The Untamed Mackenzie

The shade of the stall was soothing. So were the scent of horses, the pungent smell of feed, and the mellower smells of leather and soap.

“Did anyone see you?” Fellows asked.

“No. I was careful.”

“Good.”

“Then I was right,” she said. “You wanted me to follow you?”

“Yes. I need to talk to you. About Franklin. You can’t marry him.”

His gruff tone made her heart beat faster. At the same time, her anger rose. “I see. Do the police approve all marriages now?”

“Only yours. You are engaged to him?”

His voice was calm, but full of rage. Louisa looked into his hazel eyes to find the fire high.

“No,” Louisa said. She wanted him to know. “The truth is, Gil did propose. I admit I didn’t discourage him from asking. He’d spoken to my mother and my cousin before he called on me. Such an old-fashioned gentleman, don’t you think? They were delighted.”

“And were you delighted?” Fellows watched her closely.

Louisa rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled. “It was very kind of him. Considering my current notoriety, it was brave of him to declare his intentions. But in all honesty—and no one but the family knows this—I haven’t given him my answer yet. So no, I am not officially engaged to him.”

Fellows lost his stiffness in an instant. “Thank God.” The words flowed with relief.

Louisa regarded him in surprise. “I thought you’d be pleased to hear I was engaged. That would keep tongues from wagging about me and you, wouldn’t it? And prevent you being taken off the investigation. I am letting people believe as they wish until I give Gil my final answer.”

“Why the devil should I be pleased?” His rage was back. “Use the betrothal as a blind if you want, but tell him no. You can’t marry Gilbert Franklin.”

“Why not? I believe you made it clear that you and I are not suited. Never will be. That you have no intention of trying to make us suit.” Louisa unlaced her arms to pick at her tight gloves. “You made it painfully clear.”

“This has nothing to do with what is between you and me. You can’t marry Franklin for the very simple reason that he is already married.”

Louisa had drawn a breath, ready to argue, then the breath lodged in her throat. “What?”

Fellows gave her a grim nod. “The Not-So-Honorable Mr. Franklin about six years ago married a woman in a village outside Rome. He has four children by her.”

Louisa staggered. She reached her hand out to the board wall to steady herself. Not enough support. She turned to put her back against it.

“Four children . . . No, that can’t be. You must be mistaken. You must have the wrong Mr. Franklin.”

“It’s not a mistake.” The words were flat, final.

“But . . .” Louisa wet her lips, finding a bit of cream she hadn’t managed to wipe away. “Good heavens, why didn’t you tell me before this? I’ve been considering accepting Gil’s offer. Seriously considering it, because you gave me no hope.”

“I didn’t know until yesterday evening. I ordered Sergeant Pierce to find out everything he could about Franklin, especially after his name turned up in Hargate’s notebook of sinners. I only had the telegrams from Rome last night. A copy of a parish register will follow in the post. Franklin married her all right. Legally. She’s the daughter of a farmer. But I suppose an earl’s son knew he needed a more acceptable bride to please his family and friends.”

Louisa remained against the wall, unable to make herself stand. Part of her continued to argue. The Roman police had to be wrong. Fellows was wrong. It must be a mistake.

But Louisa knew Lloyd Fellows. He was thorough. He would not make a statement like this until he was absolutely certain of its truth.

Disbelief fled, and along came anger. Louisa balled her fists. “That absolute rat!” She pushed herself off the wall and started to pace. “How dare he? To think, I felt sorry for him!”

Her agitated walking brought her up against Fellows, or maybe he’d stepped in front of her. He stood quietly, a rock she could cling to, a calm in the storm.

“And you say Hargate was blackmailing him?” Louisa asked. “Bloody hell.” The expletive came out—from Louisa, who’d been raised to never dream of swearing. “I can scarce believe it. Devil take all men.” She looked up at Fellows, who watched her from his solid height. “And you!” Her fists came up, and she thumped them once to his chest. “You made me fall in love with you. You made me start to believe you cared for me in return, and then you pushed me away. And I don’t mean because you were worried about risking the investigation. You implied that, even after the investigation was over, there’d be no hope. How dare you?”

She pummeled him a few times, but he didn’t move, didn’t flinch. When Louisa wound down, Fellows said, “In love.”

The words were flat, calm, as though he was too stunned to put more emotion behind them.

“Yes, in love. Good heavens, why else would I chase you about and throw myself at you like a ninny? I convinced myself I wanted a respectable marriage—to save my family’s reputation and to keep from being pitied, I thought. But I lied to myself. Pursuing a marriage was only an excuse to forget about you. But then you started to let me hope. And then you took that hope away.”

Louisa’s fists moved again, and Fellows grabbed her flailing hands.

“Louisa. Stop.” He frowned down at her, his hazel eyes holding something she didn’t understand.

“Why?” Louisa tried and failed to jerk away. “Why shouldn’t I shout at you? You deserve to be shouted at!”

“Louisa.” Fellows shook her once, hard. “You have to . . . stop.”

Louisa looked up at him, startled out of her frenzy. Fellows studied her a few heartbeats more, then he dragged her against him.

“You have to stop, sweetheart,” Fellows said. “Because I love you so much, it’s killing me.”

Chapter Sixteen

Fellows couldn’t believe he’d said the words, but he didn’t want to take them back. Not with Louisa gaping up at him, a fleck of cream still on the corner of her mouth.

When he’d peeked into the tea tent and seen her closing her mouth around the profiterole, the cream smearing across her lips, he’d had to turn away before he rushed in and hauled her out. Not only out of the tea tent, but out of Newmarket and back to London and his flat where he could have her all night. He’d smothered a groan, hoping no one noticed his sudden hard-on, and walked away with difficulty.

Fellows had wanted to catch her attention, because he needed to warn her off Mr. Franklin before it was too late. Betrothals could be as binding as marriage, especially if the marriage settlements had already been put in motion. Even if Louisa hated Fellows for the information, he refused to stand by and let Mr. Franklin lie to her and ruin her.

He’d gotten Louisa to follow him here so they wouldn’t be seen together. But now, alone with her, in the dim coolness of the stall, Fellows knew his mistake.

Louisa was tight against him, her eyes full of fire, her lips brushed with cream. He could no longer resist her—he only had so much strength. He leaned down and licked the side of her mouth.

The sparks he’d seen inside her ignited. Louisa twined her arms around Fellows and pulled him down to her for a full, hard, and desperate kiss.

They were not leaving. Fellows scraped her to him, his hand in her hair. Her hat came away and fell to the hay, and he was pulling her up into him, his arm solidly around her.

Louisa kissed him with urgency. Her hands scrabbled on his back, his neck, his shoulders. She wasn’t an