“I was so angry at Sally. And I am so strong.”
“Which is why you left the room. You went out to calm yourself, and it worked.” She pressed a kiss to his closed fist. “I very much need to speak to Inspector Fellows,” she said. She found herself pinned against the mattress. Ian’s eyes were open again, his fear gone. But for all the strength in his hands on her wrists, he made sure his weight was far from her hurt side.
“No more conversations with Inspector Fellows. He is to leave you be.”
“But—“
“No,” he growled.
He stopped her next words with his lips, and Beth was not unhappy to surrender. She said no more about it, but her mind whirled with plans. She needed to have a nice long chat with Inspector Fellows, and the good inspector would know why.
Beth recovered swiftly from her fever, but the stab wound took far longer. She could walk fairly well after another week in bed, but the pain was still profound and tired her quickly. She hobbled around Hart’s big house, with his servants hovering, ready to bring her anything and everything. They unnerved Beth, who wasn’t used to being waited on quite so intently.
She was also frustrated because after the kiss to keep her silent, Ian distanced himself from her. He told her wanted to give her a chance to fully heal, but she knew he still worried about his anger getting away from him.
Her own father had been prone to violent rages when drunk, and he’d been free with his fists. Ian wasn’t like that—he understood the need to control his anger, and he didn’t try to do it with drink.
She knew her own reassurances wouldn’t work. She couldn’t deny that the Mackenzies had seen and caused their share of violence. But then she remembered the anguish on Hart’s face as Mrs. Palmer had died. He’d held her protectively, letting her know he was there with her until the end. Ian had that same protective nature, the one that had made him openly defy Hart to protect Beth. She burned for Ian, but most nights, he stayed away from the bed altogether.
Beth had many visitors, from Isabella to Cameron’s son, Daniel, all anxious about her. She’d never had a family before, never had more than one person at a time care whether she lived or died. Sometimes she’d had no one at all. The Mackenzies’ acceptance warmed her. Isabella had been right that the brothers often forgot to dampen their very masculine manners for ladies, but Beth didn’t mind. She liked that Mac and Cameron were comfortable enough around her to be themselves, and she knew their rough manners hid good heartedness. As Ian continued to insist on confining her, Beth began to feel like a prisoner in a plush palace. She had to resort to bribing Curry to do what she wanted.
“Your ladyship, ‘e’ll kill me,” Curry said in dismay when he heard Beth’s instructions.
“I only want to speak to the man. You can bring him here.”
“Oh, right you are. And then ‘is lordship will kill me. Not to mention ‘Is Grace.”
“Please, Curry. And I won’t chide you on what I saw you and Katie getting up to on the back stairs yesterday morning.”
Curry turned brilliant red. “You’re a hard one, ain’t ya? Does my master know what ‘e’s got ‘imself into?”
“I grew up in the gutter, Curry, same as you. I learned to be hard.”
“Not the same as me, begging your pardon, missus. We might ‘ave both lived in the gutter, but you ain’t from it. You’re quality, m’lady, ‘cause your mum was a gentleman’s daughter. You ain’t ever the same as me.”
“I beg your pardon, Curry. I didn’t mean to presume.”
He grinned at her. “Right. Just so it doesn’t ‘appen again.”
He sobered. “Ooh, but ‘e’s going to kill me.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Beth said. “You just get on with it.”
Ian opened the door of Beth’s bedchamber a week into Beth’s healing and sidestepped as Curry rushed out. For the last few days, he’d seen Curry scuttle in and out of Beth’s bedchamber, giving Ian furtive glances. He gave Ian one now. “Where the hell are you going?” Ian asked him. Curry didn’t stop. “Things to do, things to do.” He disappeared into the hall below and was gone.
Inside, Beth reclined on the chaise, her face pink, her breath quick. Ian crossed to her and put his hand on her forehead, but found no fever. He sat down on the sliver of chaise next to her, liking her body against his.
“We’ll leave for Scotland next week. You should be well enough to travel by then.”
“Is that an order, husband?”
Ian laced his hand through her hair. He wanted her, but was willing to forgo the pleasure of sating himself to keep from hurting her. “You will like my home in Scotland. We’ll get married there.”
“We’re already married, I might point out.”
“You can have your real wedding, with the white dress and lilies of the valley, like you told me at the opera.”
Her slim brows arched. “You remember that? But of course you do. That sounds delightful.”
Ian rose. “Rest until then.”
Beth caught his hand. Her touch warmed his blood, made him crave her. “Ian, don’t go.”
He disentangled her hand from his, but she gripped it again. “Please stay. We can simply … talk.”
“Best not to.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Please.”
She thought he was rejecting her. Ian leaned down swiftly, placed his fists on either side of her. “If I stay, my wife, I won’t want to talk. I won’t be able to stop myself from doing as I please with you.”
Her eyes darkened. “I wouldn’t mind.”
Ian ran the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “I can protect you from everyone else, but who protects you from me?”
Beth’s lip trembled as she tried to catch his. gaze. He flicked it quickly away. Beth used his moment of distraction to lace her arms around his neck and kiss him full on the mouth.
Treacherous woman. He met her seeking tongue with his, her lips warm and skilled with what he’d taught her. She distracted him again by nibbling his lower lip, while her hand went straight to his hard shaft.
“No,” he groaned.
Beth slid her fingers around the buttons of his trousers and popped them open one by one.
“I vow I will speak to whoever designs undergarments for men and tell them that they are deuced difficult to part under certain circumstances.”
Ian was so hard he hurt. Her fingers were more confident as she closed them around his cock, her thumb brushing across his tip. He clenched his teeth as she swirled her fingers around his flange, teasing his sensitive skin. Ian found himself fisting her hair, and released her before he could pull it. He closed his fingers over her shoulder, his grip biting into the thick brocade of her gown.
“Do you like that?” she whispered.
Ian couldn’t answer. His hips moved, wanting to thrust. “I like it,” she said. “I love how hard your staff is, yet the skin is silken. I remember how it feels under my tongue.” She must be trying to kill him. Ian closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, willing himself to make her stop. “It tasted warm and just a bit salty,” she went on. “I remember comparing you to smooth cream.” She laughed a little. “When I took your seed inside my mouth, it was the first time I’d ever done that. I wanted to swallow every bit of you.”
Her voice was shy and sultry at the same time, her fingers as skilled as a courtesan’s. Better than a courtesan’s, because Beth wasn’t doing this at his command. She was giving it as a gift.
“I am trying to learn bawdy talk,” she said. “Am I doing well?”
“Yes.” He grated the word. Ian tilted her face up to his and gave her a long, deep-tongued kiss. Beth opened her mouth for him, smiling at the same time.
“Will you whisper bawdy talk to me?” she asked. “I seem to like it.”
Ian put his lips to her ear and told her in very explicit terms exactly what he wanted to do to her, and where and how and with what. Beth flushed a deep red, but her eyes were starry.
�
�How vexing that I am so feeble,” she said. “We will have to save such things for when I am well.”
Ian circled her ear with his tongue, finished with words. Beth squeezed his shaft, her fingers strong. She would be well very soon, and then he’d lay her down and proceed to do everything he promised.
She stroked him up and down, taster and faster, her fingers burning him. He didn’t stop his thrusts now. He closed his own hand over hers and helped her stroke, helped her squeeze.
Ian threw back his head as the room spun around, and he ground out his release. His seed spilled all over her hand and his, wet and scalding hot. “Beth,” he said into her ear. “My Beth.”
Beth turned to meet his lips, and their tongues tangled. He snaked his hand through her beautiful hair, kissing her over and over until her mouth was red with it. “I take it you liked that,” she said with a teasing glint in her eyes.
Ian could barely speak. His heart thumped and his breath came fast, and he was nowhere near sated. But it was beautiful. He kissed her one more time, then reached to the washbasin for a towel to clean them both up.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Someone knocked rapidly on the door. Beth gasped, but Ian calmly tossed aside the towel, fastened his trousers, and said, “Come in.”
Mac walked into the room. Beth’s face heated, but Ian betrayed no shame to be caught with his shirt open and his wife cradled on his lap.
“That blasted inspector is here,” Mac said. “I tried to toss him out, but he insisted you sent for him.”
Ian began to growl, but Beth cut in quickly, “It’s all right. I invited him.”
She felt the weight of Ian’s glare, and Mac asked, “Haven’t we had enough of him?”
“I want to ask him something,” Beth said. “And since you wouldn’t allow me to go out, I had to have him come to me.”
Ian’s eyes narrowed. “Curry helped you.”
Beth started to slide off his lap. “Come down with me,” she said quickly. “We’ll see him together.”
Ian’s arms locked around her. “Send him up.”
“We’re hardly decent.”
“He’ll have to take us as he finds us. You aren’t well enough to dress up for him.”
Beth subsided, knowing that if Ian ordered the footmen to throw Fellows on the pavement, they’d listen to him, not her. Mac shrugged and retreated Beth tried to straighten her hair, which had come out of the braid she’d twined it into. “I must look like a courtesan who was just with her lover.”
“You are beautiful,” Ian said. He held her loosely, but she knew his arms could close like a vise if she tried to rise and walk away. The door opened again, and she heard Fellows’s intake of breath. “Really, this is unseemly.”
Fellows had his hands behind his back, clenching his hat. Mac stood nearby, arms folded, as though he didn’t want to let Fellows out of his sight.
“I beg your pardon, Inspector, but my husband refused to let me rise and greet you like a good hostess ought to.”
“Yes, well.” Fellows stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room, averting his eyes. “Are you better, my lady? I was sorry to hear you were so ill.”
Surprisingly, the inspector did sound sorry. “Thank you,” Beth said, putting warmth into her tone. “Well?”
“I heard all about your theory. About Lily Martin.” Fellows deflated. “I searched Mrs. Palmer’s rooms and found the photograph of Sally Tate that Lily had kept. It was signed on the back, ‘From Sally, with all my love.’ There was also a letter stuck into the back of the frame.”
“A letter? What did it say?”
“It was a love letter from Sally to Lily, ill spelled, but the gist was clear. Lily had slashed lines across the page and written, ‘You had it coming.’”
“Is that enough?” Ian asked.
Fellows scratched his forehead. “It will have to be, won’t it? Scotland Yard likes the solution, because it leaves you high-and-mighty lords out of it. But your names are all over my report for anyone to read.”
Mac gave a derisive laugh. “As though anyone will amuse themselves digging through a police, file.”
“The journalists will make a meal of you.” Fellows said.
“They always do,” Ian said quietly. “They haven’t stopped, and they never will.”
“Writing about high-and-mighty lords always sells newspapers,” Beth said. “I don’t mind, as long as you know the truth, Inspector. Ian didn’t do it, and neither did Hart. You’ve been barking up the wrong tree all this time.” She gave the inspector a sunny smile, and he scowled back at her. Being in this room made him highly uncomfortable, but Beth had no sympathy. He deserved it for all he’d put Ian through.
Fellows still couldn’t look directly at Beth and Ian, so he pinned Mac with his stare. “You Mackenzies might not have done the actual murder, but you were involved up to your necks. Next time you put a foot out of line, I’ll be waiting, and I’ll get you. I promise you that next time, I’ll pot you good.”
His face was red, a vein beating behind his tight collar. Mac only raised his brows, and Ian ignored him completely, nuzzling Beth’s hair.
Beth squirmed out of Ian’s arms and landed on her feet.
She was still a little wobbly, and put her hand on Ian’s strong shoulder to steady herself. She pointed at Mac. “You two must take him seriously.” Her finger switched to Fellows.
“And you will not pot them at all. You’ll leave them alone and find real criminals who are doing real harm.” Fellows finally looked at her, anger overcoming embarrassment.
“Oh, I will, will I?”
“Your obsession ends now.”
“Mrs. Ackerley—“
“My name is Lady Ian Mackenzie.” Beth reached over and yanked the bellpull behind Ian. “And from now on, you will do exactly what I say.”
Fellows went purple. “I know they’ve bamboozled you despite my best efforts. But give me one reason I shouldn’t try to expose their wrongdoings, their exploitations, how they blatantly use their power to manipulate the highest in the land, how they—“
“Enough. I take your point. But you must stop, Inspector.”
“Why should I?”
Beth smiled at him. “Because I know your secret.”
Fellows’s eyes narrowed. “What secret?”
“A very deep one. Ah, Katie, just bring that package I had you buy the other day, will you?”
Chapter Twenty-three
Fellows stared at her. Ian straightened from his negligent sprawl, suddenly focusing on Beth.
“What secret?” Ian demanded.
“You don’t know nuthing.” Fellows sounded as Cockney as Curry. Katie waltzed back into the room carrying the package Beth had instructed her to have ready. Her eyes were full of curiosity. Beth hadn’t confided in her, and she’d been very annoyed about it. “Is this the one you mean?” she said. “You going to a fancy-dress ball or something?” Beth took the package and opened it on the table next to the chaise. Ian rose and towered over her, as curious and mystified as Katie. Beth turned around again, holding up the package’s contents.
“Would you indulge me, Inspector? Put these on?” Fellows’s face drained of color, and his eyes became fixed, like those of an animal in fear.
“No,” he snapped.
“I think you’d better,” Mac said quietly. He folded his arms against his wide chest and stood like a wall behind Fellows. Beth walked straight to the inspector. Fellows backed away rapidly, only to bump against Mac behind him. Ian stepped beside him to cut off any other retreat.
“Do as she says,” Ian said.
Fellows went still, rigid and shaking. Beth lifted the false whiskers and beard Katie had purchased for her and held them to Fellows’s face.
“Who is he?” she asked.
The room went silent with shock.
“Son of a bitch,” Mac whispered.
“Blimey,” Katie said. “He looks just like that bloody awful painting of that ha
iry man on the staircase at Kilmorgan. Gives me the creeps, that thing does. Eyes follow you everywhere.”
“So there is a resemblance,” Fellows said to Beth. “What of it?”
Beth lowered the pieces of hair. Fellows was sweating.
“Perhaps you should tell them,” Beth said. “Or I can. My friend Molly knows your mum.”
“My mother has nothing to do with tarts.”
“Then how do you know Molly’s a game girl?”
Fellows glared. “I’m a policeman.”
“You’re a detective, and Molly never worked in your beat when you were a constable. She told me.”
“Who is your mother?” Mac asked in a stern voice.
“You mean to say you don’t know?” Fellows swung around to face the brothers. “After all these years of taunting me, of rubbing my face in your wealth and privilege? You even almost cost me my job, damn your eyes, my only way of making a living. But you didn’t care about that Why should you care that I’m the only one that looks after my mother?”
“They truly don’t know, Inspector,” Beth interrupted. She wrapped up the false beard and handed the package to a smug-looking Katie. “Men often can’t see what’s beyond the tips of their noses.”
“I’m an artist,” Mac interjected. “I am supposed to be a brilliant observer, and I never saw it.”
“But you paint women,” Beth said. “I’ve seen your paintings, and if a man is in them, they’re vague and in the background.”
Mac conceded. “The fairer sex is much more interesting.”
“When I saw the portrait of your father at Kilmorgan, the resemblance struck me.” She smiled. “Inspector Fellows is your half brother.”
Hart’s sitting room filled with Mackenzies. Curry bustled in with them, and the other three manservants hovered in the doorway, looking worried and curious at the same time. Beth was breathing hard, shaky from her trip down the stairs, and Ian made her sit next to him on the sofa. Why he believed he could keep Beth out of trouble, he didn’t know. She was headstrong and had a will of steel. His own mother had been a victim of his father, terrified of him. Beth’s mother had been a victim as well, but Beth had somehow managed to transcend the horrors of her childhood. Her troubles had made her courageous and unflinching, characteristics that had been lost on the idiotic Mather. Beth was worth saving, worth protecting, like the rarest of porcelains. Hart entered last, his eagle gaze taking in his brothers, Beth, and Fellows. Fellows was on his feet, facing them all under the room’s high ceiling.
The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie Page 27