The Untamed Mackenzie

Chapter Sixteen

Fellows couldn’t believe he’d said the words, but he didn’t want to take them back. Not with Louisa gaping up at him, a fleck of cream still on the corner of her mouth.

When he’d peeked into the tea tent and seen her closing her mouth around the profiterole, the cream smearing across her lips, he’d had to turn away before he rushed in and hauled her out. Not only out of the tea tent, but out of Newmarket and back to London and his flat where he could have her all night. He’d smothered a groan, hoping no one noticed his sudden hard-on, and walked away with difficulty.

Fellows had wanted to catch her attention, because he needed to warn her off Mr. Franklin before it was too late. Betrothals could be as binding as marriage, especially if the marriage settlements had already been put in motion. Even if Louisa hated Fellows for the information, he refused to stand by and let Mr. Franklin lie to her and ruin her.

He’d gotten Louisa to follow him here so they wouldn’t be seen together. But now, alone with her, in the dim coolness of the stall, Fellows knew his mistake.

Louisa was tight against him, her eyes full of fire, her lips brushed with cream. He could no longer resist her—he only had so much strength. He leaned down and licked the side of her mouth.

The sparks he’d seen inside her ignited. Louisa twined her arms around Fellows and pulled him down to her for a full, hard, and desperate kiss.

They were not leaving. Fellows scraped her to him, his hand in her hair. Her hat came away and fell to the hay, and he was pulling her up into him, his arm solidly around her.

Louisa kissed him with urgency. Her hands scrabbled on his back, his neck, his shoulders. She wasn’t an experienced kisser, not seductive and sultry like a courtesan, and Fellows didn’t care.

She was his. A few steps had her against the wall. Fellows lifted her, hooking his arm around her hips. Her skirts came up as her leg twined around his. Fellows pushed the petticoats out of the way to find her warm thigh, bare under the lawn of her loose drawers.

He broke the kiss to touch his lips to her face, her hair. “Louisa,” he said, the whisper hoarse. “Marry me.”

Her intake of breath was sharp. “What?”

“Marry me. I can promise you damn all, but I need you in my life. I’ll take care of you better than that bastard Franklin ever could.”

“I know.” Louisa touched his face. “I know.”

“Then say yes. You are so high above me it makes my head spin to look at you, but I can’t let you go. Those bloody aristos will use you and make you miserable. I promise I will never do that.” He touched his forehead to hers, brushed a hard thumb across her cheek. “Please, Louisa.”

“Yes.” Louisa let out a breathless laugh. “Yes, I will. I’ll marry you. Dearest Lloyd.”

“Thank God.” Fellows’ prayer was heartfelt. “Thank God.”

He sank to his knees and pulled her down with him, cradling her in his arms as he laid her down on the soft hay. His fervent hands unlaced her drawers and pulled them off, moving her skirts to cushion her. This was not what Fellows wanted for her, no elegance here, but he couldn’t stop. His was a crude and fierce need, animal-like—fitting that they were in a stable.

Louisa didn’t stop him or push him away. She slid her hand through his hair, the desire in her eyes reflecting his.

Fellows got his buttons open, his trousers loosened. He moved his hand to her bare thigh again, then higher, his fingers sinking into her breathtaking heat. Louisa started, and he softened his touch, knowing she’d not felt this before.

He gently stroked her opening, feeling the wetness increase. She was excited for him, needy. His cock pulsing with the rapid beating of his heart was just as needy.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, or thought he said. “I promise.”

She nodded, her eyes growing heavy with pleasure. Fellows’ fingers continued their dance, and Louisa’s body became more and more pliant. She murmured something in bliss, her smile widening and warming.

Fellows laced his arm behind her hips and lifted her to him; at the same time he fitted himself to her and slowly, slowly pushed inside.

His world changed. A mix of wild excitement and incredible tenderness spiraled through him, in addition to the wonder of being tightly inside her. Her head went back, eyes closing.

Her small gasp as he broke through her barrier made him stop. Fellows caressed her, soothed her, his hands shaking. He knew he’d hurt her; he hadn’t wanted it to.

“Are you all right?” he asked her softly.

“Yes, I’m . . .” Louisa rose to him, her body knowing what to do. “I’m all right. I love you.”

Whatever Fellows tried to say in reply was incoherent. He slid on inside her, a crazed feeling flooding him as they connected.

He lost all sense of time, of place. He was with Louisa, bodies together. Her fingers, still hugged by leather gloves, brushed his face. The cool of them lent a sharp contrast to the heat of her. Erotic, joyful.

Fellows kissed her, their lips seeking each other’s, bruising. He thrust inside her, growing stronger as she opened more for him. This beautiful woman with her soft scent, her sweet body, was his.

“Louisa,” he said. “Louisa. Bloody hell.”

Too soon, too soon . . . His climax hit him. He kept thrusting into her, Louisa crying out with it and her own pleasure, her gloved fingers gripping his shoulders.

Fellows went on, hips rocking. He needed her, needed all of her. He couldn’t form the words, but the thoughts were there.

You are the beauty I’ve been seeking all my life. My existence was dark, grim, full of struggle, until you. You are the light that pushes the darkness away. When I’m with you, I can see my way, and I can breathe again.

All that came out was, “I love you.”

Louisa smiled, her eyes soft with the passion of what they did. “I love you too. My dearest Lloyd.”

And that was enough.

They were sitting up together against the wall, she on his lap. Louisa felt stretched and different. The world looked different to her too, as though colors she’d never seen before had suddenly become clear to her.

She leaned against Lloyd’s shoulder, he with his arm around her. They’d kissed quietly for a long time on the hay, then he’d withdrawn, lifted Louisa to his lap, and held her close.

Louisa didn’t want to leave for the harsh light of the afternoon, not yet. They sat on the giving hay, not speaking. Basking.

Lloyd took her left hand in his, slid off her glove, and pressed a kiss to her third finger. “I will give you a ring. It won’t have nearly the diamond Franklin would have given you, but it will be something.”

Louisa wanted to laugh. “I’d rather have a band of tin from you than the Kohinoor diamond from Gil. What you give me will be true.”

He continued to caress her finger. “If I hadn’t told you what I told you about Franklin, would you have accepted him?”

“No.” Louisa could say it honestly and decidedly. “I would have turned him down. I thought at one time he’d be the perfect husband for me. But perfection . . . It’s cloying, dull sameness.”

Fellows laughed his dry laugh. “Well, I am nothing like perfection.”

“You’re better. You’re you.” Louisa squeezed his arm. She belonged to him now, and she liked that feeling. “Gil is apparently a liar, a cheat, and a manipulator. Hargate was even worse.” She lifted her head. “You don’t think Gil killed Hargate for knowing his secret, do you? I’ll not forgive Gil for deceiving me so dreadfully, but I’m not sure he’d go so far as murder.”

“You would be surprised who would go so far as murder.” Fellows gave her a soft kiss. “Would you consider beginning your life as a policeman’s wife by helping me catch a killer? I don’t have the evidence to apply for an arrest warrant yet, and I have to be careful about it. I won’t push you to help me, because there is some danger involved. I won’t lie about that.”

“Of course I’ll help,” Louisa said. “I’ll gladly assist you proving I didn’t do it. I’d gladly assist you even if I hadn’t been suspected. I didn’t much like Hargate, but I watched him die—I wouldn’t wish such a terrifying death on anyone.”

“Before you agree, wait until I tell you what I have in mind,” Fellows said. “I had planned to ask Eleanor to help, because she’s resilient, though Hart would throttle me when he found out what I asked her to do.”

“I’m resilient.” Louisa sat up and took his hands. “Please, I want to help you. You’ve done so much for me.”

“Thank you.” A grim light entered Fellows’ eyes then, as the police detective returned, and he outlined his plan to her.

Louisa entered the family’s box a different woman than when she’d left it. She’d spent a while in the horse stall putting herself to rights, Lloyd having to pick bits of hay out of every piece of Louisa’s clothing and her hair. He’d laughed as he’d done it—she loved his laugh, the deep, warm one that held none of his self-deprecation or bitterness.

Louisa had left the stable yard alone, pretending she’d done nothing but linger to pet the horses. She made her way back to the Mackenzie box, nodding and smiling at ladies who still watched her with contempt.

Ainsley and Isabella had already returned to the box, both of them giving Louisa sharp looks when she entered.

Gil greeted her warmly. “Louisa, my sweet, I was worried about you. Where did you disappear to?”

Louisa shrugged, hoping her warm face and the new softness in her body didn’t betray her. “Chatting to people is all. And looking at horses. I love horses, you know.”

“Well, it’s good to have you back to myself,” Gil said.

He smiled his warm smile, full of friendliness, no less sincere than when she’d left him an hour ago. Louisa had felt slightly guilty to receive his kind attentions then; now he only irritated her. What a difference an hour made!

Gil sat next to her and again moved close without being too obvious. But now the movement seemed possessive and arrogant, as though Gil implied he knew exactly how to behave and Louisa did not.

“I long to travel,” Louisa said to him. “To lands far away. Don’t you?”

Gil raised his brows at the non sequitur. “Yes, I enjoy travel. But there’s something to be said for good old England, isn’t there?”

“That’s true, but I very much enjoy my journeys to Scotland. Such wild land there, some of it quite rough. But beautiful, I think. Land untouched by any but God.”

“Yes, Scotland can be lovely,” Gil agreed, obviously wondering why on earth she’d brought it up.

“But I’ve never been abroad. I wasn’t able to have a Grand Tour. Perhaps we could go together, Gil. I’d especially love to see the Italian cities: Florence, Venice, Rome. Shall we go to Rome?”

Gil stared at her as though she’d lost her senses. “I suppose. Rome is a bit crowded. Hot in the summer. Loud.”

“Is it? But there is so much history there, and art. And I thought you partial to the city.”

“Well, yes, it can be beautiful,” Gil said, still bewildered. “But really, I think we ought to stay in northern climes. For instance, Paris in the summer is heavenly.”

“I think I’d prefer Rome. I hear some of the outlying towns are very pretty. Perhaps you can introduce me to your acquaintance there.”

Gil looked at her in confusion for a few moments longer, then Louisa saw him realize that she knew. His brows came down, lower, lower, in puzzlement, worry, anger.

“Louisa.”

Louisa patted his arm. “Do not worry, Gil. I wouldn’t make any sort of trouble for you. But it is a bit unfair to her, isn’t it? Oh, and to me. Marrying me under false pretenses, I mean.”

The last statement brought the other conversations in the box to a halt. Heads turned. Gilbert suddenly found himself under the scrutiny of four pairs of Mackenzie eyes, and the equally stony stares of the Mackenzie wives.

Gil’s face lost color. “It isn’t . . . the marriage wasn’t legal.”

“I have been told that it was legal without doubt,” Louisa said. “From a very good source. I am certain she insisted on it, wise lady. I think you’d better confess your sins, Gil. To your parents, to your friends, to me. Is bringing your true wife to England such a difficulty?”

“Louisa.” Gil tried frantically to lower his voice, but too late. “It was nothing. A youthful indiscretion is all. Long ago.”

Daniel broke in. “Ah, those youthful indiscretions. Always come back to haunt one, don’t they?”

Mac laughed. “You’re too young to have youthful indiscretions haunting you, Danny.”

“Don’t be so certain,” Ainsley said. “You’d be amazed what comes to light about our Daniel. But you were speaking of your indiscretions, Gil. Do not let us interrupt.”

Gilbert kept his gaze on Louisa. “You must believe me, Louisa. I was very young. It was mad and brief, and over.”

Louisa’s anger had climbed down a long way since she’d first learned Gilbert’s guilty secret. Wild happiness had erased most of her outrage. Now she could pity him, but the anger was still there. Gil had cold-bloodedly decided he’d lie to Louisa, and to his true wife, to deceive everyone. It was base and mean.

“I would believe you, Gil,” Louisa said. “But four children? Four little ones hardly indicates that you’ve left the affair far in the past.”

Gil dropped the innocent look. “Bloody hell.”

“A wife and four children, Mr. Franklin?” Hart’s eagle gaze skewered him.

“Indeed,” Louisa said. “They live in a village near Rome. Gil married her . . . about six years ago, was it, Gil? I imagine you realized your father would kick up a fuss if he discovered you’d married an Italian farmer’s daughter, so you decided to take an English wife of noble birth to keep him happy.”

Gil seized her hands. “No, Louisa. I asked you to marry me because I want to marry you. I will divorce her. I am having difficulty, I will admit—she’s Catholic and won’t hear of it. But I promise, I’ll get out of it. I have my best solicitors on it.”

Louisa tried to withdraw her hands, but Gilbert held them hard. She shook her head, realizing as she did so, that a piece of hay still rested on her shoulder. Daniel had noticed it, according to the sudden shrewd look he gave her.

“It makes no difference to me whether you extract yourself from the marriage or not,” Louisa said to Gil. “You must see that. I rather think you weren’t going to tell me about it at all, were you?”

“I will obtain the divorce,” Gil said stubbornly. “I won’t hold you to anything, Louisa. We won’t announce an engagement, even, if you don’t want to, until it’s done. But please, don’t say no. I love you.”

Hart had left his place in the corner of the box to take a seat next to Gil. “You’re in a bad place, Franklin,” he said. “Louisa is trying to tell you to take yourself away from her. I’ll go further and tell you to leave England altogether. Go back to Italy and acknowledge your wife and children. If you don’t think they’ll be happy in England, then stay with them and settle down there.”

Gil drew himself up. “Do not presume to tell me what to do, Kilmorgan. Your copybook is blotted far worse than mine.”

“It’s the nature of the blots that are important,” Hart said. “Secret wives cause all sorts of legal complications. And then there are your children. Four, Louisa said? All yours?”

“Yes,” Gil snapped.

“Then acknowledge them as yours. Raise them. Be a father to them. The cruelest thing you can do in this world, Franklin, is to not acknowledge your sons and daughters. Don’t let them grow up believing their father doesn’t want them.”

Like Lloyd. He grew up knowing his father had rejected him. Hart understood that. Louisa read remorse in Hart’s eyes for what his father had done.

“They’ve done nothing to deserve that,” Louisa said in avid agreement.

“Louisa, please.”

Louisa got to her feet. Gil, trained in politeness from the cradle, rose to his at the same time. But Louisa had reached the end of her patience with him. “I won’t marry you, Gil. Not now, not if you obtain a divorce. You may as well go to Italy and stay there. I think you should leave at once. I’m sure you can find a train that will carry you to Dover this very evening.”

“Louisa . . .”

“No, Gil. I’d like you to go now.”

Louisa took a step away from him, intending to join the ladies. Gil reached for her, desperation on his face. Louisa sidestepped his outstretched hands, tripped, and came down on the same foot she’d wrenched dancing.

She cried out and started to fall. Gil snatched at her in true alarm and missed.

Another hand caught Louisa under her arm, lifting her up again. Ian. He frowned down at her, the look in his eyes telling Louisa he knew everything that was going on and everything that would come.

How he knew, Louisa didn’t bother trying to understand. What Ian did and didn’t know was always astonishing to her.

“Wretched foot.” Louisa took a step and cried out again. Ian’s grip tightened, and Daniel sprang to her other side, supporting her between himself and Ian.

“Sit down, Aunt Louisa,” Daniel said. “I’ll fetch Angelo. He’s excellent at binding up fetlocks.”

Louisa grimaced. “Thank you, Danny, but I believe I’ve done more to my fetlock than I previously thought.”

“She’s right,” Isabella said worriedly. “We’ll take you to a doctor, dear. I’m sure there are competent surgeons in Newmarket.”

Ian looked at Daniel. “We will take her.”

“We will?” Daniel blinked. “Yes, of course we will. Come along, Auntie. Ian and I will take care of you.”

Isabella tried to follow, but Ian had Louisa hauled out of the box so quickly that Isabella got left behind. When Ian reached the stairs, he abandoned trying to help Louisa walk and simply lifted her into his arms.

Ian didn’t much like touching people, or people touching him. He welcomed hugs from Beth and his children, tolerated them from his brothers and Daniel, but he slid away from everyone else. Now Ian cradled Louisa close, never minding that she clasped her hands around his neck to hold on.

Ian walked rapidly and grimly down the stairs with her, as though he carried a Mackenzie dog that had hurt itself. And possibly, Louisa mused, Ian thought of Louisa as little different from them.

Daniel ran ahead and found the doctor Ian sought. The man’s eyes widened when he saw Louisa, pale and hurt, and changed from the social gentleman to the professional.

“Bring her in here,” he said, gesturing to one of the tents.

This one was empty, whatever use it had been put to finished, tables strewn about waiting to be carried away. Daniel made certain a table was clear, and Ian laid Louisa on it. Louisa bit her lip, trying to look brave.

One of Sir Richard Cavanaugh’s lackeys hurried in with his bag and departed just as quickly. Sir Richard ran his hand competently over Louisa’s ankle, and she made a noise of pain when he squeezed the right place.

“I’ll need to examine it more closely—it might be broken. Gentlemen, if you’ll go?”

He meant that he might have to expose Louisa’s bare ankle. Daniel and Ian weren’t closely enough related to her that it would be proper for them to see that. Silly, but Sir Richard had likely learned long ago to adhere strictly to the rules. Hence his knighthood.

“Wait for Isabella first,” Daniel suggested.

Louisa waved him off. “No, please go. The quicker he finishes, the quicker I’ll be out of pain. I’ll be fine.”

Ian, without a word, put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder, turned the puzzled young man around, and marched him out of the tent. Daniel went, but with reluctance.

“Now then, Lady Louisa.” Sir Richard worked the stopper from a small green bottle and held it out to her. “Take the smallest sniff of this. It will relax you and make you feel better.”

Louisa regarded the bottle with suspicion. “What is it?”

“Just a sedative. See?” Sir Richard waved the bottle under his own nose. “Nothing noxious.”

He held it out to her again. Louisa took a small sniff, smelling something sharp and sweet. She lay down on the table again, the pain almost evaporating, or at least receding to someplace far away. Louisa’s limbs relaxed, and she drew a long breath.

“That’s nice,” she said.

“Just a touch of ether,” Sir Richard said. “I don’t want my examination to hurt you.”

He picked up her foot, unlaced and drew off her boot, and slid his hand up her leg to take down her stocking. All quick, competent, professional. He rotated her foot this way and that, pressed her ankle, and then ran warm hands all over her foot.

“I don’t think you’ve broken anything, fortunately, Lady Louisa. A mild sprain is all, though they can hurt very much. I’ll bind the foot and give you something for the pain.”

“Thank you.” He was kind, really. “You’re nice,” Louisa said. Then she drew a breath. Why on earth had she said that?

“Lovely of you to say so, my dear.” Sir Richard smiled at her, then something else entered his eyes. “You have beautiful legs, Louisa. A pity no one sees them.”

Louisa’s dry lips parted. “I beg your—”

She broke off with a little squeak as Sir Richard put his hand on her ankle again. It didn’t hurt, but she watched, wide-eyed, as he caressed her leg all the way to the knee, the touch no longer that of a compassionate doctor. “Very nice,” he said, his voice thick with pleasure.

Louisa wanted to shriek and kick, but the sedative he’d given her made her giggle instead. How very awful. Lloyd had been right after all.

“He generally is,” Louisa said before she could stop herself.

“Pardon?” Sir Richard went on caressing behind her knee, his fingers sliding under the hem of her drawers. “Who generally is what?”

“Lloyd. He’s always right about people. He’s very clever.”

“I’m certain.” It was apparent Sir Richard had no idea who “Lloyd” was. He didn’t connect the name with the police inspector who’d interviewed him—how very rude of him. “Louisa, my dear, you are quite a beautiful woman.” Sir Richard withdrew his hand from her skirt only to slide it up her bodice and her bosom. He squeezed her breast, then started to undo the buttons that closed the bodice to her chin. “Let me loosen your gown, so you can breathe easier.”

“Yes.” The open buttons did let her draw a long breath. “Help,” she tried to shout, but the word came out quietly.

“Hush now,” Sir Richard said. “We don’t have much time. Someone will come soon. That makes it a bit more exciting, doesn’t it?” He drew her placket apart and put his large, rather soft hand on her breast . . .

A very large fist connected with the side of Sir Richard’s face. Louisa’s eyes widened as Sir Richard staggered, blood appearing on his temple. He tried to keep to his feet, then he fell over like a tree in a storm and lay stunned on the wilted grass.

Louisa looked at the fist that had done the punching and recognized the black leather gloves Lloyd liked to wear. The punch had been very competent. Louisa tried to leverage herself up on her elbows, then she gave up and laughed.

Sir Richard struggled to rise. A large boot, this one belonging to Sergeant Pierce, landed on the man’s chest.

“Now then, sir,” Pierce said. “Just you rest there a bit.”

The tent seemed to be full of people all the sudden. Ian Mackenzie, thunder in his eyes, put his booted foot on Sir Richard’s chest as well. Sir Richard wasn’t going anywhere.

The rest of the Mackenzies, including Isabella, took up the rest of the small tent. Gilbert, fortunately, was nowhere in sight.

Fellows had shrugged off his coat and now he draped it over Louisa. She smiled up at him and touched his strong hand. “Did I do all right?” she asked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d give me such a strong sedative. I couldn’t scream for help.”

“You did fine. Thank you.” Lloyd leaned down and kissed the top of her head. No one looked surprised, least of all Ian, the crafty devil.

Isabella was giving Fellows a hard look. “Do you mean to say, Chief Inspector, that you used my sister as bait?”

Daniel laughed. “It was well done. I never suspected, until Ian told me.”

“Ian knew?” This from Mac, who came to stand protectively near Louisa with Isabella. “Why did no one tell me? I’m still not clear on everything, come to think of it.”

“I needed an ally who could keep his mouth shut,” Fellows said. “And one who would look after Louisa. Ian was the obvious choice. Thank you, Ian.”

Ian only nodded. At one time, Louisa had heard from Isabella, Ian had possessed fury to the point of violence against Lloyd, especially when Lloyd had tried to use Beth to get to Ian and Hart. Now Ian gave Fellows a satisfied look, an acknowledgment of camaraderie. He pushed a little harder on Sir Richard’s chest with his boot, making Sir Richard cry out.

Fellows moved back to Sir Richard, took the iron cuffs Sergeant Pierce held out to him, and snapped them around Sir Richard’s wrists. “Sir Richard Cavanaugh, I am arresting you for the murder of Frederick Lane, the Bishop of Hargate. I will take you to a magistrate, who will examine you and determine if there is cause to bind you over for trial.”

“On what evidence?” Sir Richard scoffed. “You have none.”

“Oh, I have plenty.” Fellows tapped Sir Richard’s doctor’s bag. “All in here. And in your surgery, and at your house, and in the Bishop of Hargate’s notes. I will try to make sure all the lady patients you’ve molested over the years, the poor women too afraid and ashamed to say anything against you, will be present in the gallery at your trial. Not enough justice for them, I think, but it will have to do. A man of your standing might wriggle out of a charge of indecent behavior, even sexual assault, but I intend to see you go down for murder.”

Lloyd’s voice was quiet but held the weight of authority. Sir Richard was furious, but he was down now. He couldn’t fight.

Louisa, still drunk with sedative, raised her head and curled her lip. “You are disgusting,” she said clearly. Then she found herself rushing back down to the table. “Oh, my.” She reached for Lloyd and held his hand when he gave it to her. “I think I’ll sleep now.”

Lloyd kissed her forehead, his rough whiskers brushing her skin. “I’ll be with you when you wake.”

And he was.