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
“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?”
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 hairy 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
