Devil in Disguise (The Ravenels #7) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,56
embraced. “I’ve missed you so! Letters are never enough.”
“Especially considering how seldom you write,” Phoebe teased, and laughed at Merritt’s expression.
“If you knew how hard I’ve been working! No time for letters, books, or tea with friends … no naps or shopping … I’ve been living like a medieval peasant.”
Phoebe chuckled. “I meant to come sooner, but it’s been madness at the estate. We’re going into harvest, and I’ve been busy with the baby—”
“Where is she?” Merritt asked eagerly. She hadn’t yet seen Phoebe’s daughter, Eden, who’d been born six months earlier. “You’ve brought her, I hope.”
“Had to,” Phoebe replied wryly, gesturing to her button-front bodice, strained by the full bosom of a nursing mother. “She’s not yet weaned. At the moment, she’s with the nursemaid upstairs. I left the boys at home with West, but they may join us later, depending on how long I stay.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Tell me what’s been happening,” Phoebe said, going to the small table. “I’ll pour tea.”
Merritt hesitated with a nonplussed laugh. “There’s too much. I’m at a loss for words.”
“You? You’re never at a loss for words.”
“I’m not sure how to start.”
“Start with anything. No—start with the man you brought here. According to my father’s note, he’s a businessman who was injured in the warehouse fire. Which I was very sorry to hear about, by the way.”
Merritt twisted to stack the pillows against the headboard. “Have you seen your father yet?”
“No, I’ve only just arrived. He’s meeting with a pair of solicitors from London, and I told the butler not to interrupt him, and then I came straight to your room. You’re the one I wanted to talk with anyway.” Phoebe brought her a cup of tea and went to perch on the corner of the mattress.
“You’ll definitely want to talk with your father too, dear.”
“About what?”
“Mr. MacRae, the injured man.” Merritt paused to take a bracing gulp of tea. “He’s a distiller from Scotland. One of the little islands off the west coast. He hired my company to ship and store his whisky in the bonded warehouse. But while my men were moving the cargo, a cask of single malt broke on a freight shed roof and soaked him. He came to my office in wet clothes, all muscles and smolder. I hardly knew where to look.”
“I think you knew exactly where to look,” Phoebe said, her light gray eyes sparkling with amusement. “Is he handsome?”
“A stunner. Tall and big-chested, with blue eyes and hair the color of summer wheat. And his accent …”
“Irresistible?”
“Oh, yes. There’s something about a Scottish burr that makes it seem as if a man is either about to recite poetry or toss you over his shoulder and carry you away.”
“Maybe both at the same time,” Phoebe said dreamily, sipping her tea.
Merritt grinned and resumed the story, leaving nothing out. It was an incredible relief to confide in Phoebe, who would understand anything. But the torrent of words slowed when it came to telling her friend about the night she’d spent with Keir.
“… and then …” Merritt said, her gaze carefully averted, “… I asked him to stay the night. With me. In my bedroom.”
“Of course you did,” Phoebe said reasonably.
“You’re not shocked?”
“Why would I be? You’ve occupied a solitary bed for a long time, and you were in the company of a ruggedly handsome bachelor with a Scottish accent. I’d be shocked if you hadn’t asked him to stay.” Phoebe paused. “My goodness, I hope you didn’t think West and I were as chaste as unsunned snow during our courtship.”
“No, but it’s not quite the same. At least you knew West beforehand, and your families were acquainted.”
Phoebe chewed lightly on her lower lip as she considered that. “I didn’t know him all that well,” she pointed out. “But I learned a great deal about him in a very short time. As you know, West is not what anyone would call shy and retiring.”
Merritt smiled. “I adore men who talk. The taciturn ones are no fun at all.”
Phoebe gave Merritt an expectant glance. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Tell me about the night you spent together. How was it?”
Merritt felt color rise in her face as she pondered how to describe those intimate hours. Hesitantly she said, “I wouldn’t want to compare him to my husband.”
“No, one mustn’t. It’s different, that’s all.”
“Yes.” Merritt paused. “It was astonishing. He was so assured … masterful … but very gentle. I was so lost in him and what he was doing, I stopped