Devil in Disguise

by Lisa Kleypas

  He drew back to look down at her with a frown. “I dinna mean when we fooked.”

  Merritt flinched as if he’d just dashed cold water in her face. “For heaven’s sake, please don’t put it that way.”

  His brows lifted slightly at her vehemence. “How should I say it, then?”

  After sorting through various possibilities, she suggested, “Sleeping together?”

  Keir looked sardonic. “Neither of us slept a wink.”

  “Then . . . ‘when we had relations.’”

  He snorted, obviously loathing that suggestion. “My word means the same thing, and ’tis shorter.”

  “The point you were about to make . . . ?” Merritt prompted.

  “Oh, aye. What made the night special was how we talked for hours, just the two of us. The ease of it . . . like floating on salt water.” A soft distance entered his gaze as he continued. “We were in our own world. I’d never felt that with anyone before, but I knew I could tell you things I’d never told anyone. And when we slept together . . . that was part of the conversation, only without words.”

  Merritt was speechless.

  He had to stop saying wonderful, endearing things in that accent, and standing there with that stray lock of gold-burnished hair falling over his eyes . . . how was a woman supposed to think straight?

  She went to him, pulled his head down to hers, and silenced him with her lips. Only as a necessary measure to stop him from talking. Not because she wanted him. Not because the silky, delicious warmth of his mouth was impossible to resist.

  Keir’s arms went around her reflexively, his lips sealing over hers. He explored her with avid hunger, stroking and teasing, awakening deep pangs of delight. One of his hands slid low on her spine, keeping her pressed close and tight. His body was so hard, the aggressive shape of him nudging against her, and she went hot all over at the remembered sensation of him filling her.

  Mortified by the awareness that she’d gone wet, her intimate flesh throbbing, Merritt struggled out of his arms.

  Keir set her free with a breathless laugh. “Careful, lass. One stray jab of your wee elbow would send me to the floor.”

  She went to the window and pressed the burning side of her face to a cool glass pane. “This is madness,” she said. “This is how lives are ruined. People are caught up in the pleasure of the moment without stopping to consider the consequences. There are so many reasons we shouldn’t be together, and only one reason we should, and it’s not even a good reason.”

  “’Tis the only reason that matters.”

  “You know that’s not true, or you wouldn’t have tried so hard to keep from forming an attachment to me.”

  “’Tis no’ an attachment,” he said brusquely. “You’re in my blood.” He came to the window and propped one of his shoulders against the frame. Mellow autumn light gilded his inhumanly perfect features.

  “I wouldn’t have left on that train today, Merry. I’d have come back even if I hadn’t remembered that night. No’ a minute after the carriage started on the drive, I was ready to leap out of my skin. It felt wrong to be leaving you. Unnatural. My body can only bide so much distance from yours.”

  Merritt forced herself to turn away from him and go to the washstand. Clumsily she poured cold water onto a linen hand towel. “I’ve always prided myself on my common sense,” she muttered. “I’ve always had definite views of marriage, and I waited for years until I found a man who met the requirements on my list.”

  “You had a list?”

  “Yes, of qualities I desired in a partner.”

  “Like shopping?” From his tone, it was obvious he found the notion entertaining and nonsensical.

  “I was organizing my thoughts,” Merritt said, holding the compress against her sore, swollen eyes. “You wouldn’t give a dinner party without first writing out a menu, would you?”

  Keir approached her from behind, reaching around her to brace his hands on either side of the washstand. “I’ve never been to a dinner party,” he said. He bent to kiss the back of her neck, and she felt the shape of his smile against her skin. “How well do I suit your list?” he asked, his breath stirring the tiny wisps of hair at her nape. “Not at all, I’d wager.”

  Merritt set down the compress and turned to lean back against the washstand. “The list doesn’t suit you. A whisky distiller from a remote Scottish island was not what I had in mind.”

  He grinned at her. “But you couldn’t help yourself.”

  “No,” she admitted. “You’re perfect as you are. I wouldn’t want to change you.”

  “Life changes everyone,” he pointed out. “I’m no’ proof against that. None of us knows what’s in store.”

  That reminded Merritt of a subject that needed to be brought up. She folded her arms against a sudden chill. “Keir,” she asked, “has all your memory returned, or only part of it?”

  “’Tis coming back in pieces, like a puzzle. Why?”

  “The day I showed you to the warehouse flat, we talked about why I hadn’t had children with Joshua. Do you remember what I told you?”

  Keir shook his head.

  “I’m barren,” she said flatly, her fingers flexing into her upper arms. “Just before my husband died, I visited a London specialist to find out why I hadn’t been able to conceive.” She paused, recalling the term the doctor had used . . . uterine fibroids . . . but at the moment it wasn’t necessary to go into such detail. “After the examination, he said I had a condition of the womb—it wouldn’t endanger my health—but it’s virtually impossible for me to have a baby. If I’d wanted to become a mother, he said, I should have tried much sooner, and there might have been a chance. By the time I finally married, however, it was too late.”

  Keir was expressionless. After a long silence, he asked gently, “What did your husband say?”

  “Joshua was overwhelmed with sadness. It was difficult to accept he’d never have children of his own. No son to inherit the business he’d built. He didn’t blame me in the least, but it was the greatest disappointment of his life. It sent him into a deep melancholy. I tried to comfort him, but it was impossible, since I was the cause of his grief. That was why he went on that last trip—he thought perhaps spending a little time away from me, and seeing family and old friends in Boston might lift his spirits. So in a way, his death was—”

  Merritt paused, surprised by the words that had nearly sprung out.

  My fault.

  In the days and weeks after her husband’s passing, she’d discovered grief wasn’t a single feeling but one made of many layers, mortared together with if-onlys. If only she hadn’t turned out to be barren. If only she’d done a better job of consoling Joshua and lifting his depressed spirits, he wouldn’t have gone on the trip. If only she’d never married him in the first place, he would have married someone else, and he’d still be alive.

  She knew logically that she hadn’t been to blame, it had simply been an accident.

  Joshua’s ship hadn’t been the first to go down at sea, nor would it be the last. But deep down she’d harbored a sliver of guilt, like one of those splinters so small it could stay lodged in a finger for years.

  Keir’s alert gaze took in every tiny variation of her expression. His chest rose and fell with a long breath, and he pushed away from the washstand with startling abruptness. He began to pace around the room, not like someone deep in thought but like a caged lion.

  Merritt watched him in growing confusion. Was he sorry for her sake? Was he bitterly disappointed, as Joshua had been?

  No . . . from the way he raked his hands through his hair, from his deepening flush and darkening scowl . . . and the twitching muscle in his clenched jaw . . .

  “Are you angry?” she asked, bewildered. “With me?”

  Chapter 26

  For years, Sebastian’s morning ritual had started with a swim, which not only kept him fit and flexible, but helped him face the day in a state of calm alertness. In summer, he preferred the open
water at the cove, but in the colder months, the only option was to swim indoors. In a resort town filled with therapeutic and recreational baths, it had been an easy matter to find contractors to install a saltwater swimming bath in one of the Challon mansion’s wings.

  The bath was thirty by sixty feet, surrounded by a platform of pitch pine and intricate mosaic tile floors. Pipes leading from the kitchen ran beneath the pool to take the chill from the water, while louvers in the glass roof could be adjusted for ventilation. Rows of stained-glass windows in white, green, and blue admitted light while maintaining privacy. For the comfort of family and guests, there were changing rooms, lavatories, shower baths, and lounge areas with upholstered wicker furniture.

  Sebastian stripped off his clothes beside the bath and tossed them onto a nearby chaise longue. He dived in cleanly and began swimming laps with a smooth, efficient overhand stroke. The steady back-and-forth cleared his mind, and soon he was conscious only of moving through the water in a steady forward propulsion.

  After twenty minutes of hard swimming, his muscles were burning. He hoisted himself out of the water, breathing heavily, and went to fetch a towel from a stack on a table. As he dried himself vigorously, he caught a glimpse of someone standing by the other end of the swimming bath. He went very still at the sight of rose-copper hair . . . pink cheeks and round blue eyes . . . and lavish curves contained in a fashionable striped wool dress. Every filament of his nervous system sparked with an infusion of joy.

  “Evie?” he asked huskily, afraid he was imagining her.

  She glanced at the water, remarking innocently, “You were swimming so hard, I thought there might be a sh-shark.”

  It took all Sebastian’s concentration to reply casually. “You know better than that, pet.” He wrapped the towel around his waist and tucked in the overlapping edge to fasten it. “I am the shark.”

  He went to his wife in no apparent hurry, but as he drew closer his stride quickened, and he snatched her up with an ardor that nearly lifted her feet from the floor. She gasped and clutched his shoulders, and lifted her smiling mouth to his.

  Glorying in the taste and feel of her, Sebastian kissed her thoroughly, eventually finishing with a soft, provocative bite at her lower lip. “Evie, my beauty, did you remember to bring back our children?”

  “I did. Ivo has gone in search of Ajax.”

  He arched a brow. “I’ve been eclipsed by the dog?”

  Evie’s lips twitched. “I told the children I wanted to see you privately first. Seraphina was quite happy to change out of her traveling clothes and lie down for a nap.” Her palms curved over the bulging muscle of his upper arms, and she made a little hum of appreciation. “If you keep exercising like this, I’ll have to alter your shirts.”

  “It’s been my only recourse,” Sebastian said darkly. “I’ve roasted in a hell of sexual deprivation since you abandoned me.”

  “Abandoned?” she repeated in surprise.

  He gave her a severe glance. “You vanished in the middle of the night.”

  “It was morning,” she protested.

  “Without saying a word about where you were going.”

  “You arranged for the t-tickets!”

  “I didn’t even have a chance to say good-bye.”

  “You did,” Evie protested. “You took two hours, and nearly made me miss the train.”

  Sebastian muffled a quiet laugh against her glowing curls. “Oh, yes. I remember that part.” He smoothed back a few ruddy wisps of her hair and began to kiss her forehead, then jerked his head back abruptly. Frowning, he drew a finger across her forehead and down her nose, and examined his fingertip for cosmetic residue. Nothing.

  “What happened to your freckles?” he demanded. “Where are they?”

  His wife looked vastly pleased with herself. “Sylvia and I went to visit a celebrated Parisian cosmetician. She gave me a sp-special cream for my complexion.”

  Sebastian was genuinely appalled. “You know how I loved those freckles.”

  “They’ll come back by summer.”

  “This is an international outrage. I’m going to lodge a formal complaint with the embassy. There may be war, Evie.” He took her face in his hands and gently tilted it this way and that, finding nothing but smooth, creamy whiteness. “Look what they’ve done to you,” he grumbled.

  Her blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “I may have a few left,” she confided.

  “Where?”

  “You can look for them later,” she said primly.

  “I must have proof. Show me now.” He tugged her toward the upholstered chaise, while she resisted with a burst of giggles.

  “Not here,” she exclaimed, and distracted him by applying her mouth to his. After a long, savoring kiss, she drew back to meet his gaze. “Tell me what happened while I was gone,” she urged gently. “I decided to return a f-few days early after I read your last letter. I could tell something wasn’t quite right.”

  “I worded it carefully, damn it.”

  “That’s how I knew.”

  A rueful grin worked across his face. He pulled her close and nuzzled into her hair, close to her ear. “Evie,” he said softly, “I found him.”

  There was no need to explain who “he” was. Evie looked up at him in amazement. “More accurately,” Sebastian continued, “he found me. He stayed here for a fortnight, and left today just before you arrived. I wouldn’t be surprised if your carriage passed his.”

  “How wonderful,” Evie exclaimed, beaming. “I’m so—” She broke off, an odd look crossing her face. “Wait. Is his name MacRae?”

  “Yes.” He gave her a questioning glance.

  “As our carriage approached the house,” she explained, “we saw a man sprinting along the drive. He ran right up to the front door and dashed inside. By the time we entered the main hall, there was no sign of him. But the butler said he was a guest of yours—a Scottish gentleman by the name of MacRae.”

  “Keir MacRae,” Sebastian said absently as he pondered the information. “He must have come back. I expect he went to find Merritt.”

  “Our Merritt?” Evie looked bemused. “She’s here? How is she acquainted with Mr. MacRae?”

  Sebastian smiled. “We have much to talk about, love.” Deliberately he tugged at the ends of the lace scarf that had been tucked into her bodice. “But first, about those freckles . . .”

  Chapter 27

  Keir still hadn’t said a word, only stalked around the confines of the bedroom.

  “I wish you’d stop pacing like that,” Merritt commented uneasily. “If we could sit and talk—”

  “No’ when my birse is up,” Keir muttered.

  “Birse?”

  “Like a brush made from a wild boar.”

  “Oh, bristle; you mean you’re bristling. But . . . you’re not blaming me for being barren, are you?” She stared at him, stricken. “That’s not fair, Keir.”

  Looking outraged, he reached her in two strides and took her by the shoulders, as if he wanted to shake her. But he didn’t. He only held her, opened his mouth to say something, snapped it shut, and tried again. “Why would I give a damn if you’re barren?” he burst out. “Who do you think you’re bluidy talking to? My parents loved me as much as they would a blood-born son. They took no less pride in me for all that I was brought to them a bastard. From the moment they took me in, I was theirs, and they were mine. Are you saying that wasn’t real? That we were no’ a true family?”

  “No, I would never say that. You know I wouldn’t! But most men want sons to carry on the family name and bloodline.”

  “I’m no’ one of them,” Keir snapped.

  He wasn’t shouting, precisely, but his intensity unnerved Merritt. She hesitated, unsure how to reply.

  “I’m sorry,” she said humbly. “I assumed you would feel strongly about having children of your own blood—and I’ll never be able to give that to you.”

  “I dinna need a broodmare, I need a wife.”

 
At the sight of her woebegone face, Keir’s impatience vanished. With a soft groan, he pulled her into the tough, warm haven of his embrace. He smoothed her hair and pressed her head to his shoulder. “Blood is no’ what binds a family. Love is.” His warm breath filtered down to her scalp. “How many bairns do you want? We could have a dozen if it pleases you. ’Tis the same as loving any other child. And you’d be such a fine, good mither—the beating heart of the family.” His fingers slid beneath her chin to angle it upward. “As for your late husband,” he continued, “I liked the man, and I dinna wish to speak ill of someone who can’t defend himself. But I’ll say what I would have told him while he was still living: It was no’ the time to be leaving you when he did. His loss was no greater than yours. You were the one who most needed comforting.”

  “I had family and friends for that. Joshua knew they would help me through it.”

  “It was a husband’s place to help you through it as well.”

  “You don’t know what you would have done, if you’d been in his place.”

  “I do,” Keir said firmly. “I would have stayed with my wife.”

  “Even knowing there was nothing you could have done for me?”

  His gaze didn’t move from hers. “Staying there doing nothing would have been doing something.”

  Merritt felt her face contorting as she struggled to control her emotions. “Sometimes . . .” She had to pause and clear her throat before continuing. “. . . I find myself wishing he’d married another woman who could have given him children. Then he’d still be alive.”

  “Lass, you dinna know that. He might have taken the same ship, on that same day, for a different reason. Or he might have married a woman who could have given him bairns but made his life a misery.” Keir cupped her cheek in his hand. “If he could, I think he’d tell you what a joy you were to him, and ask you no’ to remember him with guilt.” His blue eyes, the lightest color of sky, stared into her watering ones. “Ah, love,” he said gently, “I’d die in his place, if bringing him back would stop you from blaming yourself.”