Devil in Disguise (The Ravenels #7) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,68

Phoebe beat him to the mark.

“It’s time for me to return to Essex,” Phoebe announced at the breakfast table one morning. A regretful smile touched her lips as she glanced first at Merritt, then Keir. “It’s been a lovely visit. I hate for it to end, but I’ve been away long enough.”

Kingston, who’d paused in the middle of opening a newspaper, received his daughter’s announcement with a slight frown. “Your mother returns from Paris in a matter of days. Can’t you stay until then?”

“I miss my husband and sons.”

“Tell them to come here.”

Phoebe rested her chin on her hand and smiled at her father. “And who would manage the estate? No, I’m leaving this afternoon on the three o’clock express to London, and then the five o’clock to Essex. I’ve already told my maid to start packing.”

“I’ll go with you as far as London, if you’ve no objection,” Keir said abruptly.

Silence.

Aware of all three gazes on him, Keir added, “I can stop there for the night and go on to Glasgow the next morning.” He set his jaw, silently daring anyone to object.

“It may have slipped your mind,” Kingston commented acidly, “that whoever nearly succeeded in spreading you across the South London docks like so much chum still hasn’t been found.”

“No one knows I survived the warehouse fire,” Keir pointed out. “They won’t be after me now.”

“Has it occurred to you,” Kingston asked, “that running back to Islay and firing up the stills will tip them off?”

Keir scowled. “I can’t bide here for months, wearing silk trousers and eating off fancy plates while my life turns into a shambles. I have responsibilities: a business to be run, men to be paid. A dog I left in the care of a friend. I’m no’ asking for permission.”

“Uncle,” Merritt interceded, her face unreadable, “we can hardly blame him for not wanting the situation to go on indefinitely.”

“No,” Kingston allowed, settling back in his chair, leveling a cool glance at Keir. “But I’m afraid you’re going to have to muster a bit more patience and stay here. The day after you pop up at your distillery alive and kicking, someone will come to finish you off.”

“Let them try,” Keir shot back. “I can defend myself.”

The duke arched a mocking brow. “Impressive. Only a matter of days ago, we were celebrating that you were able to drink through a straw. And now apparently you’re well enough for an alley fight.”

Keir was instantly hostile.

“I know how to keep up my guard.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Kingston replied. “As soon as your arm muscles fatigue, your elbows will drift outward, and he’ll find an opening.”

“What would a toff like you know about fighting? Even with my ribs cracked, you couldn’t take me down.”

The older man’s stare was that of a seasoned lion being challenged by a brash cub.

Calmly he picked up a small open pepper cellar from the table and dumped a heap of ground black pepper in the center of Keir’s plate.

Perplexed, Keir glanced down at it, as a puff of gray dust floated upward. His nose stung, and in the next breath, he sneezed. A searing bolt of agony shot through his rib cage. “Aghhh!” He turned away from his plate and doubled over. “Devil take your sneakit arse!” he managed to gasp.

Through the ricocheting pain, Keir was aware that Merritt had jumped up and rushed over to him, her hand coming lightly to his back. “Shall I fetch your medicine?” she asked, her voice vibrant with concern.

Keir shook his head. Gripping the edge of the table for leverage, he sat up and shot Kingston a baleful glance.

The duke regarded him unapologetically, his point made. He pushed back from the table. “Come with me.”

“What for?” Keir asked warily.

“We’re going for a walk.” Kingston’s mouth twisted impatiently at Keir’s lack of response. “An ancient method of travel, performed by lifting and setting down each foot in turn while leaning forward.” His gaze flickered over Keir’s casual clothing, the wool sack jacket and broadcloth trousers. “You’ll need to change those leather shoes for canvas ones. Meet me at the back of the house, by the door closest to the holloway.”

The holloway. The bastard intended for them to walk down to the cove, then.

Although Keir was tempted to tell him to bugger off, he held his tongue and watched him leave. Clasping a hand to his sore ribs, he stood and looked down at Merritt, who had remained beside him. He felt a flash of regret, knowing his impulsive