Devil in Disguise

by Lisa Kleypas

  Except . . . it hadn’t been a dream . . . had it? No, he’d come to her room in the middle of the night, hushing her when she’d tried to speak, kissing every inch of her skin as he’d removed her nightgown. Her eyes blinked open. As she glanced around the room, she caught sight of her neatly folded nightgown on the nearby chair. Wondering if the maid had seen it, Merritt sank a little lower beneath the covers. To her relief, the housemaid soon left wordlessly and closed the door.

  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.”

  “Oh.” Merritt’s eyes widened. “I don’t think . . . no, I’m quite sure that’s not it.”

  Mr. Slorach spoke then, telling his wife, “Lady Merritt is a widow, you ken.”

  “Ahhh.” But Fia looked over her speculatively, as if cataloging details. “Are you gang to Islay, then?”

  “Yes.” With each bite of cold fried beef, Merritt felt better and better. In fact, it was giving her a surge of new energy.

  When Merritt finished the sausage slice, Fia gave her another, while Mr. Slorach viewed her with increasing concern.

  “May I ask who’re you after visiting on the island, milady?” he inquired.

  “Mr. MacRae,” Merritt replied.

  Slorach nodded slowly. “He came back hame only yesterday. I’ve not seen him yet, as Fia and I were off to visit our daughter in East Tarbert.” He hesitated. “Is there a problem, Lady Merritt? Aught I can help with?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a problem,” she said. “Mr. MacRae and I struck up an acquaintance during his stay in England. He left rather suddenly, and . . . I need to speak to him about a personal matter. Perhaps you could tell me how to find transportation to the distillery once we reach Port Askaig?”

  The husband and wife stared at each other with thunderstruck expressions, evidently coming to some dire conclusion about why she would be traveling alone to find Keir after his abrupt departure from England. “I told you, Fia,” Slorach exclaimed in a low voice. “I should ne’er have left him to gallyvant and strollop about that wicked toon. ’Tis corrupted him, London has, as I said it would.”

  Fia nodded and told Merritt stoutly, “Dinna be feart, milady, we’ll see to it the lad does the dacent thing by you. We owe it to Elspeth and Lachlan, God rest their souls.”

  As the Slorachs accompanied Merritt across the island in a cart pulled by drays, she was struck by Islay’s remote, stark beauty. There were northern and western hills covered with open fetches of heath and arable land, clean white shores scoured by waves, and deep lochs cutting through the rugged terrain. But there were also villages with neat rows of whitewashed houses, and streets overrun with ducks and geese. People milled around shops or stood around wayside taverns talking in small groups. “’Tis always Saturday afternoon on Islay,” Slorach told Merritt cheerfully.

&n
bsp; They approached the distillery, a set of large whitewashed buildings built on low-lying peninsular rock, with a perfect view of the cold blue sea. Merritt’s heart began to pound as they followed a drive around the distillery and reached a small, neat house with a gray slate roof, and a fenced-in kitchen garden just visible in the back.

  The carriage stopped, and Slorach helped his wife and Merritt down. They started on a path of stepping stones leading to the house. Before they even reached the front door, it opened and a small, silver-gray terrier came bounding out. He stopped a few yards away from Merritt and growled.

  “Hello, Wallace,” she said with a faint smile, and stood still as he came to her. The terrier circled around her, sniffing at her skirts. In a moment he gazed up at her with bright eyes and a wagging tail, and let her pet him. “What a handsome boy you are,” she exclaimed, smoothing his fur.

  “Merry,” she heard, and looked up to find Keir striding toward her.

  “Don’t be angry,” Merritt said, her lips trembling as she tried to smile.

  But if there was anger mixed in with Keir’s emotions, it was far outweighed by concern, love, and longing. He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, and clasped her head against his chest. “My heart, what are you doing here?” he asked in a low voice. “How did you . . . My God, dinna tell me you came alone. I know you did. Damn it, Merry . . .”

  Slorach spoke up then. “Fia and I met her on the way back from Tarbert. She was ill on the packet.”

  Keir turned pale, and guided Merritt to look up at him. “Ill?”

  “Just a bit seasick,” she assured him.

  Slorach gave Keir a dark glance. “Fia is of the mind the lass is in a hopeful way.”

  Fia nodded firmly, ignoring Merritt’s sputtering protest. “Look at the palms of her hands,” she said. “See you how pink they are, a bit paler in the centers? And do you ken what calmed the heaves? Beef sausage, that’s what.” She gave an emphatic nod, as if that proved a point.

  Keir smoothed Merritt’s hair and looked down at her. “You’re a willful lass,” he muttered. “Traveling here by yourself? Of all the crackbrain, reckless notions—” He broke off, scowling. “We’re going to have words over this, Merry, and a sore hearing it will be for you.” But his hands cradled her face as he spoke, and he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her forehead, cheeks, chin, and the tip of her nose.

  “I had to come,” Merritt said reasonably, thrilling to the feel of his arms around her. “You forgot to leave the key to the lock. I had no way of removing the bracelet.”

  “I meant it to stay on you,” he told her, and pressed his cheek to hers. “To remind you whose heart is in your keeping.”

  “I don’t need reminding of that,” she whispered. He ducked his head to kiss the side of her neck.

  “Young MacRae,” Slorach demanded, “do you mean to make it right for this puir lady you did wrang by?”

  “I do—” Keir began, and paused as someone emerged from the distillery. Following his gaze, Merritt saw Ethan Ransom approaching.

  Ethan smiled at her. “I told MacRae I thought you’d show up here, no matter what he or anyone else said.”

  “Why?” she asked sheepishly. “I suppose I must strike you as remarkably obstinate?”

  He shrugged and shook his head. “It’s only that my wife would have done the same thing.”

  Keir kept his arm around Merritt as he turned more fully toward Ethan. “Ransom . . . I’d be obliged if you’d send one of your men to fetch the sheriff. Before we’re beset by assassins, it seems we have the small matter of a wedding to take care of.”

  Chapter 36

  After Keir collected Merritt’s leather valises, she went into the cottage with him. Wallace followed, panting happily. The home’s interior was brighter and airier than Merritt had expected, with white plastered walls and windows with diamond-shaped panes to let in the light. A broad brick fireplace with a polished copper hood warmed the main room. Although the floor was paved with hard gray slate, it was neatly swept and softened by colorful handmade rugs. The far end of the room opened to a small kitchen with a stove and a plumbed sink.

  Keir carried the valises into a small, sparsely furnished bedroom with a fine four-poster bed with fluted columns.

  Merritt unpinned her traveling hat and set it on the bed. She ran her fingertips lightly over a beautifully quilted coverlet. “Did your mother make this?” she asked, feeling oddly bashful.

  “Aye, she was great on sewing.” He turned her to face him and unfastened her traveling cloak. “If there was anyone I trusted to take you back home,” he said, “I’d put you on the next steamer back to Glasgow. I dinna want you traveling alone again, Merry. You shouldn’t have come.”

  “I know,” she said contritely. “I’m sorry.”

  His mouth twisted. “You’re no’ sorry,” he said.

  “I’m sorry you’re not happy about it.”

  His brooding gaze swept over her. “What’s this about being ill on the ship?”

  “It was just a moment of queasiness. I’m quite well now.”

  After removing her cloak and laying it on the bed, Keir took her shoulders in his hands. “Are you willing to wed me?”

  “It’s what I want more than anything,” she said.

  He continued to frown. “Dinna complain to me if you change your mind later.”

  She smiled up at him. “I won’t change my mind.”

  Hearing muffled conversation from the main room, and the sounds of someone bustling in the kitchen, Keir reluctantly released her. “’Tis best to say as little as possible about Ransom,” he told her. “I told Slorach he’s representing a well-heeled whisky merchant who’s after buying land on Islay and laying out a links course. Ransom is to go around the island and look over the ground.”

  “Is Ethan staying here?” she asked. “With us?”

  His lips twitched. “No. That would be a bit crowdit. He and his two men are staying down the road at a wee auld change-house.”

  “Change-house?”

  “Ale-house, you could say, where a man can stay for a penny-fee if his wife has denied him her bed.”

  “Why did Ethan bring only two men?”

  “’Tis all that’s needed, he says.”

  “That’s not enough,” Merritt said, frowning. “Not nearly. What could he be thinking? It’s a good thing I’m here to protect you.”

  With a long-suffering expression, Keir took her back to the main room, where the Slorachs were busy in the kitchen. Fia had put a kettle on the stove, and was carrying items from the kitchen worktable to a cupboard.

  Slorach was peeking into a group of baskets and crocks that remained on the table.

  “Ranald,” Fia warned her husband, “dinna touch one morsel of that. ’Tis food the neighbors brang for Keir, now that he’s returned from his travels.”

  “So have I returned from my travels,” Slorach protested, “and I’m hungert.”

  “Keir’s travels were to England,” Fia said tartly. “You went only as far as Tarbert.”

  Keir intervened with a grin. “Let him have a bite, Fia.”

  While the other three talked, Merritt went to a tea table and chair, positioned in front of a window that revealed a view of the sea and a distant lighthouse. She sat in the cushioned chair, and Wallace came to rest his chin on her knee, his round dark eyes twinkling at her. Her hand moved gently over his head. It was darkening outside, and she shivered pleasurably at the comfort of being in a warm house.

  Keir came from the kitchen with a mug of tea and set it before Merritt. She glanced up at him in mild surprise, and smiled. “Thank you.” As she took a sip, she realized he’d made it exactly how she liked it, lightened with milk and just the right amount of sugar.

  Staring down at the terrier, Keir asked softly, “What do you think, Wallace? She’s one to be keepit, aye?”

  The long, silky tail fanned vigorously from side to side.

  Soon Ethan arrived with the sheri
ff, a ruddy-faced giant of a man with abundant red hair and a handsome thick mustache.

  “Lady Merritt,” Keir said. “’Tis our sheriff, Errol MacTaggart.”

  “A reet winsome lady, she is,” MacTaggart exclaimed, grinning. “I was told English ladies were pale and sickly, but here you’ve found a dark beauty with roses in her cheeks.”

  Keir smiled briefly. “Let’s no’ make this langsome, MacTaggart. Lady Merritt is weary, and as you know, I’m no’ one to stand on ceremony.”

  “’Tis a haisty affair, aye?” the sheriff observed, some of his good cheer fading as he looked around the room. “No flowers? No candles?”

  “No, and also no ring,” Keir informed him. “Let us say our pledge, give us the certificate, and we’ll have done with it in time for supper.”

  MacTaggart clearly didn’t appreciate the younger man’s cavalier attitude. “You’ll be having no signed paper until I make certain ’tis done legal,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “First . . . do ye ken there’s a fine if you’ve no’ posted banns?”

  “’Tis no’ a church wedding,” Keir said.

  “The law says without the banns, ’tis a fine of fifty pounds.” As Keir gave him an outraged glance, the sheriff added firmly, “No exceptions.”

  “What if I give you a bottle of whisky?” Keir asked.

  “Fine is waived,” MacTaggart said promptly. “Now, then . . . do the rest of you agree to stand as witnesses?”

  Ethan and the Slorachs all nodded.

  “I’ll start, then,” Keir said briskly, and took Merritt’s hand. “I, Keir MacRae, do swear that I—”

  “No’ yet,” the sheriff interrupted, now scowling. “’Tis my obligation to ask a few questions first.”

  “MacTaggart, so help me—” Keir began in annoyance, but Merritt squeezed his hand gently. He heaved a sigh and clamped his mouth shut.

  The sheriff resumed with great dignity. “Are the both of you agreeable to be wed?”