The Untamed Mackenzie (8 page)

“No, not angry. It’s just . . .” Louisa heaved a sigh, pushed herself to her feet, and paced the sunny room. Ben watched her without raising his head. “I’m confused. I don’t know what to do, or how to think or feel. How I
should
think or feel. Or how to behave.”

“It’s a bad business,” Fellows said tightly.

“And now you’re trying to help me, and I’m being horribly rude. I . . .” Louisa swung around, her peach and cream skirts swishing. “Nothing in my life has prepared me for this. Even Papa defrauding all his friends was not as difficult to understand—you’d be appalled how many wealthy gentlemen are bad at simple business matters. But watching a man die and then being accused of killing him—
that
I have no idea how to parry.”

“Being accused?” Fellows asked sharply. “Has someone said that to you?”

“No, but they are all thinking it. I can
feel
them thinking it. Out there.” She waved her hand at the windows. “Even you think it.”

“I don’t. That’s why I’m trying to find the culprit.”

“If you didn’t have a doubt, you wouldn’t go to such pains to keep me from being arrested.”

Fellows stepped in front of her, forcing her to stop. “Let me make this clear to you, Louisa. You’re right that everything at this moment points to you. But if you believe our system of justice will prove your innocence, only because you’re innocent, you are wrong. If a judge gets it into his head that you’re a giddy young woman who goes around poisoning potential suitors, nothing will change his mind, not the best barrister, not the jury. Most of the judges at the Old Bailey are about a hundred years old and regard young women as either temptresses or fools. Would you like to face one of them? Or a gallery of eager people off the streets, coming to mock you? Journalists writing about what you look like standing in the dock? Every expression, every gesture you make?”

Louisa’s face lost color. “No, of course not.”

“Then let me do my job and keep you out of court. I wish you didn’t hate me for it, but if the price of keeping you free is your hatred, so be it.” And a hard price to pay it was.

Louisa’s eyes glittered with tears. “No, I don’t hate you. You must know that. I never could.”

She was too beautiful. Her hair was coming down in soft little ringlets, the red shining in the April sunshine. Many English aristocratic families had Anglo-Saxon ancestry, and it was evident in Louisa—pale skin, bright hair, eyes of brilliant green. Fellows could drown himself in her beauty and never want to come up for air.

He caught her hands. The touch of her warm flesh sent his heart pounding and swept away the last fragment of his self-discipline.

He pulled her by her fisted hands against him, her soft body becoming the focus of his world. Fellows heard nothing, saw nothing but her beautiful face and eyes, her lips parting as he came down to her.

The first taste was intoxicating. Sweetness clung to Louisa’s lips from the tea she’d drunk, laced with sugar and cream.

He needed more. Fellows opened her mouth with his, sweeping his tongue inside. Louisa made a noise in her throat, and clutched the lapels on his coat. She kissed him clumsily, unpracticed, but eager.

She smelled of lilacs and dusty silk, and a warmth that was all Louisa. They were alone in silence and sunshine. Fellows slid his arms around her, finding the curve of her waist. Her bodice’s smooth fabric was thin, the bones of her corset the only barrier between him and her soft skin.

If he could strip away the layers of her—satin, lawn, lace—and touch her, he knew he’d fill the gaping hole in his life.

She was against him now, her breasts to his chest, her fingers tightening on his coat. Fellows tasted more of her. Her lips were soft, hot, but seeking, learning . . . wanting. He was hard for her, growing harder by the second.

I need her. I would do anything . . .

A sound outside the door made Fellows break the kiss. Louisa backed away, her eyes wide, breath coming fast. Fellows let her go, finding his fists clenched, his heart pounding, raw emotion tearing at his control.

But he needed control. They were in the Duke of Kilmorgan’s London house, with servants moving to and fro outside the door, the lady of the house likely to enter at any moment. Eleanor had slyly left them alone, but if she opened the door and found virginal Louisa in Fellows’ arms, he ravishing her mouth, even Eleanor wouldn’t be able to look the other way.

Louisa’s fingers went to her lips. The first time she’d kissed him, she’d smiled warmly at him. The second time, Fellows had left her abruptly and hadn’t seen her reaction. Now Louisa looked stunned, even ashamed.

Fellows made himself move around her to the door. He knew he should say something, a polite good-bye, but he couldn’t. Politeness had gone to hell and didn’t matter.

He found his hand shaking as he reached for the door handle, then he was in the hall, and going down the stairs, the encounter over.

No, not over. Fellows might have left Louisa behind, but he felt her hot kiss linger on his lips for the rest of the day and on into the night.

***

“Why aren’t you coming, exactly?” Louisa asked Eleanor six hours later.

“Because I am quite unwell.” Eleanor lounged on a sofa in her bedchamber, looking perfectly healthy as she bounced Alec on her knees. She wore a dressing gown instead of a ball gown, and was nowhere near ready to leave for Isabella’s supper ball.

Louisa in her finery had arrived at Eleanor and Hart’s, having agreed that Hart and Eleanor would escort her tonight. A young, unmarried lady did not go to a ball alone. When Louisa had argued that she could simply ride over to the assembly rooms with Isabella, Eleanor had negated the idea. If Louisa went with Isabella, she would be the sister working behind the scenes, not the young, eligible earl’s daughter announced to the crowd arriving with the Duke and Duchess of Kilmorgan.

Louisa had also questioned the need for them all to leave from the Grosvenor Square house—Hart and Eleanor could collect her from Isabella’s on their way. But no, Eleanor wanted them all to be seen leaving from the ducal mansion. She seemed adamant.

Usually it was easier to simply agree with Eleanor when she was determined, because she could talk any argument to death—Eleanor would go off onto many and varied tangents until everyone forgot what the original disagreement had been. What Eleanor wanted wasn’t unreasonable, so Louisa had given in before Eleanor had time to launch into one of her impossible speeches.

But now it seemed that Louisa was to go to the ball escorted by Hart, Beth, and Ian, while Eleanor remained at home to nurse a cold.

Cold, my foot.

Louisa said, “You do remember that Mr. Fellows asked you to converse tonight with the guests from the garden party?”

“Oh, you can do that, dear. And Beth can help you. She’s very good at making others open up.”

That, at least was true. Beth, married to the elusive Ian Mackenzie, was good at winning people over. But the thought of approaching the garden party guests unnerved Louisa a bit.

“Hart will be annoyed,” Louisa tried.

“Hart prefers I stay indoors and make my apologies if I don’t feel well. He never dances at balls anyway, and if he does not have to worry about me there, he’s free to spend the time coercing gentlemen into doing things for him. He so enjoys that. And he does not mind in the slightest escorting you. He calls you the only sensible woman in the family.”

Flattering from Hart, who tolerated so very few. “Hardly kind to you or the other Mackenzie ladies,” Louisa said.

“Hart also enjoys being rude. But in this case, I agree with him. Run along, dear.” Eleanor blew her a kiss. “You look absolutely beautiful in that gown. Isabella has wonderful taste, does she not? And it strikes just the right note.”

The gown was indeed beautiful. Isabella had taken Louisa to her modiste at the beginning of the Season to have Louisa fitted with an entire wardrobe, and had insisted on paying for the lot. Louisa had kept her protests to a minimum. She didn’t want to be ungrateful for her sister’s kindness, she did need the clothes, and also, it was true, Isabella had exquisite taste.

The ball gown for tonight was a cream and light sage green confection, the décolletage baring Louisa’s shoulders, the satin of the bodice hugging her waist. The underskirt was draped with cream lace, with a shimmering sage moiré overskirt pulled back and puffed over a bustle. The gown spoke of spring and light breezes, and set off Louisa’s red hair and green eyes to perfection.

Louisa crossed the room, leaned down, and kissed Eleanor’s cheek. She had no worry about catching Eleanor’s cold—she had as much chance of flying out the window.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’ll go,” Louisa said. She pressed a kiss to Alec’s forehead. The lad clutched at her hair, but Louisa gently untangled his tiny fingers, kissed him again, and left them.

Hart waited outside the front door at the carriage, stepping back so Louisa could be handed in first. He did not look pleased, but he greeted Louisa civilly enough and handed her into the landau himself.

Louisa understood now why Eleanor had asked her to come to the house tonight—with Louisa here, Hart would not steadfastly refuse to go without Eleanor. Eleanor apparently counted on his sympathy and liking for Louisa to override his annoyance, an event that would be more certain if he had Louisa standing before him.

Beth and Ian were already in the coach, sitting opposite each other. Beth gave Louisa a warm hello and squeezed her hand as Louisa sat down beside her. Beth was with child again, already about four months gone, though her gown had been made to not show it yet. Louisa was surprised she’d wanted to come tonight, but Beth was a strong and resilient woman who loved soaking up enjoyment from Isabella’s parties.

Ian had his head turned, gazing out the window at passing traffic, and said nothing at all. Louisa knew him well enough not to be offended—Ian might be thinking deeply about some mathematical conundrum and not even realize she’d entered the carriage.

Hart swung in next to his youngest brother, a footman shut the door, and the carriage lurched into traffic.

The two gentlemen rode in the rear-facing seat, leaving the front-facing one for the ladies. Louisa put aside her mixed feelings about the ball and studied the two Mackenzie men. Both wore formal frock coats and waistcoats, wool kilts of Mackenzie blue and green plaid, thick socks, and finely crafted leather shoes. The landau was generously sized, plenty of room for all, but was still crowded by the two large Scotsmen.

The brothers were much alike and yet entirely different. Hart was the most reminiscent of their Highland ancestors, with his hard face and arrogance—an arrogance Louisa had seen soften a long way since he’d married Eleanor. Now behind the imperious glint in Hart’s eyes was the look of a man who’d found happiness. Rest. Peace. Love.

Ian too had found peace. He still possessed a restless energy, one that could focus with amazing precision on whatever task he wanted to undertake. Ian could dive into a complex, impossible mathematical problem, close his eyes, and find the solution in his head. He’d become so famous for this that mathematicians, physicists, and astronomers throughout Europe wrote to him for advice.

Ian had come to love with great difficulty, but once he’d found Beth, his life had blossomed. He was still shy, preferring to spend time home alone with Beth and his children, or at most, with his extended family. He didn’t like crowds, and he had the unnerving tendency to spring into a conversation with a non sequitur—though his declarations made perfect sense once Louisa worked out how he’d arrived at that particular statement.

Louisa liked Ian, finding him a unique man in the midst of a society that strove for perfect sameness. She thought him refreshing.

Perhaps the same sort of interest in the unique was what drew her to Inspector Fellows. She didn’t want to think of him at the moment, but she hadn’t been able to think about much
except
him after the searing kiss in Eleanor’s sitting room this afternoon. This kiss
he
had instigated, though Louisa had instantly and readily succumbed. She could still feel the press of his lips, his hard muscles under his coat, the strength of his hands as he held her.

Fellows had broken the kiss and abruptly walked away, and Louisa couldn’t blame him for that. He was trying to investigate a murder, and she should let him get on with his job. Their mouths falling together every time they were alone had to cease. They needed to be comfortable with each other, friends.

Friends.
The word sounded so empty.

The landau halted in the street, a little way from the assembly rooms, inching forward with the line of carriages depositing guests at the door. So many carriages, so many people.

As they at last reached the entrance, and a footman snapped open the door, realization struck Louisa with an ice-cold slap. Eleanor had sent Louisa to go among those from the garden party and ask questions because she wanted Louisa to report directly to Fellows herself. It would stand to reason, El would explain in all innocence. Louisa had asked the questions; she would best know how to relate the answers.

The glint in Eleanor’s eye, her secret smile, her decision to leave Louisa and Fellows alone in the sitting room this afternoon . . . Louisa wanted to groan with dismay. Eleanor was a romantic—the only explanation for how she’d remained in love with Hart all these years. Now she was inventing a romance for Louisa.

Louisa hid her disquiet under a sunny smile for Hart, who held out his arm to her. Hart shot her a look of grave suspicion then schooled his expression to a neutral one and led her inside.

Chapter Eight

“Lord and Lady Ian Mackenzie,” the majordomo announced. “The Duke of Kilmorgan, Lady Louisa Scranton.”

The assembly rooms, giant spaces with tall, arched ceilings and wide chandeliers that dripped with crystal facets, already teemed with people. The ladies glittered under the light—diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires flashing rainbow colors on gowns of equally rainbow shades. Gentlemen and lords in white ties and flowing black coats moved among their ladies.

Everyone within hearing range of the majordomo’s booming voice turned to watch the duke and his party arrive. Any other night, Lord Ian and his nobody wife, Beth, might have been the object of scrutiny. Tonight, all eyes focused on Louisa.

The weight of their stares fell on her. The looks ranged from pure curiosity to sordid interest to outright disgust and disapproval. Here was a young woman who probably had poisoned the Bishop of Hargate, and she arrived bold as you please on the arm of the lofty Duke of Kilmorgan. Yes, he was her sister’s brother-in-law, but she was using him to shield her, wasn’t she? A proper young woman, who was an unmarried miss no less, should stay home and show the shame she ought.

The stares followed Louisa, in a pause that would have been awkward had not an orchestra already been playing to entertain the arrivals. Louisa’s pretty heeled slippers now seemed too tight, her dress too garish. Hart’s solid arm was the only thing that kept her upright as they moved to the receiving line.

Hart, not oblivious to the scrutiny, leaned to her and spoke in a low voice. “Face them down and to hell with them.”

Hart straightened up again, saying nothing more, but Louisa felt a little better. She drew a breath, rearranged her expression, and smiled warmly at a knot of young ladies who stared openly at her.

Hart was right, as usual. Louisa could do this. After all, she
hadn’t
killed Hargate, and she had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Good girl,” Hart said. He gave her arm a pat with his strong hand.

They reached their host and hostess, Mac and Isabella, who stood at the top of the long line of guests. Isabella’s dark blue satin ball gown was elegance itself, but she was careful not to outshine the other women present. Her role as hostess was to make the ladies of the
ton
feel welcome and special, not belittled, and Isabella took that role very seriously.

She gathered Louisa into a hug and kissed her cheek before she grasped Hart’s hands and kissed him as well. Isabella didn’t seem surprised in the least that Eleanor had not come with them. Louisa frowned at her, but Isabella turned away to greet Beth and Ian before Louisa could say a word.

“I’m glad you braved it.” Mac squeezed Louisa’s hands in his large ones before he kissed her cheek. “Remember, Louisa, we are always here to catch you.”

They were, especially Mac. Mac had been the one who’d pulled Isabella and Louisa’s family out of the fire when Earl Scranton’s fraud had been found out. If not for Mac and his machinations, Louisa’s family would never have survived.

“Thank you, Mac,” Louisa said, heartfelt.

Hart turned Louisa loose once they’d finished the greetings, he and Ian making straight for the gaming rooms. Beth took Louisa’s arm, and the two ladies headed for the withdrawing rooms to straighten gowns and repin hair.

This night should be the same as any other since Louisa’s come out. Louisa knew as many people as Isabella did, and even her father’s behavior hadn’t lost Louisa her friends. Money ebbed and flowed, Louisa hadn’t been to blame, it was vulgar to worry about finances anyway, and a good marriage could put everything right for her again. Louisa knew half the girls in London and was close friends with half of those—had been their bridesmaids, held their first children, gossiped with them, shared their memories of growing up in privileged Mayfair and country estates.

Louisa was not as well acquainted with the ladies who happened to be in the withdrawing rooms, but though they stared, they softened under Beth’s friendly smile—most people did. Louisa began to relax. As long as everyone was polite, the ball would be fine.

Louisa left for the main assembly rooms with Beth and quickly spied a knot of her friends. They were watching her, none of them making any pretense about staring at her and murmuring to each other. Louisa felt suddenly chilled.

Hart’s words came back to her.
Face them down and to hell with them.

Nothing for it. Louisa could not cling to Beth all night. She slid away from Beth as Beth turned to other guests, and approached the ladies and gentlemen clustered together, watching her come.

“Adele, how are you?” Louisa held out her hands to a young woman she’d known since they’d been toddlers. “What a lovely gown. You are all the rage tonight.”

Lady Adele returned Louisa’s kiss on the cheek, but stiffly. “We hardly thought to see you here tonight, Louisa.”

“I did mean to stay home—I’ve been rather upset, as you might have guessed—but my sister coaxed me out. I couldn’t refuse her, when she had her heart set.” Louisa smiled, as though to say,
What can you do with older sisters?

“Of course, but Louisa . . .” Adele smiled, but the smile was cool and condescending. “In spite of everything, you have never been anything but tasteful.”

Implying Louisa was not being tasteful now. Louisa saw that the rest of the group agreed with Adele. She’d known these people from childhood, had played in nurseries with them, ridden ponies with them, had made her debut with them. She’d flirted with the gentlemen, giggled with the ladies. And now they gazed upon her as though she were a stranger from a remote land.

“As I say, Isabella wished me to see friends,” Louisa said, pretending not to notice. “She thought I’d feel better in company.”

“It
is
a lovely gown,” another lady said, looking Louisa up and down. “Very . . . bright.”

“Jane,” Louisa said, all but stopping herself from snarling at her. “You’ve known me long enough to know I dislike hints and insinuations. If you believe I should put on mourning and bury myself at home, say so clearly and have done. I did not know the Bishop of Hargate and his family very well. It’s a terrible thing that happened to him. My sympathies lie with his family, of course, where they should. It would be unfair to them for me to claim the entirety of the grief, as though what happened to the bishop was about me and my feelings alone.”

Jane flushed, but she remained resolute. “Very well, Louisa, I’ll be plain. Putting on a pretty new dress and sailing in all cheerful as though nothing had happened isn’t quite the thing, is it?”

“I am anything
but
cheerful,” Louisa said, striving to keep her tone even. “My sister thought the gown would put me in better spirits. She and my sisters-in-law convinced me to come, because they thought I should go out and see people. I’m certain they believed I’d find sympathy among my oldest and dearest friends.”

Instead of being admonished, the ladies and gentlemen looked annoyed, and Adele laughed. “Louisa, my dear, it’s becoming a dangerous thing to be your friend.”

One of the gentlemen laughed as well. The four young men behind the ladies were those she’d played tag with in the meadows of Kent and danced with after her come out. One gentleman looked at Louisa as though he’d never seen her before, and another was glancing about for a way to escape without appearing rude.

“I do beg your pardon for my sister Jane,” the gentleman who’d laughed said. “You see, Mama has told her—and me—to stay away from you. I’m afraid your dance card won’t be very full tonight. Word is circulating that you’re
poison
.” He laughed again, proud he’d made a joke.

“You aren’t funny, Samuel,” Jane said. “But it’s true, Louisa. We have been advised to keep our distance.”

“I see.” Louisa’s chest tightened as she looked at them, finding no sympathy in their faces. “I see now what years of friendship can count for.” She’d cared for Adele and Jane, but their expressions were stony tonight, all caring gone.

“Not their fault,” Samuel said. “It’s just that murder is so sordid. Not the done thing, you know.” He mimed stabbing with a knife, still grinning.

“I did nothing to him.” Louisa gave Samuel a hard look. “I had hoped my closest friends would believe me.”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Samuel asked. “No chap is going to risk being at your side tonight, Louisa darling. He’ll always worry about taking a sip of his tea, or his claret, or his port, or his brandy, or his—”

“What the devil is this?” a new voice said.

Louisa started, and looked around to see the Honorable Gilbert Franklin, who’d stopped in time to hear the last comments. Gilbert was one of Louisa’s oldest friends—they’d lived next door to each other as children, and Louisa had been maid of honor to Gil’s sister last summer. She hadn’t seen much of either of them since, until Gil had turned up at Mrs. Leigh-Waters’ now-infamous garden party.

Gilbert cast a disparaging gaze over the little group. “Are you telling me, Sam, that after all these years, you still have no idea how to behave to a lady? I believe that in this glorious England, we think a person innocent of a crime until proven otherwise, do we not? Doesn’t Louisa deserve that same faith? Or at the very least, your respect?” Gil spoke in pleasant tones, as he always did, but his look was sharp, his words direct.

Samuel had the grace to be abashed. Gilbert was well liked, and now the others looked embarrassed, no longer laughing.

“How are you, Louisa?” Gil stuck out his hand and squeezed Louisa’s when she put hers into his. “I’m happy to see you tonight. I know you have been painfully upset, and I’ll wager none of these louts have decided to rally ’round and make you feel better.”

Adele bridled. “
Really
, Gil.”

“Yes,
really
, Del,” Gil said. “I never thought you so heartless. Louisa, I believe the first set is forming in the ballroom. Will you do me the honor? And if your dance card has remained empty tonight, I will happily fill it.”

The others had gone deathly silent. Gil’s strong fingers remained around Louisa’s hand.

Louisa’s heart pounded. Every part of her had been wanting to flee back across Mayfair to the sanctuary of Isabella’s house, where she could go up to the nursery and make herself feel better sitting with the children. Being around Isabella’s children always comforted her, and
they
did not believe her a murderess.

Now Gil’s wash of sympathy nearly undid her. He was handing Louisa a lifeline, coming to her rescue. Refusing him and running would be as churlish as Adele and her friends were being to Louisa. The Hon. Gil was well liked, well-bred, well-dressed, attractive, wealthy, and intelligent. His stamp of approval could save her life.

Louisa smiled at him in true gratitude. “Of course. I would indeed love to dance. Excuse me, my friends. I hope you enjoy Isabella’s entertainments.”

She wouldn’t cut them dead, much as she longed to. She would not be as petty as they were being. She bowed graciously to the collective group, who had to return the bow or be forever branded as uncouth.

Gil led Louisa away, keeping such a quick pace she didn’t have time to say anything to him until they stood in line for the opening dance, an old-fashioned country dance. Waltzing would take up the rest of the night—with pauses for Scottish reels, since this was a Mackenzie party after all—but Isabella always opened her balls with country dances.

Gil knew these dances as well as he knew everything else. Gil had always been there, in the background of Louisa’s life, she now realized. He’d been brother to her dear friend, playing with the two girls as children, teaching them cricket in their adolescence, escorting them to parties after their come outs, quietly shrugging off their praise about his academic honors at university. Gil was the perfect gentleman, so perfect one didn’t always notice him, because he did his best to efface himself and not push in front of others.

On the other hand, everyone in Louisa’s set considered Gil’s opinion highly important. If Gil had taken Adele’s and Samuel’s part this evening, her social ruin would have been assured. The fact that Gil had admonished
them
would be all over Mayfair by the end of the set.

“Thank you for taking pity on me,” Louisa said as they came together in the dance.

“Nonsense, Louisa, I meant every word of it.”

“Nevertheless, it was kind.”

Gil gave her a warm smile. “You deserve much more than to be snubbed by Samuel and Jane, believe me.”

The dance took them apart, but Gil’s smile remained, like an anchor in the swirling madness. Louisa knew he’d done her a great favor, simply from the goodness of his heart. She’d have to find a way to thank the man who’d just saved her from being an outcast at her own sister’s ball.

***

How the devil Hart had talked him into stuffing himself into this suit and walking into Isabella Mackenzie’s supper ball, Fellows had no idea.

His mother had been all for it, though. Fellows hadn’t mentioned the invitation to his mother, because he knew exactly what she’d say. But Isabella must have written to her, because she brought it up immediately when Fellows had visited her earlier this evening.

The Mackenzie wives had taken to writing to Mrs. Fellows, who loved receiving the letters from the women she termed the “la-de-da ladies.” She read every single missive out to Fellows, and she wrote back to them. She’d been invited to the ball as well, and she laughed about it.

“Imagine me in a ballroom with a bunch of toffs,” she’d said. “A right git I’d look. I was a tavern maid like me mum before me, and my sister was too, and that’s all there is to that.” She’d softened. “It’s a kindness, I know. They don’t really expect me to come. But
you
, my boy—you go and show them there ain’t nothing wrong with you. You’re the son of a duke, and you should have
been
the duke. Now you go and show Lord Hart you’re the better brother.”

“Huh,” Fellows said, falling into the cadence of his youth. “A right git
I’ll
look in a fancy suit, Mum, and you know it.”