The Untamed Mackenzie (15 page)

“What are you talking about?” She glared at him. “You are in that world now. You’re part of the Mackenzie family. They’ve welcomed you with open arms.”

“They have, yes.” His tone went ironic. “They’ve been adamant to erase the part of my life when I lived in penury. Their remorse is touching. The only one not wallowing in guilt is Ian, because I don’t think he understands the meaning of the word.”

Louisa flushed. “Do you think
I’m
wallowing in guilt?”

“You feel sorry for me, Louisa. You’ve told me.”

Her face reddened further. “You think I’ve kissed you out of
pity
?”

“You might believe otherwise, but yes.”

“Is that what you truly think? That I’d be so . . .
patronizing
?”

“Aren’t you?” Fellows knew he made her angry, but maybe if she grew furious enough she’d go, and stay away from him. “You told me once that I looked as though I needed cheering up. Poor Inspector Fellows—like a beggar standing outside the window, gazing at a feast he’s not allowed to have.” He’d felt that way often enough as a lad, especially the day he’d watched the boy Hart climb back into the sumptuous Mackenzie carriage and ride away with their father. Fellows had been left behind, outraged and bereft, and dragged off to a police station. That was the day he’d decided to become a policeman.

Louisa’s eyes were starry with anger. “How can you say that? How can you know
anything
about my feelings for you? You’ve never bothered to ask me!”

“I don’t remember you bothering to ask
me
before you coaxed me onto a ladder with you, or dragged me under the mistletoe.”

Louisa moved to him, halting close enough to him that he could breathe in her scent. Dangerous. “I don’t recall
you
pushing
me
away,” she said.

Was she mad? “Dear God, what sane man would? There you were, beautiful and wanting to kiss me. Last night you wrapped your arms around me and pulled me down to my desk with you. Only a saint would push you away, and I assure you, I am no saint.”

Louisa took a breath, pulling her voice down from a shout. “Why are you trying to make me angry? You are being deliberately cruel. Why?”

“Because you can’t be here. I said that when I came in. We can’t be together, Louisa. No declarations, nothing.” Fellows tried to speak steadily. “If anyone discovers me even talking to you, the investigation will be compromised. I’ll be pulled from the case and a detective assigned to it who cares nothing for truth, only for arrests and convictions.”

She looked puzzled. “But I’m not the only suspect now. Hargate was a blackmailer, with many other victims. You said you had ideas.”

“And by your own admission, Hargate was blackmailing
you
. You still had a motive, still are a very good suspect. So until this investigation is over, we don’t see each other, we don’t speak. If I have anything more to ask you regarding Hargate, I’ll send Sergeant Pierce to you. Do you understand?”

“Well enough.” Another of the small silences fell. “What about when the investigation is over?”

“I don’t know.” Fellows drew a breath. “There is still . . . I don’t know.”

“And yet, you have my photograph.”

They looked at each other a long moment. Everything spoken and unspoken hovered between them, waiting to be shattered.

Then Fellows moved around and past her, making himself give her a wide berth. He strode to the bedchamber, slammed inside it, grabbed the small photo from the dresser, and slammed out again.

He thrust the photograph at her. “Take it.”

Louisa didn’t reach for it. “Why? It’s yours.”

“Take it.” Fellows grabbed her wrist, pulled her gloved hand to him, and slapped the framed photo into it. “Give it back to Eleanor, keep it for yourself, give it to Mr. Franklin. I don’t give a damn.”

“You’re horrible.”

“Yes, I am. Best you know that. Now get out.”

Louisa stared at him, her mouth open, red lips moist. It was all Fellows could do not to sweep her up, deposit her on the sofa, strip off her clothes, and have her. Now. Hang the investigation.

And then Louisa might truly hang. No, Fellows would never let that happen. Even if he had to stay away from her from this point forward, let her marry another man, and never see her again, he’d do it to keep her from harm. Louisa’s life was worth far more to him than his own happiness.

Louisa didn’t hurry to obey. She looked up at Fellows for a long time, then clutched the photograph to her chest.

“I’ll go,” she said in her quiet voice. “I understand how it will look for the investigation if it’s thought we are having a liaison. But I won’t stay away forever.”

“When that time comes, no doubt we’ll argue again,” Fellows said.

“Do plan on it.” Louisa turned from him, snatching up the hat she’d left on a side table. “When I hear someone else has been found to be the culprit, I’ll seek you out again. I doubt you’ll send
me
word, so I won’t wait for it.” She dropped the photograph into her pocket, thrust the hat onto her head, and turned to the mirror to stab two hatpins through the hat's crown.

Fellows watched her, mesmerized, as Louisa turned back to him, the hat perfectly in place. She gave him a last glare then marched past him and out the door without a good-bye. Despite her words, the slam of the door behind her spoke of finality.

***

Fellows spent the next two days frantically going over his notes, questioning those he felt should be reexamined, including Mrs. Leigh-Waters and the interesting reason Hargate had blackmailed her. She’d had an affair a dozen years ago, the notebook said. The affair had ended, Mrs. Leigh-Waters told Fellows tearfully. The gentleman in question had married and gone to live in Boston with his American wife, and they never corresponded. But her husband had never learned of it.

Hargate had somehow found out and decided to torment her about it. Hargate had found out many things about many people. He’d used the leverage over them to obtain money, favors, positions, and his bishopric.

Any number of people might have wanted to kill Hargate, yes, Fellows thought in frustration. But only one of them had figured out how to put the poison into the right teacup.

By Monday morning, Fellows had not uncovered who. At least, not with enough evidence to convince Chief Superintendent Kenton.

Fellows was ordered to take the train to Newmarket. A police van drove him to King’s Cross station, a constable making sure he boarded. Kenton, understanding Fellows’ desperation, said he wouldn’t officially assign Inspector Harrison to the case until Fellows returned. Fellows would have until after the races to come up with an answer. But he had to go to Newmarket.

When Fellows arrived in Newmarket, the entire Mackenzie brood already there, the horse-mad aristos of England were abuzz with the latest gossip. The Honorable Gilbert Franklin had proposed to Lady Louisa Scranton, and wedding bells were sure to ring before midsummer.

Chapter Fifteen

Louisa loved the racing season, loved traveling with Cameron Mackenzie and his growing family to Epsom Downs, Newmarket, Goodwood, Doncaster. The Mackenzies had a private box in the stands at each course, usually full of the family cheering on Cameron’s horses.

All the Mackenzies had gathered for this Newmarket race, including the duke and duchess. The children had come to Newmarket as well, though they were currently at the hired house under the watchful eyes of their nannies. Cameron, Daniel’s father, tall and harsh-voiced, stayed in the box only a short time, impatient to get back to his horses. Cameron bore a deep scar on his cheek, evidence of his former unhappiness. Louisa watched Cam’s second wife, Ainsley, rise on her tiptoes to kiss that scar before he left. Softness flashed into Cameron’s eyes, and the look he gave Ainsley was full of heat and fierce joy.

Cameron left the box, pausing to say something to Daniel on his way out. Daniel laughed out loud, looking exactly like his father in that moment.

“Excellent weather for it,” Gilbert Franklin said next to Louisa.

Eleanor had enthusiastically invited Gil to attend the races with them. Isabella, when informed, had been less than pleased. Izzy had been cool to Gil since he’d called at the Mount Street house the morning after Louisa’s encounter in Fellows’ flat. Gil had asked to speak to Louisa alone and then proposed to her, even going down on his knees to do it.

Weeks ago, Isabella had been happy to help Louisa with her idea of using the Season to try to find a husband. Now that Gil, the perfect match, had made it clear he wanted Louisa to be his wife, Izzy barely stopped shy of snubbing him. That she didn’t approve was obvious.

Gil put his warm hand on Louisa’s arm, and her shaking started again. Every time Gil touched her, Louisa trembled. Any other woman might believe herself madly in love, half swooning at the touch of her beloved, but Louisa knew better. She shook because she felt as though she’d boarded a wrong train, and that train was rocketing off into the wilderness, no way to stop it.

When Louisa saw the unmistakable form of Lloyd Fellows approach Cameron near the track below, she became suddenly sick to her stomach.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Gil asked her in concern.

She really should be more grateful to him, she knew. Gil was like clear water, soothing, never troubling. Louisa ought to be glad, after all the upsets in her life, to lie still and let the water trickle over her.

Fellows, on the other hand, was fire. Fire burned. Even the spark of him was enough to sear her to the bone. Louisa always hurt when she was with Fellows, and merely looking at him talking to Cameron made her ache.

Fire and water. Water should put out the fire and ease the pain. Then again, fire that was hot enough jumped over water and continued its destruction.

The next race began, and Louisa tried to pull her attention to it. One of Cameron’s horses was running in it, as well as horses he trained that belonged to other gentlemen. Cameron never bet on his own animals, but the other Mackenzies usually had a flutter. Cameron’s horses were always short odds to win, but it was fun to wager a little. Today, Gil had gone down to the bookmakers and put money on all the races for him and for Louisa.

Gil didn’t sit so close to Louisa that he would cause a scandal, but he did keep his arm near hers, so that their shoulders were nearly touching. When he turned to her and smiled, it was like the sun coming out. Louisa ought to be deliriously happy.

The horses started. The crowd surged to its feet, including everyone in the Mackenzie box, and the noise began. Ian was the only one who didn’t cheer on the horses, but he held his hands ready to clap when his wife did. He still didn’t entirely understand the concept of cheering and clapping, but he’d learned to mimic, so others would not point out his eccentricities. Beth cued him these days, her gentle guidance helping him over many a rough moment.

Cameron’s horse, Night-Blooming Jasmine, running in the mare’s race, easily pulled ahead of the others. Jasmine ran as though she could do this all day, then perhaps have a romp in the pasture afterward before going home to enjoy a good grooming. The other horses sprinted to catch up to her, but Jasmine leisurely galloped around the track, pulling even farther ahead in the last furlong. She finished first by a long measure.

The Mackenzie box exploded with noise, Daniel and Mac standing on the railings and shouting the loudest. Ian abandoned clapping to put his arm around Beth and give her a hard squeeze. Beth was more important to him than a horse winning a race.

“I had no doubt,” Ainsley said, smiling. “Jaz is a wonderful horse.” She credited Jasmine with helping her and Cameron through their rough courtship.

“An excellent win.” Gil abandoned propriety to slide his arm around Louisa’s waist. “A little something to feather our nest, eh?”

Isabella, standing on Louisa’s other side, gave Gil a formidable frown. Gil assumed she was unhappy about the arm around Louisa’s waist, and withdrew, sending Isabella an apologetic grin.

“I’m very thirsty,” Isabella announced. “Louisa, will you accompany me to the tea tent?”

Mac turned around to her. “No need to bestir yourself, my love. Danny and I will rush down and procure for you anything you wish. You too, Louisa; ladies.”

Isabella’s cold look dissolved into a smile. She touched Mac’s face, the love in her eyes beautiful to see. “No thank you, Mac. I am making an excuse to take a stroll and speak to my sister. We’re going to gab like mindless females.”

Mac raised his hands. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of that.”

“Beth, come with us,” Louisa said quickly. Isabella was going to scold, she knew it, but Louisa might avoid the worst of it if Beth came along to mitigate.

“If it’s all the same, I’d rather not.” Beth fanned herself. She didn’t look tired, but she also didn’t like to rush about too much these days.

“I’ll come,” Ainsley said. She gave Gil a smile when he bowed and helped her across the box to where Louisa and Isabella waited. “Eleanor will make certain you aren’t abandoned, Mr. Franklin.”

“Indeed.” Eleanor moved from her seat and to the one next to Gil. “We will have ever so much to talk about, now that you want to become part of the family.”

Hart sent his wife a suspicious glance, and Louisa seconded it. Whenever Eleanor got that mischievous look in her eyes, there was no telling what she’d say or do. Fortunately Hart would be near to quell her if necessary—or to try to quell her, at least. The only person who didn’t tremble and obey the mighty Hart the instant he growled was Eleanor.

Isabella pulled Louisa and Ainsley away, and the three of them left the box to pick their way down the stairs to the tea tents below. Louisa reflected that she never wanted to see another tea tent in her life, but Isabella had her arm firmly through Louisa’s, and there was nothing for it but to follow and find out what she wanted.

The tea tent they reached was full, ladies in their finest gowns and beautiful hats greeting each other as though it hadn’t been only a day or two since they’d been together in London. They chatted while filling their plates with pastries, finger sandwiches, petit fours, scones and clotted cream.

As Louisa walked in with Isabella on one side, Ainsley on the other, ladies paused, ceased talking, watched. They didn’t quite cut Louisa, but they didn’t greet her openly either.

Louisa heard the whispers begin as Isabella escorted her to the food tables. “Gilbert Franklin actually proposed to her. Would he marry her if he thought her a poisoner, do you think?” “All I say is, he’d better be careful when he drinks his morning tea.” Titters. Laughter.

Izzy said nothing to anyone, and kept Louisa close. Ainsley, on the other hand, greeted ladies and waved to friends, behaving as though no one openly and rudely discussed Louisa.

Isabella stayed with Louisa as they loaded their plates. Louisa lifted a profiterole onto a dainty flowered plate and flashed back to holding a similar plate with a cream puff at Mrs. Leigh-Waters’ party. She’d been looking at the profiterole when Hargate had started to choke and gasp. She shivered.

Ladies who seemed to decide they didn’t want to risk offending Ainsley and Isabella, the wives of the influential Mackenzies, ventured to engage them in conversation, and Louisa was left relatively alone.

Louisa wondered anew why Isabella had brought her down here. To help her overcome her fear of tea tents? Or to make her face the ladies who stared at her?

She took a determined sip of tea. Then Louisa set down her cup, snatched her pastry from her plate, and took a large bite.

Cream slithered out of the soft crust and smeared across her mouth. Of course it did. Louisa reached for a handkerchief and found Isabella no longer by her side. Ainsley either. They had become swallowed by friends and acquaintances, absorbed into the chattering mass.

Louisa did see Lloyd Fellows look into the tea tent, lock his gaze to her, give her the barest nod, and then turn away.

Drat it. He had to choose that moment to spy her, didn’t he? When she had cream smeared across her lips, her eyes wide as she looked frantically about for Isabella.

Other ladies were staring at her, and their gazes were not friendly. She heard someone say behind her, “Shame on Mr. Franklin for leaving better girls in the starting gate.”

Louisa slammed the plate to the table and walked out of the tea tent, scrubbing her mouth with her handkerchief. Ladies parted to let her pass, their hostile looks barely veiled.

She emerged to see Inspector Fellows heading for the stables. Louisa kept a good distance and part of the crowd between her and him as she followed, pretending she was doing nothing more than wandering about looking at horses.

Had Louisa understood his minute signal that she was to follow him? Or had it been her wishful thinking? She’d welcome the chance to explain to him about Gil. The situation was not what Fellows’ thought—what anyone thought. Fellows would understand, perhaps, but only if she had a chance to speak to him.

Fellows walked into the far end of one of the long rows of stables. Few people lingered there—a couple of grooms were leading horses out, but that was all. The bulk of the spectators, owners, trainers, and jockeys were in the stands or on the track.

No one bothered about one stray lady in pale yellow as she crossed behind horse vans and stable blocks and ducked into the last stable yard. This stable block wasn’t much in use—a few horses poked their heads over the stall doors as Louisa entered, curious as to who was coming to see them.

The peace and coolness of the stables started to soothe her. Louisa loved horses. As a child, she’d sought refuge in the barns whenever her lessons in deportment drove her mad, or when the household was too busy making a fuss over Isabella to pay attention to Louisa. No one had much noticed where Louisa had gone.

She spied Fellows. He stood at the end of the line of loose boxes, his hand on a horse’s nose. He was talking to the animal, the horse basking in his attention.

Louisa walked toward him, heels clicking on the cobbles. Fellows heard her, turned, and scowled formidably. He didn’t call out; he waited until she neared him, then he walked away from her into an open, empty stall.

He knew Louisa would follow. She ducked inside the stall to find him standing on freshly strewn hay, his arms folded, eyes glinting in the dim light.
Fire.

The shade of the stall was soothing. So were the scent of horses, the pungent smell of feed, and the mellower smells of leather and soap.

“Did anyone see you?” Fellows asked.

“No. I was careful.”

“Good.”

“Then I was right,” she said. “You wanted me to follow you?”

“Yes. I need to talk to you. About Franklin. You can’t marry him.”

His gruff tone made her heart beat faster. At the same time, her anger rose. “I see. Do the police approve all marriages now?”

“Only yours. You are engaged to him?”

His voice was calm, but full of rage. Louisa looked into his hazel eyes to find the fire high.

“No,” Louisa said. She wanted him to know. “The truth is, Gil did propose. I admit I didn’t discourage him from asking. He’d spoken to my mother and my cousin before he called on me. Such an old-fashioned gentleman, don’t you think? They were delighted.”

“And were
you
delighted?” Fellows watched her closely.

Louisa rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled. “It was very kind of him. Considering my current notoriety, it was brave of him to declare his intentions. But in all honesty—and no one but the family knows this—I haven’t given him my answer yet. So no, I am not officially engaged to him.”

Fellows lost his stiffness in an instant. “Thank God.” The words flowed with relief.

Louisa regarded him in surprise. “I thought you’d be pleased to hear I was engaged. That would keep tongues from wagging about me and you, wouldn’t it? And prevent you being taken off the investigation. I am letting people believe as they wish until I give Gil my final answer.”

“Why the devil should I be pleased?” His rage was back. “Use the betrothal as a blind if you want, but tell him no. You can’t marry Gilbert Franklin.”

“Why not? I believe you made it clear that you and I are not suited. Never will be. That you have no intention of trying to make us suit.” Louisa unlaced her arms to pick at her tight gloves. “You made it painfully clear.”

“This has nothing to do with what is between you and me. You can’t marry Franklin for the very simple reason that he is already married.”

Louisa had drawn a breath, ready to argue, then the breath lodged in her throat.
“What?”

Fellows gave her a grim nod. “The Not-So-Honorable Mr. Franklin about six years ago married a woman in a village outside Rome. He has four children by her.”

Louisa staggered. She reached her hand out to the board wall to steady herself. Not enough support. She turned to put her back against it.

“Four children . . . No, that can’t be. You must be mistaken. You must have the wrong Mr. Franklin.”

“It’s not a mistake.” The words were flat, final.