Devil in Disguise (The Ravenels #7) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,58

a bit of grooming and tidying. It appears he assumed I meant a shave as well. Isn’t that right, Culpepper?”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” the old man replied dutifully.

“Culpepper tends to be impetuous,” Kingston continued. “He needs to work on controlling his impulses.”

Keir flushed with outrage. “He’s no’ a brash wee laddie, he’s ninety-eight fookin’ years old!”

“You may go now,” the duke said to his valet.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Merritt focused all her attention on Keir. “Try to relax and take deep breaths,” she said urgently, leaning over him. “Please. Look at me.” Staring into his eyes, she inhaled slowly, willing him to follow. His gaze locked with hers, and he struggled to breathe along with her. To her relief, the rough panting began to ease. She dared to reach out and push back a heavy lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. “I’m so sorry about your beard. I’m sure it will grow back quickly.”

“’Tis the principle,” he grumbled. “I was off my head and dinna know what was happening.”

Merritt clicked her tongue sympathetically, her hand sliding briefly to the hard, clean angle of his jaw. “They shouldn’t have done such a thing without asking. If I’d been here, I wouldn’t have allowed it.” She was thrilled to feel him lean subtly into the pressure of her hand.

“In any case,” she heard Kingston remark casually, “one can’t deny it’s an improvement.”

Merritt twisted to send him a threatening glance over her shoulder, willing him not to antagonize Keir further. “It was a very nice beard,” she said.

The duke arched a brow. “It looked like something I had to wrestle away from the dog last week.”

“Uncle Sebastian,” Merritt exclaimed in exasperation.

Keir’s attention, however, was fixed not on Kingston, but on the frozen figure by the doorway. “Who’s that?” he demanded.

Merritt followed his gaze to Phoebe, whose face was carefully blank. What a shock it must be for her, to be confronted with a man who looked so eerily similar—almost identical—to her father as a young man. “Dear,” she said apologetically to Phoebe, “about that story I was telling you … there was a part I hadn’t yet reached.”

Her friend replied slowly, staring at the duke. “I think perhaps my father should explain it to me.”

“I will,” Kingston said, giving his daughter a reassuring smile. “Come with me.” He ushered her from the room, saying, “We’ll leave Merritt with her fiancé.”

“What?” came Phoebe’s bewildered voice, just before he closed the door.

In the raw silence, Merritt brought herself to meet Keir’s baffled, accusing gaze.

“Fiancé?” he repeated. “Why did he call me that?”

Wishing she could throttle Kingston, Merritt said uneasily, “You see … I had to resort to … erm … a small prevarication.”

Despite his weakened condition, Keir was easily able to pull her down beside him with a commanding tug. One of his hands settled beneath her arm to lock her in place. “I dinna know what that means,” he said, “but it sounds like a fine-feathered word for lying.”

“It is,” she admitted in a sheepish tone. “And for that I’m very sorry. But saying we were betrothed was the only way I could accompany you here, to take care of you.”

Keir leaned back against the pillows, leveling a surly glance at her. “Why?”

“It wouldn’t be proper, since we’re both—”

“No, I meant why did you want to?”

“I … I suppose I felt responsible because you were injured while staying in my company’s warehouse.”

“No one would ever believe I’d offer for you. ’Tis a daft notion.”

Surprised and offended, Merritt asked, “Do you find me so unappealing?”

Keir seemed startled by the question. “No, of course not. You’re …” He paused, staring at her as if mesmerized. The hand beneath her arm had slipped a bit lower, his long thumb beginning to stroke the side of her breast in a caress he didn’t seem to be aware of. “You’re as bonnie as a wild rose,” he said absently. Merritt shivered beneath the gently erotic touch, the tip of her breast gathering into a hard peak. Suddenly realizing what he was doing, Keir snatched his hands from her. “But I’d never take a wife so far above me.”

Merritt’s heart was beating high in her throat, making it difficult to speak. “We’re all woven from the same loom,” she said. “That’s what my father says. He married an American. My great-grandmother was a laundress, as a matter of fact.”

Keir shook his head dismissively. “You’re a highborn lady with fine ways.”

Merritt frowned. “You make it sound as if I were some