The Madness Of Lord Ian Mackenzie (34 page)

Ian was so hard he hurt. Her fingers were more confident as she closed them around his cock, her thumb brushing across his tip. He clenched his teeth as she swirled her fingers around his flange, teasing his sensitive skin. Ian found himself fisting her hair, and released her before he could pull it. He closed his fingers over her shoulder, his grip biting into the thick brocade of her gown.

“Do you like that?” she whispered.

Ian couldn’t answer. His hips moved, wanting to thrust. “I like it,” she said. “I love how hard your staff is, yet the skin is silken. I remember how it feels under my tongue.” She must be trying to kill him. Ian closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, willing himself to make her stop. “It tasted warm and just a bit salty,” she went on. “I remember comparing you to smooth cream.” She laughed a little. “When I took your seed inside my mouth, it was the first time I’d ever done that. I wanted to swallow every bit of you.”

Her voice was shy and sultry at the same time, her fingers as skilled as a courtesan’s. Better than a courtesan’s, because Beth wasn’t doing this at his command. She was giving it as a gift.

“I am trying to learn bawdy talk,” she said. “Am I doing well?”

“Yes.” He grated the word. Ian tilted her face up to his and gave her a long, deep-tongued kiss. Beth opened her mouth for him, smiling at the same time.

“Will you whisper bawdy talk to me?” she asked. “I seem to like it.”

Ian put his lips to her ear and told her in very explicit terms exactly what he wanted to do to her, and where and how and with what. Beth flushed a deep red, but her eyes were starry.

“How vexing that I am so feeble,” she said. “We will have to save such things for when I am well.”

Ian circled her ear with his tongue, finished with words. Beth squeezed his shaft, her fingers strong. She would be well very soon, and then he’d lay her down and proceed to do everything he promised.

She stroked him up and down, taster and faster, her fingers burning him. He didn’t stop his thrusts now. He closed his own hand over hers and helped her stroke, helped her squeeze.

Ian threw back his head as the room spun around, and he ground out his release. His seed spilled all over her hand and his, wet and scalding hot. “Beth,” he said into her ear. “My Beth.”

Beth turned to meet his lips, and their tongues tangled. He snaked his hand through her beautiful hair, kissing her over and over until her mouth was red with it. “I take it you liked that,” she said with a teasing glint in her eyes.

Ian could barely speak. His heart thumped and his breath came fast, and he was nowhere near sated. But it was beautiful. He kissed her one more time, then reached to the washbasin for a towel to clean them both up.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Someone knocked rapidly on the door. Beth gasped, but Ian calmly tossed aside the towel, fastened his trousers, and said, “Come in.”

Mac walked into the room. Beth’s face heated, but Ian betrayed no shame to be caught with his shirt open and his wife cradled on his lap.

“That blasted inspector is here,” Mac said. “I tried to toss him out, but he insisted you sent for him.”

Ian began to growl, but Beth cut in quickly, “It’s all right. I invited him.”

She felt the weight of Ian’s glare, and Mac asked, “Haven’t we had enough of him?”

“I want to ask him something,” Beth said. “And since you wouldn’t allow me to go out, I had to have him come to me.”

Ian’s eyes narrowed. “Curry helped you.”

Beth started to slide off his lap. “Come down with me,” she said quickly. “We’ll see him together.”

Ian’s arms locked around her. “Send him up.”

“We’re hardly decent.”

“He’ll have to take us as he finds us. You aren’t well enough to dress up for him.”

Beth subsided, knowing that if Ian ordered the footmen to throw Fellows on the pavement, they’d listen to him, not her. Mac shrugged and retreated Beth tried to straighten her hair, which had come out of the braid she’d twined it into. “I must look like a courtesan who was just with her lover.”

“You are beautiful,” Ian said. He held her loosely, but she knew his arms could close like a vise if she tried to rise and walk away. The door opened again, and she heard Fellows’s intake of breath. “Really, this is unseemly.”

Fellows had his hands behind his back, clenching his hat. Mac stood nearby, arms folded, as though he didn’t want to let Fellows out of his sight.

“I beg your pardon, Inspector, but my husband refused to let me rise and greet you like a good hostess ought to.”

“Yes, well.” Fellows stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room, averting his eyes. “Are you better, my lady? I was sorry to hear you were so ill.”

Surprisingly, the inspector did sound sorry. “Thank you,” Beth said, putting warmth into her tone. “Well?”

“I heard all about your theory. About Lily Martin.” Fellows deflated. “I searched Mrs. Palmer’s rooms and found the photograph of Sally Tate that Lily had kept. It was signed on the back, ‘From Sally, with all my love.’ There was also a letter stuck into the back of the frame.”

“A letter? What did it say?”

“It was a love letter from Sally to Lily, ill spelled, but the gist was clear. Lily had slashed lines across the page and written, ‘You had it coming.’”

“Is that enough?” Ian asked.

Fellows scratched his forehead. “It will have to be, won’t it? Scotland Yard likes the solution, because it leaves you high-and-mighty lords out of it. But your names are all over my report for anyone to read.”

Mac gave a derisive laugh. “As though anyone will amuse themselves digging through a police, file.”

“The journalists will make a meal of you.” Fellows said.

“They always do,” Ian said quietly. “They haven’t stopped, and they never will.”

“Writing about high-and-mighty lords always sells newspapers,” Beth said. “I don’t mind, as long as you know the truth, Inspector. Ian didn’t do it, and neither did Hart. You’ve been barking up the wrong tree all this time.” She gave the inspector a sunny smile, and he scowled back at her. Being in this room made him highly uncomfortable, but Beth had no sympathy. He deserved it for all he’d put Ian through.

Fellows still couldn’t look directly at Beth and Ian, so he pinned Mac with his stare. “You Mackenzies might not have done the actual murder, but you were involved up to your necks. Next time you put a foot out of line, I’ll be waiting, and I’ll get you. I promise you that next time, I’ll pot you good.”

His face was red, a vein beating behind his tight collar. Mac only raised his brows, and Ian ignored him completely, nuzzling Beth’s hair.

Beth squirmed out of Ian’s arms and landed on her feet.

She was still a little wobbly, and put her hand on Ian’s strong shoulder to steady herself. She pointed at Mac. “You two must take him seriously.” Her finger switched to Fellows.

“And
you
will not pot them at all. You’ll leave them alone and find real criminals who are doing real harm.” Fellows finally looked at her, anger overcoming embarrassment.

“Oh, I will, will I?”

“Your obsession ends now.”

“Mrs. Ackerley—“

“My name is Lady Ian Mackenzie.” Beth reached over and yanked the bellpull behind Ian. “And from now on, you will do exactly what I say.”

Fellows went purple. “I know they’ve bamboozled you despite my best efforts. But give me one reason I shouldn’t try to expose their wrongdoings, their exploitations, how they blatantly use their power to manipulate the highest in the land, how they—“

“Enough. I take your point. But you must stop, Inspector.”

“Why should I?”

Beth smiled at him. “Because I know your secret.”

Fellows’s eyes narrowed. “What secret?”

“A very deep one. Ah, Katie, just bring that package I had you buy the other day, will you?”

Fellows stared at her. Ian straightened from his negligent sprawl, suddenly focusing on Beth.

“What secret?” Ian demanded.

“You don’t know nuthing.” Fellows sounded as Cockney as Curry. Katie waltzed back into the room carrying the package Beth had instructed her to have ready. Her eyes were full of curiosity. Beth hadn’t confided in her, and she’d been very annoyed about it. “Is this the one you mean?” she said. “You going to a fancy-dress ball or something?” Beth took the package and opened it on the table next to the chaise. Ian rose and towered over her, as curious and mystified as Katie. Beth turned around again, holding up the package’s contents.

“Would you indulge me, Inspector? Put these on?” Fellows’s face drained of color, and his eyes became fixed, like those of an animal in fear.

“No,” he snapped.

“I think you’d better,” Mac said quietly. He folded his arms against his wide chest and stood like a wall behind Fellows. Beth walked straight to the inspector. Fellows backed away rapidly, only to bump against Mac behind him. Ian stepped beside him to cut off any other retreat.

“Do as she says,” Ian said.

Fellows went still, rigid and shaking. Beth lifted the false whiskers and beard Katie had purchased for her and held them to Fellows’s face.

“Who is he?” she asked.

The room went silent with shock.

“Son of a bitch,” Mac whispered.

“Blimey,” Katie said. “He looks just like that bloody awful painting of that hairy man on the staircase at Kilmorgan. Gives me the creeps, that thing does. Eyes follow you everywhere.”

“So there is a resemblance,” Fellows said to Beth. “What of it?”

Beth lowered the pieces of hair. Fellows was sweating.

“Perhaps you should tell them,” Beth said. “Or I can. My friend Molly knows your mum.”

“My mother has nothing to do with tarts.”

“Then how do you know Molly’s a game girl?”

Fellows glared. “I’m a policeman.”

“You’re a detective, and Molly never worked in your beat when you were a constable. She told me.”

“Who is your mother?” Mac asked in a stern voice.

“You mean to say you don’t know?” Fellows swung around to face the brothers. “After all these years of taunting me, of rubbing my face in your wealth and privilege? You even almost cost me my job, damn your eyes, my only way of making a living. But you didn’t care about that Why should you care that I’m the only one that looks after my mother?”

“They truly don’t know, Inspector,” Beth interrupted. She wrapped up the false beard and handed the package to a smug-looking Katie. “Men often can’t see what’s beyond the tips of their noses.”

“I’m an artist,” Mac interjected. “I am supposed to be a brilliant observer, and I never saw it.”

“But you paint women,” Beth said. “I’ve seen your paintings, and if a man is in them, they’re vague and in the background.”

Mac conceded. “The fairer sex is much more interesting.”

“When I saw the portrait of your father at Kilmorgan, the resemblance struck me.” She smiled. “Inspector Fellows is your half brother.”

Hart’s sitting room filled with Mackenzies. Curry bustled in with them, and the other three manservants hovered in the doorway, looking worried and curious at the same time. Beth was breathing hard, shaky from her trip down the stairs, and Ian made her sit next to him on the sofa. Why he believed he could keep Beth out of trouble, he didn’t know. She was headstrong and had a will of steel. His own mother had been a victim of his father, terrified of him. Beth’s mother had been a victim as well, but Beth had somehow managed to transcend the horrors of her childhood. Her troubles had made her courageous and unflinching, characteristics that had been lost on the idiotic Mather. Beth was worth saving, worth protecting, like the rarest of porcelains. Hart entered last, his eagle gaze taking in his brothers, Beth, and Fellows. Fellows was on his feet, facing them all under the room’s high ceiling.

“Who is your mother?” Hart asked him in his cool ducal voice.

Beth answered for the inspector. “Her name is Catherine Fellows, and they take rooms in a house near St. Paul’s Churchyard.”

Hart transferred his gaze to Fellows, looking the man up and down as though seeing him for the first time. “She’ll have to be moved to better accommodation.”

Fellows blustered. “Why the devil should she? Because you couldn’t abide the shame if someone found out?”

“No,” Hart answered. “Because she deserves better. If my father used her and abandoned her, she deserves to live in a palace.”

“We should have all of it. Your houses, your carriages, your damned Kilmorgan Castle. She worked her fingers raw to keep me fed while you licked gold plates.”

“No gold plates in our nursery,” Cameron interrupted in a mild voice. “There was a china mug I was fond of, but it was chipped.”

“You know what I mean,” Fellows snarled. “You had everything we should have had.”

“And if I’d known that my father had left a woman to starve and raise his child, I’d have done something much sooner,” Hart said. “You should have told me.”

“And come crawling to a Mackenzie?”

“It would have saved us all so much trouble.”

“I had my own job, earned by my hard work, which you did your best to destroy. I’m older than you by two years, Hart Mackenzie. The dukedom should be mine.”

Hart moved to the table behind a sofa and opened a humidor. “I’d give you the joy of it, but the laws of England don’t work that way. My father was married to my mother legally four years before I was born. Illegitimate children can be left money, but they can’t inherit the peerage.”

“You wouldn’t want it,” Cameron put in. “More trouble than it’s worth. And for God’s sake, don’t murder Hart or I’m next.”

Fellows clenched his hands. He moved his gaze around the room, taking in the fifteenfoot-high ceiling, the portraits of Mackenzies, and Mac’s painting of the five Mackenzie dogs. Mac had painted them so lifelike that Ian expected them to come loping out of the painting and start drooling on Mac’s boots.

“I am not one of you,” Fellows began.

“You are,” Ian said. Beth smelled so good, her hair snaking over her shoulders in dark brown waves, making patterns on her gold dressing gown. “You don’t want to be, because that means you’re just as mad as the rest of us.”