The Madness Of Lord Ian Mackenzie

them. But Ian will remember every word of the original.” Beth winked at Ian. “I’m certain it makes for fascinating teatime conversation.”

Ian couldn’t resist a grin. He’d not seen Hart this annoyed in a long time.

Hart bathed Ian in a cold stare, but Beth blithely ignored him. “Did your bowls survive the journey intact?” she asked Ian.

Ian’s pulse quickened as he remembered the cool brush of porcelain against his fingers, the satisfaction of Mather’s bewildered face. “I unpacked them and put them in their places. They fit well.”

Hart interrupted. “You bought more bowls?” Beth nodded after Ian had remained silent a moment, “They are both quite lovely. One is a white bowl with a blue flush and interlinked flowers. The other is red flowers and thinner porcelain. The wash and fineness of the porcelain indicate it might be Imperial Ware. Have I got that right?”

 “Exactly right,” Ian said.

“I found a book in Paris,” she said with a cheeky smile.

Ian looked at her and forgot everything else in the room.  He was aware of Hart’s stare but only peripherally, as though an insect buzzed on the edges of his hearing.

How did Beth always know what words he needed and precisely when to say them? Even Curry didn’t anticipate him like that.

She was taking everything in, the lavish room, the long table, the gleaming silver serving dishes. The paintings of Mackenzie men, Mackenzie lands, and Mackenzie dogs, and the white-gloved footmen hovering to wait on them.  “I was surprised you had no piper,” she said to Hart. “I imagined we’d be escorted to dinner to the drone of bagpipes.” Hart gave Beth a deprecating look. “We don’t have the pipes inside. Too loud.”

“Father used to,” Ian said. “Gave me raging headaches.” “Hence the ban,” Hart returned. “We’re not a storybook Scottish family with everyone wearing claymores and longing for the days of Bonnie Prince Charlie. The queen may build a castle at Balmoral and put on plaid, but that doesn’t make her Scottish.”

“What does make one Scottish?”

“The heart,” the Duke of Kilmorgan said. “Being born to a Scottish clan and remaining part of the clan inside yourself.”

“Having a taste for porridge doesn’t hurt,” Ian said. He’d spoken seriously, wanting only to stop Hart from going on and on about what it meant to be Scottish, but he liked the reward of Beth’s beautiful smile. Though Hart could speak English with no trace of a Scots accent, had been educated at Cambridge, and sat in the English House of Lords, he had firm ideas about Scotland and what he wanted to accomplish for his country. He could expound on it for hours.

Hart shot Ian a formidable frown and fixed his attention onto his food. Beth gave Ian another smile, which sent Ian’s imagination dancing.

They continued the meal in silence, the only sound the click of silver on porcelain. Beth was beautiful in the candlelight, her diamonds sparkling as much as her eyes.

When they finally rose, Hart rumbled something about his damned treaty.

“It’s all right,” Beth said quickly. “I’d love a turn in the garden before bed. I’ll leave you to it, shall I?” Ian walked her to the terrace door. The dogs sprang to their feet, tails wagging. Ian would prefer to have Beth join him in the billiards room, his imagination ripe with things he could teach her about billiards. But if she wanted a walk, he wouldn’t stop her. The garden could be just as entertaining.  Beth pressed Ian’s arm before he could form the words, and disappeared out the back door. The five dogs milled back and forth in front of her as she strolled down the walk.  Ian took the treaty from Hart and stalked with it into the billiards room, hoping the damn thing was short.

“You’re a very clever young woman,”

Beth turned at Hart’s voice. She’d walked, escorted by the dogs, down a well-tended path to a fountain that sprinkled merrily into a marble bowl. Plenty of light lingered in the sky, though it was already half past nine—Beth had never been this far north before, and she understood the sun barely dipped below the horizon here during the summer months.  She’d spent some rime figuring out which dog was which.  Ruby and Ben were the hounds, Achilles was the black setter with one white foot, McNab was the long-haired spaniel, Fergus the tiny terrier.

Hart stopped by the fountain, the end of his cigar glowing orange as he took in smoke. The dogs swarmed to him, tails moving furiously. When he didn’t respond, they moved off to explore the garden.

“I don’t think myself especially clever.” Beth had thought the night warm, but now she wished she’d brought a wrap.  “And I’m afraid I never went to finishing school.” “Cease with the flippancy. You obviously bamboozled Mac and Isabella, but I’m not so gullible.”

“What about Ian? Are you saying I bamboozled him?”

“Didn’t you?” Hart’s voice was deadly quiet.

“I remember telling Ian quite plainly that I had no interest in marrying again. And then there I was, signing a license and repeating that I’d be with him until death do us part. I believe Ian bamboozled me” “Ian is—“ Hart broke off and swung away to stare into the multicolored sky.

“What? A madman?”

“No.” The word was harsh. “He’s . . . vulnerable.” “He’s stubborn and smart and does exactly what he pleases.”

Hart pinned her with his stare. “You’ve known him, what, all of a few weeks? You saw that Ian is rich and insane, and you couldn’t resist taking down such an easy mark.” Beth’s temper flared. “If you had paid more attention, you’d have realized that I have a fortune of my own already.  Quite a large one. I don’t need Ian’s.”

“Yes, you inherited one hundred thousand pounds and a house in Belgrave Square from a reclusive widow called Mrs.  Barrington. Very admirable. But Ian is worth ten times that, and when you realized that, you wasted no time getting rid of Lyndon Mather and chasing Ian to the altar.” Beth clenched her hands. “No, I went off to Paris, and Ian came after me.”

“Quite a good ploy to smarm up to Isabella. She’s got too soft a heart for her own good, and I’m certain she thought it a fine scheme to push you together. Mac did, too. I can’t think what got into him.”

“Smarm? I don’t smarm. I wouldn’t know how to. I’m not even sure what the word means.”

“I know your background, Mrs. Ackerley. I know your father was a lying blackguard and your mother fell into his trap. Her folly led her straight to the workhouse. I’m sure you learned much there.”

Beth’s face burned. “Goodness, so many people looking into my past. You ought to have asked Curry. Apparently he has quite a dossier on me.”

Hart dropped his cigar and ground it out with his heel.  He leaned close to Beth and spoke in a low voice, his breath tinged with sweet-smelling smoke. “I will not let a fortune hunter ruin my brother, if it’s the last thing I do.” “I assure you. Your Grace, I’ve never hunted a fortune in my life.”

“Don’t mock me. I’ll annul the marriage. I can do that, and you will leave. It never will have happened.” Beth summoned the courage to look straight into Hart’s golden eyes. “Can you not consider that perhaps I fell in love with him?”

Deeply, dramatically, foolishly in love.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Hart drew a breath but didn’t speak. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“I see,” Beth said softly. “You believe he’s mad, and you don’t think any woman could love that.”

“Ian is mad. The commission of lunacy proved it. I was there. I saw.”

“Then why not leave him in the asylum if you think he’s insane?”

“Because I know what they did to him.” In the gentle twilight the powerful Duke of Kilmorgan looked suddenly haunted. “I saw what the damn quacks did. If he hadn’t been mad when he went in, the place would have driven him so.” “The ice baths,” Beth said. ‘The electric shocks.” “Even worse than that. Dear God, when he was twelve years old they had him bend bare-assed over his bed every night so they could strap him. To keep his dreams quiet, they said. My father did nothing. I couldn’t do anything; I didn’t have the power. The day my father fell off his horse and broke his damned neck, I went to the asylum and took Ian out.”

Beth flinched at his vehemence, but at the same time, her heart warmed. “And Ian is grateful you did. Very