Devil in Disguise (The Ravenels #7) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,17

at the sound as if he could taste it, and broke the kiss to rest his forehead against hers. Their panting breaths mingled.

It was hard to speak with him still clasping her hips against his. Every part of her was throbbing. “I suppose you think that proved a point,” she managed to say.

“Aye,” he said gruffly. “Dinna tempt me to prove it again.” But he ducked his head to steal another kiss … and another … nuzzling and biting gently at her lips as if he couldn’t help himself. He let out a shaken sigh and held her tightly, and said something in Gaelic that sounded like a curse.

Slowly, almost painfully, he eased their bodies apart and went to brace his hands against the wall of the stairwell. Lowering his head, he took several long, deliberate breaths.

Realizing he was willing his arousal to subside—and not finding it easy—Merritt felt a responsive quiver deep in her belly.

Eventually he pushed away from the wall and reached for the door, and held it open for her.

The cold night air drew a tremor from her as MacRae escorted her out to the carriage.

Upon seeing their approach, the footman hastened to open the carriage door and pull down the folding step.

Before entering the vehicle, Merritt paused to say one last thing to MacRae. She was pleased by how casual and ordinary she was able to sound, with all her thoughts in chaos. “I’ll expect you at my house the day after tomorrow.”

His eyes narrowed. “I dinna say I would come, you wee bully.”

“Don’t forget the whisky,” she said, and hastily entered the carriage before he could reply.

Chapter 5

AFTER A SMALL FORTUNE in whisky had been stamped and delivered safely into the bonded warehouse, it had taken every last spark of Keir’s remaining energy to climb the stairs to his flat. He’d slept all through the afternoon and night, and had awakened feeling refreshed and ready to take on the world.

The day’s meetings had required the purchase of a new coat, since the one he’d brought needed to be laundered and was so old it probably wouldn’t survive the washing. First, he’d gone to the penny pie shop, where he’d eaten his fill of pies for breakfast and asked where he might find some ready-made clothing.

For the first time in his life, Keir bought a garment stitched by machine. The black wool peacoat, styled after the ones worn by sailors and longshoremen, was double-breasted and cut short enough to allow the legs freedom of movement. It fit well enough, although the sleeves were too short and the middle too loose. He proceeded to a public house for a meeting with the manager, who intended to place a large order after his lawyer reviewed the details of the independent bottling contract.

His next meeting was on the west side, in the St. James area. At the suggestion of one of Islay’s well-to-do residents, an elderly lawyer named Gordan Catach, Keir had decided to approach a prominent gentlemen’s club with the intention of selling a special lot of forty-year-old single malt.

“The most famous clubs are White’s, Brooks’s, and Boodle’s,” Catach had told him. “Any of those would have the means to pay a steep asking price. But if I were you, lad, I’d first try Jenner’s. It doesnae have so high a pedigree as the others, but ’tis the one everyone wants to belong to. Some gentlemen—higher-ups, mind ye—spend as long as ten years on the waiting list.”

“How’s that?”

“Jenner’s offers the most luxury, the finest food and liquor … there’s even a smoking room where they’ll hand-roll a fresh cigar to suit your taste. The club was started lang ago by a professional boxer. His daughter married the Duke of Kingston, who owns the place now.”

Keir, who couldn’t have cared less about some doddering old aristocrat, responded with an indifferent shrug. “’Tis no’ unusual for a duke to own prime London real estate.”

“Aye, but the interesting part is, Kingston ran the club himself for a time.” To make sure Keir understood the significance, Catach added, “Noblemen never work. To their minds it lowers them, ye ken, and costs them the respect of common folk as well as their peers.”

“He must have had no choice,” Keir mused.

“To be sure. But the duke made Jenner’s what it is, and enriched himself in the process.” Catach had shaken his head with a mixture of admiration and envy. “A charmed life, that one’s had. They say in his youth, Kingston was as wicked