Devil in Disguise (The Ravenels #7) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,50
You’ll accompany us, of course.”
Garrett frowned and caught briefly at her lower lip with her teeth before replying. “I’m afraid I must remain here. I have surgeries scheduled, and also …”
Ethan came to his wife’s side and added, “My wife and I have an agreement that whenever one of us travels, the other will stay at home with the child. And I’ll be away from London, working on the investigation.”
“If you like,” Garrett told the duke, “I can recommend a colleague, Dr. Kent, who has a practice near Heron’s Point. He was trained according to Sir Joseph Lister’s methods, just as I was, and will provide first-rate care to Mr. MacRae.”
“Very well. I’d be obliged if you would contact him on our behalf. I want him waiting at the estate when we arrive.”
“I’ll wire him in the morning, Your Grace.”
The duke took one last glance at Keir’s sleeping form, his face inscrutable. But as he turned to leave, the mask of composure slipped to reveal a flash of anguished tenderness. Merritt blinked, and the expression vanished so quickly, she wondered if she’d imagined it.
Once they were out in the hallway, the duke told her, “You need pack only a few essentials. We’ll send for more in a day or two.”
“I should send a note to my family,” Merritt said, trying to collect her scattered thoughts.
“You can write one on the way and dispatch it from Heron’s Point.” With a wry quirk of his lips, he added, “I beg you to word it carefully. Despite my deep and abiding affection for your parents, I’d rather not be overrun by Marsdens for the time being.”
“Neither would I,” Merritt assured him. “Papa would ask a great many questions I have no wish to answer, and Mama … well, as you know, she’s as subtle as a marauding Viking.”
The duke laughed softly. “In the interest of self-preservation, I’ll withhold comment.”
The brief grin reminded Merritt of Keir, and nearly made her heart stop. “His expressions are so like yours,” she said impulsively.
Kingston followed the abrupt turn of thought without needing explanation. “Are they?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the guest room. He turned back to her with a faint, pensive smile, and headed to the staircase.
Chapter 15
IN THE MORNING, GARRETT decided Keir’s lungs had improved sufficiently to allow for a light dose of morphine. He was suffering from such a severe headache that he didn’t object to the hypodermic syringe, and hardly even seemed to notice it. To Merritt’s relief, the injection eased his misery enough to let him sleep.
“Poor chap,” Garrett said quietly, settling an ice bag against his ribs. “He’s in for a rough few days. He’ll have to be up and moving before he feels like it, and in spite of the injured ribs, he’ll have to do deep breathing exercises to prevent pneumonia.”
“If you write out the instructions,” Merritt assured her, “I’ll see that it’s done.”
“I’m sure you will.” Garrett smiled at her. “Don’t neglect your own care, my friend. You’ll need rest if you’re going to be of any help to him.”
THEY TRAVELED IN the duke’s private railway carriage, a handsomely appointed vehicle trimmed with the blue and cream of the Challon family coat of arms. Merritt stayed at Keir’s bedside to watch over him as he slept in one of the carriage’s staterooms. Kingston, meanwhile, sat in the main compartment, poring over the instructions and medical records Garrett had sent with them.
Halfway through the journey, Kingston appeared at the stateroom’s threshold. “May I come in?” he asked quietly.
Merritt looked up with a smile, trying to conceal her weariness. “Of course.” She wrung out a cloth that had been soaking in ice water, and folded it in a long rectangle.
The duke approached the bedside. Very gently, he reached down to lay a hand across Keir’s forehead. “He has fever,” he commented.
“Dr. Gibson said the wound on his back will probably have to be cleaned and drained.”
Kingston nodded with a frown. “I bloody hate fever,” he muttered.
Merritt draped the cold cloth over Keir’s dry, hot forehead. He made an incoherent sound and turned toward her, seeking the source of coolness. She murmured a few soothing words and used another iced cloth to stroke his face and throat. Keir subsided with a soft groan.
Kingston’s eyes narrowed with interest as he saw the fine steel chain among the fleece of chest hair. “What’s that?”
“A token from his … from the woman who bore him. He always wears it.”