The Untamed Mackenzie (10 page)

He was nice, really. Kind. Generous. Warmhearted. Completely different from the man who came around the dancers in his kilt, a tailored coat stretched over his strong shoulders. He held a champagne glass in one hand, looking as though he didn’t know what to do with it, and walked beside Mac Mackenzie, paying half attention to whatever Mac was jabbering about.

Fellows saw Louisa and sent her a sharp look, then one to Gil. The look stabbed Louisa all the way through, and then the blow doubled as Fellows started to turn away again.

Mac, with seeming nonchalance, blocked Fellows’ escape. Fellows would either have to turn back to the divan or push Mac bodily aside to get around him. The look on Fellows’ face told Louisa he preferred to shove his way out, but at the last minute he let Mac chivvy him toward the divan and the two sitting there.

Gil rose to meet them. “Mac, how are you? Well met, Chief Inspector. Can you tell us how the case is going? If you’ve found the man responsible yet? Or are you allowed to say?”

Gil asked with sincere curiosity, and also with obvious concern for Louisa’s part in it. Mac’s expression said he showed the same concern. Only Fellows looked furious. He did
not
want to discuss the case at all, and Mac and Gil pushing him into it made him angry.

“It is all right, Chief Inspector,” Louisa said quickly. “You do not have to tell us. I understand that more gossip about it would not be good.”

If anything, Fellows looked even more angry. “There is very little to say. The investigation is ongoing. We are pursuing several leads.”

“Have you had any luck tracing the chap Louisa saw rolling out from under the tent?” Gil asked in all innocence.

“Not yet.”

“He’s the guilty one, must be.” Gil emphasized his words with little jerks of the hand that held his champagne glass.

“No doubt,” Fellows said, his tone dry.

“It might have been a woman,” Louisa broke in. “I couldn’t be certain, as I said.” She directed the words at Fellows, but he was watching Gil, assessing him. Possibly wondering how he’d look in handcuffs.

“No, a man,” Mac said, shaking his head. “I’ll wager it was a man in the tent. Stands to reason. A woman would be hampered by skirts and bustles and all the paraphernalia women seem to wear.”

Gil smiled. “I find the paraphernalia charming.”

“Entrancing,” Mac said, winking at Louisa. “I call it utterly entrancing.”

“An even better word,” Gil agreed.

Fellows looked annoyed. Louisa could see that at this moment, he didn’t find women or their paraphernalia charming or entrancing, or even remotely interesting. He was again stuck in a society party where he didn’t feel comfortable, coerced by his brothers and sisters-in-law to do what he didn’t want to do.
A fish out of water,
was the saying.

“It is good of you to help, Mr. Fellows,” Louisa said, to try to fill the break in conversation. “I am grateful.”

Fellows scowled at her. “It’s a murder, and it’s my job.” He clicked the champagne glass onto the tray of a passing waiter and made a little bow. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Louisa.”

He walked away without further word, and this time, Mac didn’t try to stop him.

Chapter Ten

The pain in Louisa’s ankle became nothing to the pain in her heart as she watched Inspector Fellows fade back into the crowd, finished with her. Ladies and gentlemen parted for his broad frame, looking after him with curiosity. Louisa felt suddenly hollow, as though something important had just been lost to her.

“I beg your pardon, Louisa,” she heard Gil saying, as though from a long way off. “And Mac. I think I’ve gone and put my foot in it.”

Louisa turned back to him. “No, no. He’s—”

“Bloody rude sometimes,” Mac finished. “He’s a Mackenzie. No need to apologize, Franklin, or for you to make excuses for him, Louisa. El and Isabella coaxed Fellows into coming tonight, and he didn’t want to. He’s busy. I don’t blame him for being out of sorts.”

“I shouldn’t have needled him about the case,” Gil said. “I admit I’m dashed curious, though, having been at the party myself. As well as being anxious for Louisa.”

For heaven’s sake. Men could excuse each other over the worst offenses when they wanted to—
oh, he didn’t mean to overturn the entire dining table and swing out of the room on the chandelier; he was out of sorts because he lost ten guineas at cards, poor fellow.

“If you will excuse
me
, gentlemen.” Louisa got to her feet, pretending not to wince at the twinge in her ankle. “I should be assisting Isabella instead of lounging about. Thank you for all the dances, Gil. It was kind of you. Stay and converse with him, Mac. I won’t need an escort across a room full of family and friends.”

Gil and Mac both stared at her, then Gil remembered his manners and bowed, his expression polite. Mac only frowned at her. Louisa knew she’d be in for it when she got home—Mac and Izzy would sit her down and quiz her about her jumpiness, but for now, Louisa just wanted air.

At least Gil was courteous enough to let her go. Mac clearly wondered what she was up to, but he too let her go, his duties as host keeping him too busy to pursue her.

She was
not
following Mr. Fellows to ask him why he was so angry with her. Not at all. Louisa held her skirts as she slid past the crowd at the perimeter of the dance floor. She would not admit that her gaze roved them, looking for a broad-shouldered man in black with close-shorn, mussed hair.

Before the murder at the garden party, Louisa could never have moved through a ballroom without being stopped every few feet and pulled into delighted conversation. Tonight, too many people turned away when she flowed by, too many people pretended not to see her.

Louisa ground her teeth, her temper rising. They had no business snubbing her. She’d done nothing wrong. Her only crime had been foolishly letting Mrs. Leigh-Waters talk her into entering the tea tent with Hargate. If Louisa had refused and gone to wait for the croquet match with Isabella, she would even now be talking and laughing with her friends and acquaintances as usual, having a fine time at Isabella’s splendid supper ball.

Strange how life could alter so greatly with one decision, one spin of a coin. Into the tea tent or not, speak to the bishop or stand with her sister.

Fellows’ declaration that the world was not a safe place haunted her too. Of course it wasn’t safe. But Louisa had lived a sheltered existence, growing up believing that bad things would always be kept far from her. She’d learned, too late, that this wasn’t always the case.

Fellows, on the other hand, had lived life in its raw state, seeing all the horrors of it. He’d been raised on the backstreets of St. Giles, learning about crime and criminals firsthand. If the old Duke of Kilmorgan had been a kind man and had taken Fellows in to raise, his life would have been entirely different, perhaps as pampered and sheltered as Louisa’s. Fellows could never inherit the dukedom, regardless, having been born out of wedlock, but the duke could have given him a good education, settled unentailed money on him, and allowed him to pursue a gentlemanly profession.

Another choice, in another time, that had changed a man’s entire life.

Louisa reached the other side of the ballroom rather quickly, her ankle not hurting near as much anymore, but her temper was getting the better of her. By the time she ducked into a cool back hall, she wanted to scream or do something unladylike such as beat on a wall. To add to her frustration, she had not seen Fellows anywhere.

She knew she’d never be able to go back into the assembly rooms and speak civilly with anyone.
If
anyone condescended to even talk to her. But Louisa rushing out and home without a word to Isabella would look churlish and cowardly. As much as it hurt her, Louisa had to stay here and face them all, as Hart had advised her to. Make them know
she
was not in the wrong and had nothing to be ashamed of.

Having been to these assembly rooms on many occasions, Louisa knew there was a quiet room at the end of this hall—an office or some such. Though the office was not in use during the balls and other gatherings, guests sometimes slipped inside it to seek calm moments or for assignations.

Louisa hoped no dallying couple occupied its sanctuary tonight. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found the dim room empty, then jumped when a man stood up from the high-backed chair in front of the fireplace.

Her heart went to her throat when she saw the broad shoulders and glint of red hair of a Mackenzie. Then her breath went out again when she realized which Mackenzie it was.

“Ian.” Louisa’s legs shook as she made her way across the small room and gave up altogether as she collapsed to the chair. “I’m glad it’s you.”

Ian pulled out the desk’s chair and sat down on it, not responding to her statement. He might not know what she meant—or he might have understood, thought of five different answers, and decided to say none of them. That was Ian’s way.

Silence settled over the room, which was lit only by firelight. Restful. Ian never expected a person to say something simply to say something. He had no use for banalities or meaningless conversation, for talking to pass the time. Louisa didn’t ask whether she disturbed him. If she had, he’d have walked out of the room without a word and sought another refuge.

“I always wondered at your aversion to crowds,” Louisa said. “Until tonight. Now I understand perfectly.”

Ian’s eccentricities were well-known and well talked about. Whenever he walked into a gathering, people stopped, stared, whispered. Even if they didn’t whisper, Ian had difficulty with the focus of too much attention at once. He was better with one person at a time.

Ian said nothing about Louisa’s sudden compassion, didn’t nod, and silence descended again.

Presently, Louisa let out an exasperated breath. “I say botheration to the lot of them. They’ve damned me for having the misfortune of standing beside a man while he died. I was the object of pity before the garden party; now I am an object of disgust. Well, I am tired of it already, I must say.”

Ian didn’t answer. He was studying the room, the worn books in the shelves, the desk empty of papers, locked for the night. The office’s one window was heavily curtained, shutting out the night, the only light the coal fire which would soon die.

“They expect Mr. Fellows to haul me away to jail,” Louisa said, the words tumbling out. “They are wondering why he hasn’t already done so. I think they were hoping he’d come tonight to arrest me. Wouldn’t that have been titillating?” She gave a short laugh. “Well, they will just have to live without it. I didn’t poison Hargate, and I refuse to be condemned for it. There must be
something
I can do to prove my innocence.”

Ian had tilted his head back to study the ceiling. Louisa couldn’t stop herself looking up at it too. It was quite pretty, laid out in squares of molding, with filigree in the corners of the squares. Instead of being whitewashed, the wood was in its natural state, rich walnut, which made the room both dark and elegant.

Ian probably hadn’t heard a word Louisa had said. He did that sometimes, let a person babble on, not answering. In his head, he’d be working out a mathematical problem, or thinking of every word his little girl and boy had said today, or thinking about Beth and the baby she would have by autumn. This room, Louisa, the supper ball—this part of London, even—might not exist for him.

“I wish
he
understood,” Louisa went on, not minding that Ian didn’t answer. “If not for him, I would probably be in Newgate right now, or under house arrest. Something dreadful anyway, while men gathered evidence for my trial. But Mr. Fellows won’t stand still and talk to me. What is wrong with me, Ian, that makes him turn away or not want to be in the same room with me at all?”

Ian still didn’t answer, and Louisa had stopped expecting him to. “We are in completely different worlds, he and I, and I don’t know if we can ever cross the chasm between them. I see him at places like this, and he is so unhappy. He doesn’t want to be here.” Louisa gave another laugh. “A bit like you, Ian. Mr. Fellows doesn’t like this world; he prefers the one he made for himself. I wish he could see that his world is a good one. He
does
something. People like Gil are wonderful—Gil is good at making people feel happy. But he’s never had to worry about anything in his life, has he? If everything were stripped from Gil, would he be the same? I know Lloyd would be. Even if all Inspector Fellows had worked for was taken from him, he’d still walk straight through it all, come what may.”

Louisa stopped, finally running out of breath. The room had cooled with the night and dying fire. Ian sat comfortably in the darkness, the low firelight touching his face.

Louisa closed her eyes, deciding to be silent with him. She had nothing more to say, and her heart was burning.

“Mrs. Leigh-Waters,” Ian said.

Louisa popped her eyes open. Ian had turned to her, watching her. In the past Ian had had trouble looking into a person’s eyes, but tonight he was relaxed, thoughtful, and easily meeting her gaze.

Louisa blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mrs. Leigh-Waters,” Ian repeated, as though waiting for Louisa to catch up.

“What about her?”

“You should speak to her.”

Louisa tried to remember all she’d said since she’d come in and which part Ian was responding to. “You mean I should talk to her about the garden party again?”

Ian made a slow nod. “She invited the guests.”

Louisa sat still a moment, turning his words over in her mind. What Ian said always had deeper meaning than his listener first supposed.

She invited the guests.
Mrs. Leigh-Waters hadn’t asked her entire social circle to her garden party—the guest list had been fairly exclusive. Why had she invited certain people and not others?

“Hmm,” Louisa said. “I think I see what you mean.”

Ian turned his head and looked away, finished with the discussion.

“Thank you, Ian.”

A small clock on a shelf struck midnight. Outside the windows, church clocks in Mayfair and beyond took up the chime.

Ian rose, pulled out his pocket watch, checked it against the clocks, and made a minute adjustment. “I’ll go to Beth now. She will be tired.”

So that was why Ian had come in here—he was counting the minutes until he could take Beth home. Beth would have insisted on staying a polite amount of time; Ian would have insisted on an exact hour to take their leave. They always worked out their differences so beautifully.

“Tell Beth good night for me,” Louisa said.

The clocks were still chiming, and Ian didn’t wait on ceremony. He walked swiftly out of the room without a good-bye, as though he had to reach Beth before the last stroke of midnight. Ian pursuing his Cinderella.

They’d endured so much, Ian and Beth, had found each other through fire and fog. They deserved every moment of the happiness they had now.

Louisa supposed she ought to go home with them. Fellows had likely departed, and Louisa had no desire to return to the ballroom and paste a false smile on her face for a few more hours. Beth would not mind dropping Louisa at Isabella’s on the way home.

Ian had already disappeared, however, by the time Louisa had made up her mind and left the office. She found no sign of Ian in the back hall or in the corridor that led around to the front door.

The foyer was still full of people, though not the crush that had filled it when she’d entered the assembly rooms earlier tonight. Louisa didn’t see Ian or Beth there, going out, nor did she see Mr. Fellows. She did spy Daniel, who was talking with his usual animation to a knot of guests, no doubt charming them to pieces. Daniel was just nineteen now and already friends with half of England, not to mention all of Scotland and probably most of Wales.

A look into the games room showed her Hart Mackenzie lounging at a card table like a king among his subjects, in no hurry to depart. Cheroot smoke layered the air like fog.

Ian had likely decided to scoot Beth out a back door to avoid the crowd. Louisa made her way again to the little hall that led to the office, turning a corner beyond it to seek a rear door.

Inspector Fellows was there, his broad back to her as he opened the door, letting in a draft of cool spring air.

Louisa sped her steps, her anger returning. She raced forward and grabbed the sleeve of his coat, just as Fellows stepped out into the night.

Fellows swung around, eyes blazing, his hand going automatically to Louisa’s throat, and the other balled into a hard fist, pulled back to punch.

In the next instant, he blinked. “Louisa. Bloody hell.” He moved his hand so swiftly from her that she felt a warm breeze on her skin. “Don’t do that.”

Louisa stared at him. “Did you think I was a robber? In Mayfair assembly rooms?”

Fellows had taken a step back, but his hands were still clenched, his face flushed. “You’d be surprised where thieves lurk. Why aren’t you in the ballroom, dancing with all your beaux?”

“I don’t have any beaux, and I was looking for you.”

“Why?”

The door was still half open, the two of them on the doorstep. Neither in nor out, neither forward nor back. Like their friendship, Louisa thought.

“You walked away,” she said. “I was defending you. You snapped at me as though I’d insulted you, and then you turned your back and walked away.”