Devil in Disguise (The Ravenels #7) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,75

fascinated and excited him. It had made him love her.

Now he was left counting the remaining nights—four, to be precise—of waking in the middle of the night blindly searching the empty space beside him. And the hours—ninety-six, approximately—until Evie was in his arms again.

Christ, it was undignified to pine over one’s own wife.

He was the one who’d encouraged Evie to accept the invitation from their friends Sir George and Lady Sylvia Stevenson, the newly appointed British ambassador and his wife. The Stevensons and their children had recently settled in the magnificent embassy on the rue de Fauborg Saint-Honoré, only a few doors down from the Élysée Palace. You must bring Seraphina and Ivo as well, Lady Sylvia had written. My children will be so happy to have familiar friends visit their new home, and Paris in autumn is beautiful beyond compare.

Although a stream of cheerful postcards and letters had arrived from Evie for the past three weeks, they were a poor substitute for the sound of her voice, and her good morning kisses, and the quirks only a husband would know about. The adorable way her toes would wiggle in her sleep whenever he touched her foot. And the way she would bounce a little on her heels when she was especially happy or excited about something.

God, he needed her back in his bed. He needed it soon. Meanwhile, he would try to exhaust himself into not thinking about Evie.

He decided to go for a swim.

AFTER THE CARRIAGES had departed, Merritt retreated to the privacy of her room and sat in a cozy corner chair, having what her mother had always referred to as a “two-hanky wallow.” She wept, and mopped at her welling eyes, and blew her nose gustily. In a few minutes, the worst of it had passed, and she relaxed back in the chair as a sense of dull peacefulness settled over her.

“There,” she said aloud, clutching a sodden handkerchief. “All done. Now I must find something to do.” Perhaps she would work on her list of wonders. She would add the Great Wall of China to the itinerary. To her chagrin, a new sob caught in her throat, and another tear slid down. Fresh sorrow had escaped, ready to rampage again.

Holy Moses, she had to stop this.

She stood and went to the dresser for a fresh handkerchief, and paused as she heard a commotion from somewhere in the house. Good God, had someone been injured? Was it a brawl? There was the bang of a door being thrown open … feet pounding the stairs … a hoarse shout that sounded like her name.

She whirled around in alarm as someone burst into the room without knocking.

It was Keir, huge and disheveled, panting with trip-hammer force, as if he’d been running for his life. He stopped in his tracks, his fixed stare raising every hair on her body.

“What happened?” Merritt asked, utterly bewildered. “Why are you here? You … you’ll miss the train.”

“Merry.”

Chills of astonishment went down her spine. She couldn’t make a sound, only watched with wide eyes as he came to her.

Breathing raggedly, Keir reached for her hand and pressed something into her palm. Her gaze fell to the trembling strip of paper in her hand, and she saw their typed names.

The paper fell from her nerveless fingers. She looked into his eyes, light and burning like twin stars. Oh, God, he’d remembered.

“Keir,” she said, trying to sound very calm, “it doesn’t matter now. Everything’s been settled. That night was a diversion for both of us, a lovely one, but … there’s no need to make a muckle into a mickle.” She paused, thinking she might not have said that right. “Keir—”

But the words were blotted out as he pulled her against him, his mouth seizing hers.

Somewhere outside this room, life rushed by like scenery outside a railway carriage, melting into a mad watercolor blur. But here in the compass of his arms, time had stopped. The ticking minutes caught fire and vanished into smoke. There was only the urgency of Keir’s embrace, the rough, vital kisses, the strength of him all around her. She’d never expected to feel this again.

Her hands groped around his neck, her fingers lacing through the thick shorn locks at the back of his head. The hard, clean contours of Keir’s face rubbed against hers, a different feeling than the coarse tickle of his beard. But the mouth was the same, full and erotic, searingly hot. He consumed her slowly, searching