Devil in Disguise (The Ravenels #7) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,90
for mollusks. They whistled plaintively and kept a wary eye on a gull digging for a buried shellfish.
Before long, he thought wryly, he would be driven to forage for mussels right alongside them. He was hollow with hunger. All he’d had so far that day was the cup of tea Culpepper had brought before shaving him.
The valet had told him that Lord and Lady Westcliff were breakfasting with the duke and duchess. Assuming Keir would join them, Culpepper had brought an elegant morning coat and vest, and trousers made of striped gray wool for him to wear. Keir had assured him emphatically that he had no intention of going down for breakfast. He was heading to the cove, and would need casual clothes and canvas shoes. Although the old valet obviously hadn’t liked that idea, he’d brought a new set of garments after the shave.
Keir felt like a coward, slinking out of the house rather than face the Westcliffs, but he had no intention of meeting them and the duchess all at once.
“Perhaps you should lie low,” Merritt had suggested to Keir, “while I go downstairs and assess the situation.”
Keir had thought that was a good plan, in light of the fact that Merritt’s mother had just caught them in bed together. He’d told Merritt he would probably walk out to the cove, as the weather was mild and no one else would be out there.
If only he weren’t so hungry.
Sighing, he poked at a birch log. It sank heavily into a blaze of collapsing kindling, pluming the air with smoke and sparks. Through a dance of light-flecks, he saw a figure emerging from the holloway.
It was a woman wearing a black cloak. She stopped at the sight of him, seeming disconcerted to find someone else at the cove.
Keir rose to his feet, reaching up awkwardly to remove his hat before remembering he wasn’t wearing one.
The woman crossed the beach toward him with an easy, energetic stride. As she approached, he saw she was beautiful, with heavy dark hair, an oval face, and merry brown eyes. She was an elongated, less bosomy version of Merritt, as if someone had carefully stretched her about five inches north and south.
Lady Westcliff, he thought, and a blaze of embarrassment raced over him.
“Is that a signal fire?” she called out in breezy manner, her accent distinctly American. “Are you in need of a rescue?” She had Merritt’s smile, the one that started with a little crinkle of her nose and made her eyes tip-tilted.
Keir’s trepidation began to fade. “Aye,” he said, “but I’m no’ sure what from yet.”
She was about to reply, but she stopped in her tracks with startling abruptness, her astonished gaze sweeping down to his feet and back up again. “Flaming fuckbustles,” she exclaimed under her breath.
Keir looked at her blankly, having never heard such language coming from a woman.
Lady Westcliff snapped her mouth shut. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that you look like—”
“I know,” he said with a touch of chagrin.
“So much like him,” she said, still disconcerted, “particularly as he was in a less-than-charming period before he married Evie.” She frowned. “But that has nothing to do with you, of course.”
Keir nodded, unsure how to reply.
The conversation collapsed like a pricked balloon. They both stood there pondering how to breathe life into it.
“Milady … did you want to speak with me?” Keir asked.
“Actually, I came out here to do some thinking. I didn’t expect to find anyone at the beach.”
“I’ll leave,” he offered. “I’ll stoke up the fire for you and—”
“No, please stay.” She paused. “What are you doing out here?”
“Hiding.”
That amused her. “Not from me, I hope.”
Her laugh sounded so much like Merritt’s that he felt his heart lean toward her like a garden seeking the sun. “You’re no’ the only one I was trying to avoid.”
“I’m avoiding them too.”
“Would you like to sit by the fire with me?”
“I would,” she said. “Let’s pretend we’ve done all the small talk, and go straight to a real conversation.”
“NOT LONG AGO, you made up your mind never to marry again,” Merritt’s father reminded her as they walked along the holloway to the cove. They had talked for at least an hour after breakfast, just the two of them, lingering over tea in the morning room. It was always a relief to unburden herself to Papa, who was pragmatic and sympathetic, and had an uncanny ability to quickly grasp the details and implications of a problem.