ambassador and his wife. The Stevensons and their children had recently settled in the magnificent embassy on the rue de Fauborg Saint-Honoré, only a few doors down from the Élysée Palace. You must bring Seraphina and Ivo as well, Lady Sylvia had written. My children will be so happy to have familiar friends visit their new home, and Paris in autumn is beautiful beyond compare.

  Although a stream of cheerful postcards and letters had arrived from Evie for the past three weeks, they were a poor substitute for the sound of her voice, and her good morning kisses, and the quirks only a husband would know about. The adorable way her toes would wiggle in her sleep whenever he touched her foot. And the way she would bounce a little on her heels when she was especially happy or excited about something.

  God, he needed her back in his bed. He needed it soon. Meanwhile, he would try to exhaust himself into not thinking about Evie.

  He decided to go for a swim.

  After the carriages had departed, Merritt retreated to the privacy of her room and sat in a cozy corner chair, having what her mother had always referred to as a “two-hanky wallow.” She wept, and mopped at her welling eyes, and blew her nose gustily. In a few minutes, the worst of it had passed, and she relaxed back in the chair as a sense of dull peacefulness settled over her.

  “There,” she said aloud, clutching a sodden handkerchief. “All done. Now I must find something to do.” Perhaps she would work on her list of wonders. She would add the Great Wall of China to the itinerary. To her chagrin, a new sob caught in her throat, and another tear slid down. Fresh sorrow had escaped, ready to rampage again.

  Holy Moses, she had to stop this.

  She stood and went to the dresser for a fresh handkerchief, and paused as she heard a commotion from somewhere in the house. Good God, had someone been injured? Was it a brawl? There was the bang of a door being thrown open . . . feet pounding the stairs . . . a hoarse shout that sounded like her name.

  She whirled around in alarm as someone burst into the room without knocking.

  It was Keir, huge and disheveled, panting with trip-hammer force, as if he’d been running for his life. He stopped in his tracks, his fixed stare raising every hair on her body.

  “What happened?” Merritt asked, utterly bewildered. “Why are you here? You . . . you’ll miss the train.”

  “Merry.”

  Chills of astonishment went down her spine. She couldn’t make a sound, only watched with wide eyes as he came to her.

  Breathing raggedly, Keir reached for her hand and pressed something into her palm. Her gaze fell to the trembling strip of paper in her hand, and she saw their typed names.

  The paper fell from her nerveless fingers. She looked into his eyes, light and burning like twin stars. Oh, God, he’d remembered.

  “Keir,” she said, trying to sound very calm, “it doesn’t matter now. Everything’s been settled. That night was a diversion for both of us, a lovely one, but . . . there’s no need to make a muckle into a mickle.” She paused, thinking she might not have said that right. “Keir—”

  But the words were blotted out as he pulled her against him, his mouth seizing hers.

  Somewhere outside this room, life rushed by like scenery outside a railway carriage, melting into a mad watercolor blur. But here in the compass of his arms, time had stopped. The ticking minutes caught fire and vanished into smoke. There was only the urgency of Keir’s embrace, the rough, vital kisses, the strength of him all around her. She’d never expected to feel this again.

  Her hands groped around his neck, her fingers lacing through the thick shorn locks at the back of his head. The hard, clean contours of Keir’s face rubbed against hers, a different feeling than the coarse tickle of his beard. But the mouth was the same, full and erotic, searingly hot. He consumed her slowly, searching with his tongue, licking deep into each kiss. Wild quivers of pleasure went through her, weakening her knees until she had to lean against him to stay upright. As her head tilted back, a forgotten tear slid from the outer corner of her eye to the edge of her hairline. His lips followed the salty track, absorbing the taste.

  Keir cradled her cheek in his hand, his shaken whisper falling hotly against her mouth. “Merry, love . . . my heart’s gleam, drop of my dearest blood . . . you should have told me.”

  Merritt heard her own weak reply as if from a distance. “I thought . . . in some part of your mind . . . you might have wanted to forget.”

  “No.” Keir crushed her close, nuzzling hard against her hair and disheveling the pinned-up coils. “Never, love. The memory slipped out of reach for a moment, is all.” His hand coasted slowly up and down her spine. “I’m so damned sorry for the way I’ve been trying to keep you at a distance. I dinna know you were already inside my heart.” He paused before adding wryly, “Mind, I did have to jump from a three-story window, with little to break the fall but my own hard head.” Taking one of her hands, he pressed her palm over his pounding heartbeat. “But you were
still in here. Your name is carved so deep, a million years could no’ erase it.”

  Completely undone, Merritt buried her face against his chest. “This is impossible,” she said in despair. “You shouldn’t have come back. We have no future. I wouldn’t be happy in your life, and you wouldn’t be happy in mine.”

  Although the words were smothered in his shirtfront, Keir managed to decipher them.

  Softly he asked, “Would you be happy without me?”

  Merritt swallowed hard. “No,” she admitted wretchedly. “We’re doomed, separately or together.”

  Keir cupped a hand over her head and gathered her deeper into his embrace. She felt a tremor run through him, and for a moment she thought he might be weeping. But no—he was laughing.

  “You find this amusing?” she asked indignantly.

  He shook his head, swallowing back a chuckle and clearing his throat. “I was only thinking if we’re doomed either way . . . we may as well stay together, aye?”

  Before she could reply, he bent and caught her lips with his, coaxing a response she couldn’t hold back. Nothing was under her control. She was as reckless as a girl in her teens, overwhelmed with new emotions and ready to throw away everything for the sake of love.

  Except even as a teenage girl, she’d never felt anything like this.

  Keir was kissing her harder now, ravishing slowly, letting her feel his hunger, his need.

  Unbelievably long, sensuous kisses . . . sometimes languid, sometimes fierce . . . kisses that made impossible promises.

  A breath rasped in his throat as he let his lips wander gently over her face. “Merry, lass . . . I have to tell you what that night meant to me. How beautiful it was . . . how you quenched a thirst in my soul.”

  “Keir,” she managed to say, “we must be careful not to confuse the physical act with deeper feelings.”