The Untamed Mackenzie (9 page)

“Don’t throw my words back at me, boy. You’re not so big I can’t still smack you about.”

Catherine Fellows was five feet high, a bit rotund from the ale she liked to drink, and had wrinkles lining her face from the laughter she loved so much. Lloyd towered over her with the tallness of the Mackenzies, coupled with their strength.

“You’re half my height, woman,” Fellows said, ruffling her hair fondly. “
And
you’ve got the tongue of a viper.”

“Yeah? Then I have half a mind to buy a posh dress and go to this do, just to show you. I’ll drag you along by your ear, see if I don’t.”

“Leave off, I’m going. And not because of you. If you think
you
can scold, you’ve not had the four Mackenzie ladies stand in front of you and ask you why you didn’t do what they asked. Frighten a man out of ten years’ growth, they can.”

“I think they’re sweet girls,” Catherine said, abruptly ceasing her bantering. “Good manners. So kind to me. No, indeed, you can’t disappoint them.” Her look turned shrewd. “What about Lady Louisa? Does she frighten you out of ten years’ growth?”

Fellows often discussed his cases with his mother, who for all her talk about being only a tavern maid had good perception about her fellow man. A lifetime of carrying about ale in a public house, she said, had honed her understanding. In Fellows’ opinion, she’d have made an excellent detective if she’d been born male. Her insights had helped him see a case clearly more than once.

Those insights, unfortunately, made Catherine realize that Fellows viewed Louisa as more than a suspect, and more than simply his sister-in-law’s younger sister. He’d been careful to bury the fact that he thought about Louisa day and night, waking and sleeping. Every time he drew breath, in fact. But Fellows had learned long ago that he could never hide things from his mother.

“Let it lie, Mum.” Fellows leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“You’re every bit as good as her, you know,” Catherine said. “Your dad was a duke.
Her
dad was only an earl. And now her distant cousin is earl, and stingy from what I hear.”

“I’m a police detective,” Fellows said. “I’m let into the great houses by the tradesman’s entrance. That’s the end of it.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Catherine said.

Fellows pretended not to hear, gave his mother another kiss, and departed. Back at his flat—four large rooms in a building off the Strand that had recently been refurbished—he dressed in the coat and waistcoat Eleanor had bullied him into being fitted for by Hart’s tailor. Under that was a new lawn shirt, high collar, and cravat.

On bottom . . . Fellows studied the blue and green Mackenzie plaid kilt laid out across his bed. He’d worn it before, at Christmas at Kilmorgan, feeling strange with wool wrapping his hips, air circulating his thighs. Scotsmen had to be mad.

But Fellows was a Scotsman, or at least half a Scotsman, one of the family Mackenzie. He’d spent his boyhood trying and failing to be acknowledged by them. And then he’d hated them. The hatred had wound so long and so deep it was difficult to put aside.

He was tired of anger. Anger was a poison, leeching into a man and stealing everything he was. While anger had allowed Fellows to reach great heights in his profession, he’d also jeopardized his career and even his life because of it. Now he might jeopardize Louisa.

He put on the kilt and combed his hair, or tried to. His hair never stayed put, the short strands going wherever they wished. At least he’d had time to shave.

Nothing he could do about the healing bruises and nicks on his face, though. Evidence of his fight with the Marylebone Killer was still present. The bruises were now turning yellow and green, the cuts scabbed over, but dark red.

If Isabella didn’t like them, he couldn’t help it. She’d already seen them anyway.

And Louisa? She likely wouldn’t be there. Fellows had told her not to go out until this was over, and Louisa had seemed inclined to agree. Louisa had spirit, but she was no fool.

So it was with great shock that Fellows walked into the assembly rooms to see Louisa waltzing with a handsome young man, laughing up at him, her eyes bright, joy on her face.

Chapter Nine

Fellows had entered the assembly rooms through a side door, not wanting to endure the nonsense of the stiff-necked majordomo shouting his name to all present. How bloody stupid would that sound?
The Duke and Duchess of Almond Paste,
the Princess of Peach Pie, and . . . er . . . Detective Chief Inspector Lloyd Fellows of Scotland Yard.
The company would suppose he’d come to arrest someone.

If Fellows could clap cuffs around the wrists of the young man dancing with Louisa, he’d do it in a trice. Fellows’ eyes narrowed as he assessed him. Expensively dressed—well, he would be if he’d been invited here. Golden hair gleaming under the chandeliers, every strand of that hair in place. Handsome face, just hard enough not to be feminine, skin unmarred by bruises or cuts.

The young man danced with ease, gliding Louisa around the ballroom without missing a step. The perfect gentleman.

Louisa looked up at her partner with laughter in her eyes, talking easily with him, smiling at him. She looked relaxed and happy, not stiff and frightened as she had this afternoon when Fellows had entered Eleanor’s sitting room. And then Fellows had given up on discipline and kissed Louisa. Hard.

She’d gazed at him in anger and fear . . . no wide smile, no sparkle in her eyes. Those were reserved for the young man currently with his hand on Louisa’s waist. A fist tightened around Fellows’ heart until he could barely breathe.

Something in the back of Fellows’ mind told him to find his host and hostess, to speak to them, to pretend to be civilized. But Fellows couldn’t pull his gaze from Louisa. The rest of the ballroom didn’t matter, nor did the people in it. The only thing that existed was Louisa dancing on light feet, tiny diamonds glittering in her hair, her froth of cream and green skirts spinning around and around. She wore a black ribbon with a white cameo around her throat, which emphasized her lush femininity as well as her erotic beauty.

The splendor of her—the whole of her—was like a physical blow. As Fellows stood, alone among a sea of people, watching her, he realized what she meant to him.

Everything.

“What’s the matter, Uncle Fellows?” a voice said beside him. “You look like someone has just punched you in the gut.”

Daniel Mackenzie, Fellows’ tall nephew, had stopped next to him, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Daniel already had the hard look of his father, Cameron, though his lanky body still showed his nineteen-year-old youth.

“Or maybe punched you in the face,” Daniel continued, casting a critical eye over Fellows’ bruises. “I take it the other bloke looks worse?”

Fellows’ gaze went back to Louisa. “The other bloke is in Newgate awaiting trial. And, yes, he looks worse.”

Daniel chuckled. “Good for you. A villain, is he?”

“One of the worst. Don’t waste sympathy on him.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Daniel turned to look where Fellows’ attention had been dragged. “Ah. That explains the gut blow.”

Fellows wrenched his gaze away from Louisa again. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“I’m not a fool, Uncle. Our Louisa is beautiful. Why wouldn’t you fall for her?”

In all his life, Fellows had never considered marrying, no matter how many dalliances or flirtations he’d had. He’d assumed himself too buried in his work, too ruthless and suspicious, or simply not interested in marriage. He’d never seen a good example of it, had he? He’d spent his childhood wishing he belonged to a family who’d made it clear he wasn’t wanted. He’d grown up with a mother angry at a rich man who’d charmed her, used her, and cast her aside.

None of that had relevance now. As Fellows looked at Louisa, he knew why he’d never married. He’d been waiting for her. And now she danced and laughed with a young man of her class who held her admiration.

“She’s not exactly
our
Louisa,” Fellows said. “Yours, maybe.”

He felt Daniel studying him. His irritation rose. Daniel gave him a knowing, and also sympathetic, grin. “Ask her to dance,” Daniel said.

“I don’t dance.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Never had a dancing master.”

“I advise you to learn. Ladies love a gentleman who can spin them about the floor. Once they know you can dance, they’ll follow you anywhere.”

“You speak from experience?”

“Aye, that I do.”

None of the Mackenzie men had ever had trouble attracting women, and Daniel, despite his youth, was no different. The ladies here, of his age and a few years older, were eyeing him with interest. Daniel was young, virile, handsome, and rich. He would come into the money left to him in trust by his mother when he was twenty-one, and would inherit everything Cameron had at Cameron’s death. Then he’d be a wealthy man indeed, and powerful. The fact that he stood a few steps removed from a dukedom only added to his desirability.

“Watch yourself,” Fellows advised. “One of these hopeful mamas will have you in the noose before you know it, if you’re not careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Daniel said, speaking with confidence above his years. “But the matrons have started flinging the debutantes at me, haven’t they? Some of these girls are barely out of the schoolroom. They should still be in short skirts and pigtails.”

“That’s aristos for you. Marry young, repent for many years to come.”

“And put seventeen heirs in the nursery while you’re at it,” Daniel finished. “Cynical, Uncle. Whatever happened to true love?”

“Love is for the middle class,” Fellows said. “The poor can’t afford it, and neither can the rich.”

“A sad thing to say, but probably true. These mamas who are eyeing me like sharks would be devastated to know I don’t plan to marry for many years. First, I’m going to travel the wide earth, and then learn how to build all the machines I have in my mind. The world’s on the brink of great change. Many people fear the change, but I want to be at its forefront, looking down its throat.”

“The enthusiasm of the young,” Fellows said.

“Not only the young. I know plenty of older chaps ready to face it with me. Now if I can ever find a
lady
like that—
she’s
who I’d marry.”

Fellows had already returned to watching Louisa. “Perhaps you and Louisa should make a match of it.”

Daniel’s attention came back from his future, and he bent his shrewd stare on his uncle. “Louisa and I have become great friends,” he said, as though choosing his words with care. “But no. I don’t believe we would suit.”

“Maybe not now. In a few years, though . . .”

“No. I’m thinking that in a few years, she won’t still be waiting.”

Daniel was right. Louisa shone with brilliance. She was kind, warmhearted, and stronger than she understood. As soon as Fellows proved her innocence and all this blew over, Louisa would be snapped up by any of a string of eligible bachelors. The newspapers would make much of the marriage between the earl’s daughter and some sprig of aristocracy. She’d marry in glory, and then be gone. She might greet Fellows at family parties, but Louisa would have her own life, no longer connected with his.

Louisa and her partner whirled closer to the corner in which Fellows and Daniel stood. Daniel lifted his whiskey glass in salute. Louisa smiled back at him, then her gaze landed on Fellows.

Her smile vanished, and the light drained from her face as though someone had extinguished a lamp. She stumbled. The gentleman with her caught her, so smoothly no one but Fellows and Daniel saw the near fall.

The gentleman said something to her, and Louisa laughed. The light returned, she spun away from Fellows, and resumed the dance.

Fellows felt as though someone had crushed all the air out of him. He might as well be lying at the bottom of a pile of bricks, with no hope of clawing his way out.

When he could manage to speak again, Fellows asked sharply, “Who is
he
?”

“Gilbert Franklin. The Honorable. His dad’s an earl. England’s bloody thick with earls, don’t you think? Can’t turn around without tripping over one. He was at the notorious garden party, you know. If he’s sweet on Louisa, he might have a reason to do in Hargate. You could always arrest him and ask him.”

Daniel wasn’t smiling, but amusement definitely hovered near. Fellows turned a cold look on him.

“I don’t arrest people and get them convicted for my convenience,” Fellows said. “My job is to find true villains and keep them from hurting others.”

Was Daniel cowed at the admonishment? No, his grin broke free. “Ah ha—so you admit it would be to your convenience.”

Fellows scowled. “You probably should go off on your world travels soon, Danny. Might take the cockiness out of you.”

“I doubt that.” Daniel gave him a tip of his glass. “I doubt it very much.”

Daniel turned and sauntered away. Fellows watched him go, reflecting that however arrogant Daniel was, he was smart and too perceptive for his own good.

He looked back at the dance floor, but Louisa had gone. Fellows craned to see her, but her shining red hair glittering with diamonds had vanished.

Fellows circled around the crowd to search for her again, even while he growled at himself for doing it.

***

“I’m fine, really,” Louisa said. Gilbert had her seated on a divan at the end of the ballroom. He’d brought lemonade and an ice, and then sat down and held them for her while she partook. “You don’t need to stay with me.”

“I need to look after you,” Gil said reasonably. “You might have a sprain, and it would be my fault. It is either this or I carry you out of the ballroom in my arms, and what would people think?”

“Don’t be so silly.” But Louisa smiled. Gil had the knack of making people feel better.

She’d stumbled in her too-high heels because she’d seen Lloyd Fellows standing at the edge of the ballroom. He’d been wearing a kilt—one of the Mackenzie plaids that Hart had thrust upon him. It fit him well, hugging his hips, smooth against his thighs, showing his strong legs below its hem. He wore a coat as finely tailored as any man’s here, though it looked better on him because he had the body to fill it out.

The bruises from whatever brawl he’d been in were obvious on his face, though he was clean-shaven tonight. He looked like a warrior who’d taken time off fighting to look in on civilization.

No, Fellows didn’t fit among these soft-faced people. There was still too much of the brute Highlander about him for civilized company. He fought battles out in the world so the ladies and gentlemen in this ballroom could walk about in peace.

“Louisa?” Gil was looking at her. She’d missed what he’d just said.

“I do beg your pardon. I believe my ankle hurts more than I thought it did.” She lied, but Louisa needed a reason to cover for her distracted state.

Gil looked concerned. “Shall I fetch Isabella? Call for your coach?”

“No, no. I only wrenched it a bit. I’ll sit here quietly and watch the dancing.”

“Then I will sit with you.”

Gil handed the empty ice bowl to a passing waiter, fetched another lemonade for Louisa and champagne for himself and sat down with her again. Not too close—no one in the ballroom seeing them seated on the far sides of a divan would think anything inappropriate was afoot. Then again, the two of them even occupying the same piece of furniture might start people talking. Anything for gossip.

“Really, there is no need for you to miss enjoying yourself,” Louisa said. “I will be well.”

Gil leaned closer. “Louisa, you weren’t well when I first spied you here. That idiot Samuel talks more than his brains should let him, and his sister and Adele were being vicious. I’d rather not leave you alone to their knives again. Besides, I can enjoy myself quite well sitting with you.”

Louisa’s face heated at the same time something inside her warmed. “You’re very flattering tonight.”

“Not at all. I was unbelievably distressed about what happened at the garden party. I wanted to comfort you there, but I was shunted away home. I came here tonight hoping to see you again. And I have.”

Louisa smiled at the same time she let her gaze rove the ballroom. She couldn’t see Fellows anywhere. Had he made for the card rooms? Or left the ball altogether? “You’ve always been a friend, Gil,” she said, more to keep up her end of the conversation than anything else. “So kind to the hanger-on of your sister.”

“Oh, I think you know I’ve always viewed you as far more than a hanger-on, Louisa. Or a friend.”

Louisa, with difficulty, pulled her attention back to Gil. His expression was serious, no teasing. She tried to laugh. “I’m not sure I’m in the proper mood for flirting, Gil, dear.”

“And you know it is not flirting.”

Gil’s affable blue eyes held something quiet and heartfelt. Oh, dear.

But, then again, why not?
the sensible side of Louisa asked. Gil was the obvious answer to Louisa’s current troubles as well as her quest for matrimony. Louisa still wanted to marry—she wanted a home of her own, respect, children.

An unmarried miss had little say in the world. She lived with her married sister or brother or childhood friend, and was a helper, a companion, an appendage. A married woman, on the other hand, was viewed with respect and even admiration if her marriage was a good one. She could become a great hostess, a leader of her set, a powerful force in her world.

The Honorable Gil was one of the most respected gentlemen in England. He would one day be an earl. Louisa had known him all her life, and they rubbed along well together. His friends were her friends. Gil and Louisa would, in fact, make the perfect couple.

So why did her heart beat too quickly as she caught a glimpse of Inspector Fellows again, her hands grow moist, and her feet long to thump to the floor and carry her away from both of them?

Louisa drew a sharp breath. “Gil—my dearest friend—I’m not sure I am strong enough to hear declarations tonight.”

Instantly Gil went solicitous. “Then I won’t make any. Not tonight. Don’t worry. I’m not the pestering sort. But I will sit here and make sure no one
else
pesters you.”

“Thank you. It’s good of you.”

“If you’d like to think so.”

Gil sat for a moment with her in silence, giving her time to master herself, then he started up with a conversation that had nothing to do with the two of them, Louisa’s predicament, or the poisoning.