Devil in Disguise (The Ravenels #7) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,102
in, everything would be so much easier. His refusal to take her to Islay had nothing to do with his respect for her, which was enormous. Her well-being would always take precedence over his, because she was what he valued most. Because of who he was as a man. Because he loved her.
He found himself meandering down the hallway that led to the study, and heard the sound of voices coming from the open door. Without making a conscious decision, he paused at the threshold and glanced inside. Kingston and Westcliff were talking with the comfortable ease of old friends, a tray bearing a brandy decanter and crystal glasses between them. Keir missed sitting at the tavern talking with friends, or lingering with some of the men after work to finish the day with a taste of whisky, or “dramming,” as they called it.
Kingston looked up and smiled as he saw Keir. “Come in, my boy.”
It was disarming to see the change in the duke’s expression, the elegant features softening and warming. And in response, Keir was surprised by a feeling of kinship, and relief, and the expectation of a good conversation. He realized he was starting to like the man’s company.
As he entered the room, he paused in front of Westcliff, knowing something had to be said about his relationship with Merritt. “Sir,” he said, and cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Earlier … Merritt gave the impression that a certain question had already been asked and answered. But I would no’ do so without first discussing it with you.”
The earl’s expression was difficult to read. “A father’s consent isn’t necessary in the case of a widow marrying for the second time.”
“’Tis necessary to me, milord,” Keir replied. “If you’re of the opinion she’d be ill-served to have me as a husband, ’tis your right to say so, and my obligation to pay attention.”
Westcliff regarded him thoughtfully. “There’s no need to enumerate the obvious challenges you and she are facing. I’d rather ask how you’re planning to handle them.”
Kingston picked up his brandy and stood. “Good God,” he said with amusement, “if it’s turning into that sort of conversation, I’m going to pour the lad a brandy. Take my chair, Keir.”
Keir complied, and sat facing the earl. “I dinna have an actual plan yet,” he admitted. “But I would do everything possible to protect her and take care of her feelings. She would never go wanting. I would listen to her opinions, and treat her as a beloved companion, always. I’ll work very hard, and sacrifice what I must. If she’s no’ happy living on Islay, I’d live somewhere else.”
The duke gave him a glass of brandy, and half sat on the heavy mahogany desk nearby.
Westcliff seemed struck by the last words. “You’d move away from the island? You’re that convinced she’s worth it?”
“Of course. There is but one Merritt. And no’ one minute of the day does she cease to be a joy to me.”
That drew the widest, most natural smile Keir had seen yet from Westcliff. “If you can say that after her determined display this afternoon, I think you’ll do well together.”
“’Tis proud I am that she’s such a fine marksman,” Keir assured him. “But it was no’ necessary for her to prove. There was never a chance I would allow her to go into danger with me.”
“You’re a fine young man,” the earl said. “For what it’s worth, the union has my full support. However, marrying a Marsden can be a knotty proposition, even with one as amiable as Merritt. If I may share a bit of hard-won wisdom …”
“Please,” Keir said readily.
“I do a fair amount of riding on my estate,” Westcliff said. “With every single horse I own, I often lay the reins on his neck and let him move forward to find his own natural balance and gait. I’ve seen far too many overbearing riders constantly manage and adjust the horse to force its obedience. Every little toss of the head or momentary hesitation is corrected. A variety of torturous bits, spurs, and straps are employed to make it submit. Some horses endure such treatment, but far more are ruined by it. Their spirits are broken, and their temperaments permanently soured. Always let a horse be a horse.” He paused. “Do you take my meaning?”
“Aye, milord.”
“Was an analogy really necessary, Westcliff?” Kingston asked. “You could have simply said, ‘Please be kind to my headstrong daughter and don’t break her spirit.’”