Beth’s throat tightened. “How dreadful.”
Fellows sat forward, on the very edge of the chair now.
“I know—I
“Now, Mrs. Ackerley, you promised me you wouldn’t swoon.”
She found Fellows at her side, his hand on her elbow.
Beth gasped for breath.
“It’s absurd.” Her voice grated. “If Lord Ian had done a murder, the newspapers would have been full of it. Mrs. Barrington wouldn’t have missed that.”
Fellows shook his head. “He was never accused, never arrested. No one was allowed to breathe a word to the journalists.” He returned to his chair, his face betraying impatience and frustration. “But I know he did it. He was there that night. By morning, Lord Ian had disappeared, nowhere to be found. Turns out he’d left for Scotland, out of my reach.” Beth grasped at the straw. “Then perhaps he was gone beforehand.”
“His servants tried to tell me he’d returned home before two in the morning, gone to bed, and left for Scotland by an early train. They were lying. I know it in my bones, though his brother the duke did his best to block me from finding what Ian really did do. I wanted to arrest Ian, but I had no evidence to please my guv, and the Mackenzies are high-and-mighty lords. Their late mother was a personal friend of the queen. The duke has weight with the Home Office, and he made my superiors put me off it. Ian’s name was never mentioned—not in the newspapers, not in the halls of Scotland Yard. In other words, he got clean away with it.” Lights spun at the edges of Beth’s vision as she stood up and walked away from Fellows. She thought of Ian, his quick, flickering gaze, his intense golden eyes, his hard kiss, the pressure of his hands.
It occurred to her that this was the second time in a few weeks that a man had warned her away from another gentleman. But when Ian had told her about Mather, she’d easily believed him, whereas she wanted to deny all that Inspector Fellows said about Ian.
“You have to be wrong,” she said. “Ian would never do such a thing.”
“You say this when you’ve known him only a week? I’ve watched the Mackenzie family for years. I know what they’re capable of.”
“I’ve seen my share of violent men in my life, Inspector, and Ian Mackenzie is not one of them.”
Beth had grown up among men who solved their problems with their fists, her own father included. Her father could be perfectly charming when sober, but once he had gin inside him he became a monster.
Fellows looked unconvinced. “The girl, Lily, who died in Covent Garden worked in that High Holborn house five years ago. She disappeared after the murder, and I couldn’t find her no matter what. Turns out she’d moved into this Covent Garden boardinghouse, and a protector was paying her handsomely to live alone and keep quiet. Housekeeper says a gentleman used to visit her in the night from rime to time, well after dark. She never saw him. But there was an eyewitness who saw a man visit
The floor wavered again under Beth’s feet, but she held her head high. “Your speculation isn’t proof. What if the witness had faulty eyesight?”
“Come, come, Mrs. Ackerley. You will admit that Lord Ian is most distinctive.”
Beth couldn’t deny that. She also knew that policemen could lead people into believing they’d seen what said policeman wanted them to have seen.
“I can’t think why you’ve come here tonight to tell me this story,” she said icily.
“Two reasons. One is to give you warning that you’ve befriended a murderer. The second is to ask you to watch Lord Ian and pass to me any information you think is relevant. He did both of these girls, and I intend to prove it.” Beth stared at him. “You wish me to spy on the brother-in-law of the woman who has befriended me? On a family that so far has shown me nothing but kindness?” “I am asking you to help me catch a cold-blooded killer.” “I am not employed by Scotland Yard or the French police, Inspector. Have someone else do your dirty work.” Fellows shook his head in mock sadness. “I am sorry for this attitude, Mrs. Ackerley. If you refuse to help me, I will have you as an accessory when I nick Lord Ian.” “I have a solicitor, Mr. Fellows. Perhaps you should consult him. I will even give you his address in London.” Fellows smiled. “I like that you don’t take kindly to bullying. But consider this—I am certain you won’t want your new highborn friends tumbling to the fact that you’re a fraud. The daughter of a confidence trickster and a prostitute, worming your way into the bosom of the aristocracy. Dear, dear.” He clicked his tongue.
“I don’t take kindly to blackmail, either. I will take your warning as a concern for my safety, and we’ll speak no more of the matter.”
“Just so we understand each other, Mrs. Ackerley.” “You may go now” Beth said in freezing tones that would have made Mrs. Barrington proud. “And we don’t understand each other at all.”
Fellows refused to look cowed. In fact, he gave her a cheerful grin as he gathered up his hat and made his way to the drawing room door. “If you change your mind, I’m staying at the hotel at the Gare du Nord. Good evening.” Fellows dramatically shoved open the pocket doors, only to find himself facing the wall that was Ian Mackenzie. Before Beth could say a word, Ian took Fellows by the throat and shoved him back inside the room.
Ian’s vision filmed red with fury. Through it he saw Beth, her hair in the same sleek, complex curls she’d worn this morning, Fellows in his black suit crinkled with wear, and Beth’s blue eyes filled with dismay.
Fellows had told her. Damn him, he’d told her everything. Fellows clawed at Ian’s hands. “Accosting a police officer is an offense.”
“Everything about you is an offense.” Ian shoved the man away. “Get out.”
“Ian.”
Beth’s voice made him turn. She stood like a flower, fragile and vulnerable, the only color in a world of gray. He’d wanted Beth to remain apart from the sordid business at High Holborn and everything Ian had strived to hide the last five years. Beth was unsoiled by it, innocent. Fellows had ruined that. The bloody man ruined everything he touched. Ian didn’t want Beth looking at him and wondering what others did—whether Ian had plunged a knife into the warm body of a courtesan, then smeared the walls with her blood. He wanted Beth to keep looking at him in soft wonder, to smile her little smile when she made a jest Ian didn’t follow.
Ian sometimes wondered himself whether he had, in his rage, killed Sally. He sometimes didn’t remember things he did in his muddles. But he also remembered what he’d seen that night, things he’d never revealed to anyone, not even to Hart.
Fellows fingered his collar, his face red. Ian hoped he’d hurt the man. Fellows’s purpose in life was to turn public opinion against Hart, against Ian, against anything Mackenzie. Fellows had harassed Hart and Ian so much that he’d been pulled off the High Holborn case five years ago and warned that he risked his job pursuing it further. Now Fellows was back. That meant he’d learned something new.
Ian thought of Lily Martin lying in the parlor where he’d found her a week ago, her sewing scissors through her heart. He remembered the anger he’d felt, and the sorrow. He’d meant to protect her, and he’d failed.
“Get out,” he repeated to Fellows. “You aren’t welcome here.”
“This house has been hired by Lady Isabella Mackenzie,” Fellows said. “And I have not been cautioned against speaking to Mrs. Ackerley. She’s not a Mackenzie.” Ian’s gaze slid over Fellows’s self-satisfied face. “Mrs. Ackerley is under my protection.”
“Your protection?” Fellows smirked. “A fine way to phrase it.”
“I certainly don’t like
Fellows bowed, but his eyes glittered. “Of course, Mrs. Ackerley. Good evening.”
Ian wasn’t satisfied with watching Fellows exit the drawing room—he followed Fellows down to the foyer and instructed the footman to not let him back in under any circumstances. Ian stood in the doorway watching
