The Untamed Mackenzie

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.

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.