away, and I assure you, I am no saint.”

Louisa took a breath, pulling her voice down from a shout. “Why are you trying to make me angry? You are being deliberately cruel. Why?”

“Because you can’t be here. I said that when I came in. We can’t be together, Louisa. No declarations, nothing.” Fellows tried to speak steadily. “If anyone discovers me even talking to you, the investigation will be compromised. I’ll be pulled from the case and a detective assigned to it who cares nothing for truth, only for arrests and convictions.”

She looked puzzled. “But I’m not the only suspect now. Hargate was a blackmailer, with many other victims. You said you had ideas.”

“And by your own admission, Hargate was blackmailing you. You still had a motive, still are a very good suspect. So until this investigation is over, we don’t see each other, we don’t speak. If I have anything more to ask you regarding Hargate, I’ll send Sergeant Pierce to you. Do you understand?”

“Well enough.” Another of the small silences fell. “What about when the investigation is over?”

“I don’t know.” Fellows drew a breath. “There is still . . . I don’t know.”

“And yet, you have my photograph.”

They looked at each other a long moment. Everything spoken and unspoken hovered between them, waiting to be shattered.

Then Fellows moved around and past her, making himself give her a wide berth. He strode to the bedchamber, slammed inside it, grabbed the small photo from the dresser, and slammed out again.

He thrust the photograph at her. “Take it.”

Louisa didn’t reach for it. “Why? It’s yours.”

“Take it.” Fellows grabbed her wrist, pulled her gloved hand to him, and slapped the framed photo into it. “Give it back to Eleanor, keep it for yourself, give it to Mr. Franklin. I don’t give a damn.”

“You’re horrible.”

“Yes, I am. Best you know that. Now get out.”

Louisa stared at him, her mouth open, red lips moist. It was all Fellows could do not to sweep her up, deposit her on the sofa, strip off her clothes, and have her. Now. Hang the investigation.

And then Louisa might truly hang. No, Fellows would never let that happen. Even if he had to stay away from her from this point forward, let her marry another man, and never see her again, he’d do it to keep her from harm. Louisa’s life was worth far more to him than his own happiness.

Louisa didn’t hurry to obey. She looked up at Fellows for a long time, then clutched the photograph to her chest.

“I’ll go,” she said in her quiet voice. “I understand how it will look for the investigation if it’s thought we are having a liaison. But I won’t stay away forever.”

“When that time comes, no doubt we’ll argue again,” Fellows said.

“Do plan on it.” Louisa turned from him, snatching up the hat she’d left on a side table. “When I hear someone else has been found to be the culprit, I’ll seek you out again. I doubt you’ll send me word, so I won’t wait for it.” She dropped the photograph into her pocket, thrust the hat onto her head, and turned to the mirror to stab two hatpins through the hat's crown.

Fellows watched her, mesmerized, as Louisa turned back to him, the hat perfectly in place. She gave him a last glare then marched past him and out the door without a good-bye. Despite her words, the slam of the door behind her spoke of finality.

* * *

Fellows spent the next two days frantically going over his notes, questioning those he felt should be reexamined, including Mrs. Leigh-Waters and the interesting reason Hargate had blackmailed her. She’d had an affair a dozen years ago, the notebook said. The affair had ended, Mrs. Leigh-Waters told Fellows tearfully. The gentleman in question had married and gone to live in Boston with his American wife, and they never corresponded. But her husband had never learned of it.

Hargate had somehow found out and decided to torment her about it. Hargate had found out many things about many people. He’d used the leverage over them to obtain money, favors, positions, and his bishopric.

Any number of people might have wanted to kill Hargate, yes, Fellows thought in frustration. But only one of them had figured out how to put the poison into the right teacup.

By Monday morning, Fellows had not uncovered who. At least, not with enough evidence to convince Chief Superintendent Kenton.

Fellows was ordered to take the train to Newmarket. A police van drove him to King’s Cross station, a constable making sure he boarded. Kenton, understanding Fellows’ desperation, said he wouldn’t officially assign Inspector Harrison to the case until Fellows returned. Fellows would have until after the races to come up with an answer. But he had to go to Newmarket.

When Fellows arrived in Newmarket, the entire Mackenzie brood already there, the horse-mad aristos of England were abuzz with the latest gossip. The Honorable Gilbert Franklin had proposed to Lady Louisa Scranton, and wedding bells were sure to ring before midsummer.

Chapter Fifteen

Louisa loved the racing season, loved traveling with Cameron Mackenzie and his growing family to Epsom Downs, Newmarket, Goodwood, Doncaster. The Mackenzies had a private box in the stands at each course, usually full of the family cheering on Cameron’s horses.

All the Mackenzies had gathered for this Newmarket race, including the duke and duchess. The children had come to Newmarket as well, though they were currently at the hired house under the watchful eyes of their nannies. Cameron, Daniel’s father, tall and harsh-voiced, stayed in the box only a short time, impatient to get back to his horses. Cameron bore a deep scar on his cheek, evidence of his former unhappiness. Louisa watched Cam’s second wife, Ainsley, rise on her tiptoes to kiss that scar before he left. Softness flashed into Cameron’s eyes, and the look he gave Ainsley was full of heat and fierce joy.

Cameron left the box, pausing to say something to Daniel on his way out. Daniel laughed out loud, looking exactly like his father in that moment.

“Excellent weather for it,” Gilbert Franklin said next to Louisa.

Eleanor had enthusiastically invited Gil to attend the races with them. Isabella, when informed, had been less than pleased. Izzy had been cool to Gil since he’d called at the Mount Street house the morning after Louisa’s encounter in Fellows’ flat. Gil had asked to speak to Louisa alone and then proposed to her, even going down on his knees to do it.

Weeks ago, Isabella had been happy to help Louisa with her idea of using the Season to try to find a husband. Now that Gil, the perfect match, had made it clear he wanted Louisa to be his wife, Izzy barely stopped shy of snubbing him. That she didn’t approve was obvious.

Gil put his warm hand on Louisa’s arm, and her shaking started again. Every time Gil touched her, Louisa trembled. Any other woman might believe herself madly in love, half swooning at the touch of her beloved, but Louisa knew better. She shook because she felt as though she’d boarded a wrong train, and that train was rocketing off into the wilderness, no way to stop it.

When Louisa saw the unmistakable form of Lloyd Fellows approach Cameron near the track below, she became suddenly sick to her stomach.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Gil asked her in concern.

She really should be more grateful to him, she knew. Gil was like clear water, soothing, never troubling. Louisa ought to be glad, after all the upsets in her life, to lie still and let the water trickle over her.

Fellows, on the other hand, was fire. Fire burned. Even the spark of him was enough to sear her to the bone. Louisa always hurt when she was with Fellows, and merely looking at him talking to Cameron made her ache.

Fire and water. Water should put out the fire and ease the pain. Then again, fire that was hot enough jumped over water and continued its destruction.

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