The Untamed Mackenzie

curiosity. Louisa felt suddenly hollow, as though something important had just been lost to her.

“I beg your pardon, Louisa,” she heard Gil saying, as though from a long way off. “And Mac. I think I’ve gone and put my foot in it.”

Louisa turned back to him. “No, no. He’s—”

“Bloody rude sometimes,” Mac finished. “He’s a Mackenzie. No need to apologize, Franklin, or for you to make excuses for him, Louisa. El and Isabella coaxed Fellows into coming tonight, and he didn’t want to. He’s busy. I don’t blame him for being out of sorts.”

“I shouldn’t have needled him about the case,” Gil said. “I admit I’m dashed curious, though, having been at the party myself. As well as being anxious for Louisa.”

For heaven’s sake. Men could excuse each other over the worst offenses when they wanted to— oh, he didn’t mean to overturn the entire dining table and swing out of the room on the chandelier; he was out of sorts because he lost ten guineas at cards, poor fellow.

“If you will excuse me, gentlemen.” Louisa got to her feet, pretending not to wince at the twinge in her ankle. “I should be assisting Isabella instead of lounging about. Thank you for all the dances, Gil. It was kind of you. Stay and converse with him, Mac. I won’t need an escort across a room full of family and friends.”

Gil and Mac both stared at her, then Gil remembered his manners and bowed, his expression polite. Mac only frowned at her. Louisa knew she’d be in for it when she got home—Mac and Izzy would sit her down and quiz her about her jumpiness, but for now, Louisa just wanted air.

At least Gil was courteous enough to let her go. Mac clearly wondered what she was up to, but he too let her go, his duties as host keeping him too busy to pursue her.

She was not following Mr. Fellows to ask him why he was so angry with her. Not at all. Louisa held her skirts as she slid past the crowd at the perimeter of the dance floor. She would not admit that her gaze roved them, looking for a broad-shouldered man in black with close-shorn, mussed hair.

Before the murder at the garden party, Louisa could never have moved through a ballroom without being stopped every few feet and pulled into delighted conversation. Tonight, too many people turned away when she flowed by, too many people pretended not to see her.

Louisa ground her teeth, her temper rising. They had no business snubbing her. She’d done nothing wrong. Her only crime had been foolishly letting Mrs. Leigh-Waters talk her into entering the tea tent with Hargate. If Louisa had refused and gone to wait for the croquet match with Isabella, she would even now be talking and laughing with her friends and acquaintances as usual, having a fine time at Isabella’s splendid supper ball.

Strange how life could alter so greatly with one decision, one spin of a coin. Into the tea tent or not, speak to the bishop or stand with her sister.

Fellows’ declaration that the world was not a safe place haunted her too. Of course it wasn’t safe. But Louisa had lived a sheltered existence, growing up believing that bad things would always be kept far from her. She’d learned, too late, that this wasn’t always the case.

Fellows, on the other hand, had lived life in its raw state, seeing all the horrors of it. He’d been raised on the backstreets of St. Giles, learning about crime and criminals firsthand. If the old Duke of Kilmorgan had been a kind man and had taken Fellows in to raise, his life would have been entirely different, perhaps as pampered and sheltered as Louisa’s. Fellows could never inherit the dukedom, regardless, having been born out of wedlock, but the duke could have given him a good education, settled unentailed money on him, and allowed him to pursue a gentlemanly profession.

Another choice, in another time, that had changed a man’s entire life.

Louisa reached the other side of the ballroom rather quickly, her ankle not hurting near as much anymore, but her temper was getting the better of her. By the time she ducked into a cool back hall, she wanted to scream or do something unladylike such as beat on a wall. To add to her frustration, she had not seen Fellows anywhere.

She knew she’d never be able to go back into the assembly rooms and speak civilly with anyone. If anyone condescended to even talk to her. But Louisa rushing out and home without a word to Isabella would look churlish and cowardly. As much as it hurt her, Louisa had to stay here and face them all, as Hart had advised her to. Make them know she was not in the wrong and had nothing to be ashamed of.

Having been to these assembly rooms on many occasions, Louisa knew there was a quiet room at the end of this hall—an office or some such. Though the office was not in use during the balls and other gatherings, guests sometimes slipped inside it to seek calm moments or for assignations.

Louisa hoped no dallying couple occupied its sanctuary tonight. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found the dim room empty, then jumped when a man stood up from the high-backed chair in front of the fireplace.

Her heart went to her throat when she saw the broad shoulders and glint of red hair of a Mackenzie. Then her breath went out again when she realized which Mackenzie it was.

“Ian.” Louisa’s legs shook as she made her way across the small room and gave up altogether as she collapsed to the chair. “I’m glad it’s you.”

Ian pulled out the desk’s chair and sat down on it, not responding to her statement. He might not know what she meant—or he might have understood, thought of five different answers, and decided to say none of them. That was Ian’s way.

Silence settled over the room, which was lit only by firelight. Restful. Ian never expected a person to say something simply to say something. He had no use for banalities or meaningless conversation, for talking to pass the time. Louisa didn’t ask whether she disturbed him. If she had, he’d have walked out of the room without a word and sought another refuge.

“I always wondered at your aversion to crowds,” Louisa said. “Until tonight. Now I understand perfectly.”

Ian’s eccentricities were well-known and well talked about. Whenever he walked into a gathering, people stopped, stared, whispered. Even if they didn’t whisper, Ian had difficulty with the focus of too much attention at once. He was better with one person at a time.

Ian said nothing about Louisa’s sudden compassion, didn’t nod, and silence descended again.

Presently, Louisa let out an exasperated breath. “I say botheration to the lot of them. They’ve damned me for having the misfortune of standing beside a man while he died. I was the object of pity before the garden party; now I am an object of disgust. Well, I am tired of it already, I must say.”

Ian didn’t answer. He was studying the room, the worn books in the shelves, the desk empty of papers, locked for the night. The office’s one window was heavily curtained, shutting out the night, the only light the coal fire which would soon die.

“They expect Mr. Fellows to haul me away to jail,” Louisa said, the words tumbling out. “They are wondering why he hasn’t already done so. I think they were hoping he’d come tonight to arrest me. Wouldn’t that have been titillating?” She gave a short laugh. “Well, they will just have to live without it. I didn’t poison Hargate, and I refuse to be condemned for it. There must be something I can do to prove my innocence.”

Ian had tilted his head back to study the ceiling. Louisa couldn’t stop herself looking up at it too. It was quite pretty, laid out in squares of molding, with filigree in the corners of the squares. Instead of being whitewashed, the wood was in its natural state, rich walnut, which made the room both dark and elegant.

Ian probably hadn’t heard a word Louisa had said. He did that sometimes, let a person babble on, not answering. In his head, he’d be working out a mathematical problem, or thinking of every word his little girl and boy had said today, or thinking about Beth and the baby she would have by autumn. This room, Louisa, the supper ball—this part of London, even—might not exist for him.

“I wish he understood,” Louisa went on, not minding that Ian didn’t answer. “If not for him, I would probably be in Newgate right now, or under house arrest. Something dreadful anyway, while men gathered evidence for my trial. But Mr. Fellows won’t stand still and talk to me. What is wrong with me, Ian, that makes him turn away or not want to be in the same room with me at all?”

Ian still didn’t answer, and Louisa had stopped expecting him to. “We are in completely different worlds, he and I, and I don’t know if we can ever cross the chasm between them. I see him at places like this, and he is so unhappy. He doesn’t want to be here.” Louisa gave another laugh. “A bit like you, Ian. Mr. Fellows doesn’t like this