“Many women in her position would consider him as . . . well, an embarrassment.” That drew a real smile from him, the first she’d seen from him in a while. “You know Evie. She already thinks of him as someone else to love.”

Dazedly Merritt realized her younger brother, once a baby she’d helped to dress and bathe, and later a toddler she’d taught how to eat pudding with a spoon, had become a man she could rely on.

The duke intervened, his voice so dry one could have struck a match off it. “My boy, you’re missing the point. Your sister wants to be compromised.”

Even if he couldn’t manage to cook for himself yet, he had scores of friends and— Salty, chewy bacon with crisp edges. God, he was starving. —friends and neighbors who would welcome him to their tables.

He was dazzled by her, thinking she could have been some mythical creature. A fairy or even a goddess. Not some coldly aloof and perfect goddess . . . but a small and merry one.

The duke’s gaze remained on Keir. After a charged silence, he said evenly, “I have no secrets from my wife.”

“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. “Someone brings her the gold chain one day, and she realizes he’s dead. Shot by—” He broke off as he saw Merritt’s face begin to crumple. “Och,” he exclaimed softly. “No . . . dinna do that . . .” “It’s so terribly sad,” she said in a watery voice, damning herself for being emotional.

“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.