The Untamed MacKenzie

by Jennifer Ashley

  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 Frankli
n 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.

  “But . . .” Louisa wet her lips, finding a bit of cream she hadn’t managed to wipe away. “Good heavens, why didn’t you tell me before this? I’ve been considering accepting Gil’s offer. Seriously considering it, because you gave me no hope.”

  “I didn’t know until yesterday evening. I ordered Sergeant Pierce to find out everything he could about Franklin, especially after his name turned up in Hargate’s notebook of sinners. I only had the telegrams from Rome last night. A copy of a parish register will follow in the post. Franklin married her all right. Legally. She’s the daughter of a farmer. But I suppose an earl’s son knew he needed a more acceptable bride to please his family and friends.”

  Louisa remained against the wall, unable to make herself stand. Part of her continued to argue. The Roman police had to be wrong. Fellows was wrong. It must be a mistake.

  But Louisa knew Lloyd Fellows. He was thorough. He would not make a statement like this until he was absolutely certain of its truth.

  Disbelief fled, and along came anger. Louisa balled her fists. “That absolute rat!” She pushed herself off the wall and started to pace. “How dare he? To think, I felt sorry for him!”

  Her agitated walking brought her up against Fellows, or maybe he’d stepped in front of her. He stood quietly, a rock she could cling to, a calm in the storm.

  “And you say Hargate was blackmailing him?” Louisa asked. “Bloody hell.” The expletive came out—from Louisa, who’d been raised to never dream of swearing. “I can scarce believe it. Devil take all men.” She looked up at Fellows, who watched her from his solid height. “And you!” Her fists came up, and she thumped them once to his chest. “You made me fall in love with you. You made me start to believe you cared for me in return, and then you pushed me away. And I don’t mean because you were worried about risking the investigation. You implied that, even after the investigation was over, there’d be no hope. How dare you?”

  She pummeled him a few times, but he didn’t move, didn’t flinch. When Louisa wound down, Fellows said, “In love.”

  The words were flat, calm, as though he was too stunned to put more emotion behind them.

  “Yes, in love. Good heavens, why else would I chase you about and throw myself at you like a ninny? I convinced myself I wanted a respectable marriage—to save my family’s reputation and to keep from being pitied, I thought. But I lied to myself. Pursuing a marriage was only an excuse to forget about you. But then you started to let me hope. And then you took that hope away.”

  Louisa’s fists moved again, and Fellows grabbed her flailing hands.

  “Louisa. Stop.” He frowned down at her, his hazel eyes holding something she didn’t understand.

  “Why?” Louisa tried and failed to jerk away. “Why shouldn’t I shout at you? You deserve to be shouted at!”

  “Louisa.” Fellows shook her once, hard. “You have to . . . stop.”

  Louisa looked up at him, startled out of her frenzy. Fellows studied her a few heartbeats more, then he dragged her against him.

  “You have to stop, sweetheart,” Fellows said. “Because I love you so much, it’s killing me.”

  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.