The Untamed Mackenzie

Daniel didn’t move. “If you’re thinking of Mrs. Leigh-Waters as the murderer, I don’t think she did it, if my opinion is worth anything,” he said. “I don’t think she’d have the courage.”

“Nor do I,” Louisa added. Her belief in the woman was clear in her eyes. “And there’s the question of the poison—how it got into the tea, or at least the teacup, without Mrs. Leigh-Waters being there to make sure the right person drank it.”

“Yes,” Fellows said slowly. Louisa’s words made the part of his thoughts still tangled in the case begin to work. “And I think that’s it.”

Daniel and Louisa looked blank. “What?” Louisa asked.

“The answer to the entire problem.”

“Ah,” Daniel said. “You know how it was done?”

“Not yet. But I have possibilities to check. I planned to think about it tonight, alone, and then ponder while I sleep. I need sleep.” Fellows hadn’t gotten any the night before, that was certain.

Daniel looked resigned but nodded at him. “We’ll leave ye to it, then. Except you have to tell us what you discover. We’re pining to know.”

“I’ll send you a telegram,” Fellows said in his dry voice. He opened the door. “Thank you for the information. Good night.”

“Right you are.” Daniel held out his arm to Louisa. “Auntie?”

Louisa didn’t look at him. “I’d like to remain a moment, Daniel.”

“No,” Fellows said immediately. If Louisa stayed in his rooms, with his bedchamber steps away, he’d never be able to let her out again.

“Daniel,” Louisa said.

“I shouldn’t let you,” Daniel said. “I’m the chaperone, you know.”

“He is right,” Fellows said to Louisa. “You can’t stay up here with me.”

“For heaven’s sake, he can wait outside the door, which you may keep unlocked. If Daniel hears me scream, he will rush in to my rescue. I need to speak with you.”

Fellows’ hand stilled on the doorknob. He could not let her stay, blast the woman. But she stood stubbornly, as though rooting herself to the floor.

Daniel decided for them. Because neither Fellows nor Louisa moved, Daniel picked up his hat and gloves and walked out past Fellows, the hem of his kilt swinging.

“I’ll be kicking my heels at the end of the hall,” he said. “Shout when you’re ready, Louisa.”

Fellows remained at the door, holding it open. “Daniel, she can’t stay.”

“Best humor her,” Daniel said. “Else she gets terse, and I’ll have to ride all the way to Isabella’s with her like that. Do me a favor and let her speak her piece.”

Fellows had no sympathy. But he knew Louisa wouldn’t budge unless he lifted her over his shoulder and carried her out. And if he touched her, he’d carry her straight to the bedroom.

Daniel grinned and turned away as Fellows finally swung the door shut. Fellows heard him whistling in the hall.

“Begin,” Fellows said to Louisa. “Then leave.”

He kept himself beside the door. Safer there—the entire sitting room lay between him and her.

Louisa wore brown leather gloves that hugged her fingers. Fellows couldn’t stop his imagination putting those gloved hands on his bare chest, feeling the cool leather on his hot skin. She’d move her hands down across his abdomen, roving to the hardness that strained for her.

“Why do you have my photo in your bedchamber?” Louisa asked.

Fellows started, pushing his fantasies aside. Louisa looked at him expressionlessly, without anger, or disgust, scorn, or any other emotion he’d expect her to have. He kept a picture of her without her knowledge, and she only asked him about it in a calm voice. How she’d discovered he had it, Fellows hadn’t the slightest doubt.

“I will throttle Daniel Mackenzie,” he said.

“You have three photographs on your dresser,” Louisa said slowly. “One of your mother, one of yourself in your police uniform. Natural enough. And you have me.”

Any lie would sound ridiculous. There was no reason in the world Fellows should have her photograph, except one.

“I don’t often see you,” he said. “I have the photo so I can look at you in the stretches of time between.”

She regarded him in silence a moment, as though considering his answer. “Did Eleanor give it to you?”

“She did.”

“Did you ask her for it?”

“No,” Fellows said. “But when she offered it, I didn’t refuse.”

Louisa swallowed, the movement faint in her slender throat. “I, on the other hand, have no photograph of you.”

“I don’t often have one taken. Haven’t in years.”

“Eleanor would do it,” Louisa said.

“No doubt.”

Another pause. Shakespeare would have had trouble writing this play. His characters talked and talked, spilling out streams of poesy. So many words, when silence spoke volumes.

“That photograph of me was taken a year ago,” Louisa said. “Just after Eleanor and Hart’s wedding.”

“I believe so, yes.”

“You’ve had it all this time.” Louisa lost her frozen stance and stepped forward. “You’ve had it all this time, and you’ve not said a word. You haven’t said anything.”

“Would it have done any good?”

“I think it would have done the world of good.” Louisa’s voice increased in volume. “But how could I know? How can I know anything of what you’re thinking? You hide so much.”

Fellows came out of his rigidity. “I don’t have much of a chance to speak to you, do I? Every time I see you, you’re at a party of some kind, surrounded by friends, laughing with them. You’re where you belong. You’re part of their world, with people you understand, and I am not.”

“What are you talking about?” She glared at him. “You are in that world now. You’re part of the Mackenzie family. They’ve welcomed you with open arms.”

“They have, yes.” His tone went ironic. “They’ve been adamant to erase the part of my life when I lived in penury. Their remorse is touching. The only one not wallowing in guilt is Ian, because I don’t think he understands the meaning of the word.”

Louisa flushed. “Do you think I’m wallowing in guilt?”

“You feel sorry for me, Louisa. You’ve told me.”

Her face reddened further. “You think I’ve kissed you out of pity?”

“You might believe otherwise, but yes.”

“Is that what you truly think? That I’d be so . . . patronizing?”

“Aren’t you?” Fellows knew he made her angry, but maybe if she grew furious enough she’d go, and stay away from him. “You told me once that I looked as though I needed cheering up. Poor Inspector Fellows—like a beggar standing outside the window, gazing at a feast he’s not allowed to have.” He’d felt that way often enough as a lad, especially the day he’d watched the boy Hart climb back into the sumptuous Mackenzie carriage and ride away with their father. Fellows had been left behind, outraged and bereft, and dragged off to a police station. That was the day he’d decided to become a policeman.

Louisa’s eyes were starry with anger. “How can you say that? How can you know anything about my feelings for you? You’ve never bothered to ask me!”

“I don’t remember you bothering to ask me before you coaxed me onto a ladder with you, or dragged me under the mistletoe.”

Louisa moved to him, halting close enough to him that he could breathe in her scent. Dangerous. “I don’t recall you pushing me away,” she said.

Was she mad? “Dear God, what sane man would? There you were, beautiful and wanting to kiss me. Last night you wrapped your arms around me and pulled me down to my desk with you. Only a saint would push you