Keir sat next to the firepit at the sandy cove, watching shore birds feed. Dunlin, plovers, and stints ran delicately across the wet sand to peck and probe 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.
Now Merritt had set out to find Keir, carrying a small lidded basket with a few tidbits from the sideboard. Her father had asked to accompany her, suspecting his wife had encountered Keir at the cove.
“That’s true,” Merritt admitted. “I couldn’t fathom why I’d want to take a husband after Joshua. There was no reason. But then I met this man, and . . . he was a shock to the system. No one’s ever had this effect on me before. I feel ten times more alive.” She laughed self-consciously. “Does that sound silly?”
“Not at all. I understand. Your mother had the same effect on me.”
“Did she?”
The earl let out a gravelly chuckle as he thought back to those days. “She was a fearless, free-spirited beauty with all the self-restraint of an unbroken horse. I knew she wasn’t suited to the only life I could offer her. But I was mesmerized by her. I loved her enthusiasm and warmth, and everything that made her different from me. I thought if we were both willing to take a chance on each other, we might have a good marriage. It’s turned out to be an extraordinary one.”
“No regrets, then?” Merritt dared to ask. “Even in the privacy of your own thoughts?”
“Never,” he said promptly. “Without Lillian, I would never have known true happiness. I don’t hold with the common wisdom that a couple must have the same tastes and backgrounds. Married life would be dull indeed without some friction: one can’t light a match without it.”
Merritt smiled. “I adore you, Papa. You’ve made it nearly impossible for me to find a man who doesn’t suffer in comparison to you.”
They reached the cove, and saw her mother and Keir sitting on the beach next to a crackling fire. To her delight, they appeared to be talking companionably. As Keir went to pick up a split birch log and toss it onto the fire, flames leaped with new vigor and burnished him with light. He was a breathtaking sight, golden and godlike, his long-limbed form sensuously lean and powerful. He belonged in this natural setting of sun and salt water, the gilded layers of his hair ruffled by a sea breeze.
“Somehow,” her father said dryly, “I think that fellow will survive the comparison to me.” He paused before adding beneath his breath, “Good God. There’s no doubt as to his sire.”
Lillian remained seated on a wool beach blanket, grinning as they approached. “Hello, dears. My lord, this is Keir MacRae. We’ve been having the most delightful chat.”
“A pleasure, MacRae,” the earl said, with a precise bow, which Keir reciprocated. “It appears there’s something we need to discuss, in light of a rumor I’ve heard.”
“Sir?” Keir asked warily.
“Kingston mentioned you’re an angler.”
Keir relaxed visibly. “Aye, now and then I’ll take a brown trout from one of the lochs on Islay.”
“I occasionally try my luck at dry-fly casting on a Hampshire chalk stream.” The earl glanced at Merritt and smiled reminiscently. “My daughter has accompanied me a time or two. She has excellent aptitude but little interest.”
“I lose patience with the fish,” Merritt said. “They take too long to make up their minds. I prefer going shooting with you—it takes far less effort.”
“Are you a good shot?” Keir asked.
“I’m not bad,” she said modestly.
“She’s the best shot in the family,” Lillian said. “It drives her brothers mad.”
The earl went to his wife and lowered to his haunches until their faces were level. “My lady,” he said, his voice softening with a warm, tender note, “I came to ask if you’d be willing to listen to some groveling.”
“How much groveling?” Lillian asked, sounding interested.
“A one-man symphony. ‘Grovel in D minor.’”
Lillian chortled. She gave him her hands and let him pull her to her feet with him. “I’ll settle for a short overture,” she said. Rising on her toes, she kissed her husband impulsively.
Despite the impropriety of the gesture, the earl returned the kiss soundly. Keeping an arm around his wife, he said, “We’ll continue our discussion later, MacRae.”
“I look forward to that,” Keir replied.
As her parents walked away, Merritt went to sit on the blanket. The radiant heat of the fire sent a pleasant shiver through her. “I hope my mother didn’t shock you,” she said as she watched her parents walk hand in hand to the holloway.
“She’s a charming woman,” Keir replied, sitting beside her. “I like her very well. She dinna shock me, although . . . she swears like a Scottish golfer.”
“Oh, dear. Are Scottish golfers really that profane?”
“Aye, the worst language you’ll ever hear is from a Scot in a sand bunker.”
“Is there golf on Islay?”
Keir nodded. “A neighbor by the name of Gordon Catach laid out a nine-hole course on his property.”
“Golf is a civilized sport,” Merritt said. Perhaps it was grasping at straws, but she was happy to learn about any kind of culture on Islay. “I find that encouraging.”
He laughed. “I dinna want to give you a false impression. The course is ruggit and patchy with muckle stones, and we usually have to clear the livestock off the fairway before we play.”
“It’s still nice to learn there’s a golf course.” She reached into the basket she’d brought and unearthed an enameled tin flask with a lid.
“What’s this?” Keir asked as she handed it to him.
“Tea with honey.” Merritt reached in again and withdrew a napkin-wrapped parcel. “And I thought you might want these.”
Unwrapping the napkin, Keir discovered a trio of sausage pasties, miniature pies with sausage filling. A brilliant smile crossed his face. “Merry . . .” He reached out, curved a hand around the back of her neck, and guided her head to his. He kissed her ardently, trapping her laugh between their lips.
After he had devoured the pasties and drained the flask of tea, he wrapped his arms around Merritt and coaxed her to lean back against him.
“Isn’t this uncomfortable for you?” she asked in concern.
“No’ if you stay still,” he said. “How my arms love the feel of you, lass.”
She smiled, her eyes heavy-lidded as she stared into the fire, the flames shivering and snapping at the breeze. One of his hands drifted over her gently, coming up to stroke the side of her throat and twine a stray lock of hair around his finger.
After a contented silence, Keir said lazily, “When this business about Lord Ormonde is settled, and all is safe . . . will you visit Islay with me? You could have a look at the island, to help decide if you could make a life there.”
“Do you think I would be happy on Islay?”
“’Tis no’ for me to say what your needs are. ’Tis for you to say, and me to listen.”
“First, I need you.”
She felt him smile against her hair. “You already have that,” he said. “What else?”
“I need a comfortable home with enough rooms for my family and friends to visit.”
“My house is too small for that,” he said regretfully. “And although ’tis comfortable for me, I dinna think you would find it so.”
Her fingers slid into the cuff of his sleeve, reaching far enough to play lightly with the glinting hair of his forearm. “What if I wanted to build a house for us on the island, with my money? Would you be too proud to live in it?”
Keir made a quiet sound of amusement. “I’ve sacrificed my pride for worse reasons. I’ll live wherever you want, my heart. But we may no’ have to spend your money. I think I may be able to pay for it.”
Carefully she turned her head on his chest to give him a questioning glance.
His lips brushed her temple before he explained. “I told you before that I wanted to renounce my trust and let Lord Ormond have it. But that was when I thought I was leaving you for good. Now I’ve thought better of it. I’ll take the inheritance my mother intended for me and try to do some good with it. We can start with a house.”
“I think that’s a fine idea,” Merritt said.
But Keir sounded less than enthusiastic as he commented, “The trust comes with commercial leaseholds that have to be managed. I’ll no’ be giving up my distillery to collect rents and spend my days with contractors.”
“Of course not,” Merritt said. She sat up and maneuvered to face him, running her palm up and down his chest as if to soothe away his worries. “We can hire managers and keep close oversight.” Leaning closer, she brushed her lips over his, feeling the heat of his mouth afterward as if she’d been softly branded. “We’ll find the answers together.”
He caught her wrist and looked at her with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Lass, if you’re after calming me by stroking me with your wee hand . . . ’tis having the opposite effect. You’d better stop if you dinna want to be ravished right here on the beach.”
Merritt crinkled her nose and laughed. “You wouldn’t do that,” she said. “Not out in the open.”
Keir dragged her hand down his body to the hard, aroused ridge behind the front placket of his trousers. “There’s something you need to learn about Scotsmen,” he said. “We never back down from a challenge.”
