The Untamed Mackenzie

people is all. And looking at horses. I love horses, you know.”

“Well, it’s good to have you back to myself,” Gil said.

He smiled his warm smile, full of friendliness, no less sincere than when she’d left him an hour ago. Louisa had felt slightly guilty to receive his kind attentions then; now he only irritated her. What a difference an hour made!

Gil sat next to her and again moved close without being too obvious. But now the movement seemed possessive and arrogant, as though Gil implied he knew exactly how to behave and Louisa did not.

“I long to travel,” Louisa said to him. “To lands far away. Don’t you?”

Gil raised his brows at the non sequitur. “Yes, I enjoy travel. But there’s something to be said for good old England, isn’t there?”

“That’s true, but I very much enjoy my journeys to Scotland. Such wild land there, some of it quite rough. But beautiful, I think. Land untouched by any but God.”

“Yes, Scotland can be lovely,” Gil agreed, obviously wondering why on earth she’d brought it up.

“But I’ve never been abroad. I wasn’t able to have a Grand Tour. Perhaps we could go together, Gil. I’d especially love to see the Italian cities: Florence, Venice, Rome. Shall we go to Rome?”

Gil stared at her as though she’d lost her senses. “I suppose. Rome is a bit crowded. Hot in the summer. Loud.”

“Is it? But there is so much history there, and art. And I thought you partial to the city.”

“Well, yes, it can be beautiful,” Gil said, still bewildered. “But really, I think we ought to stay in northern climes. For instance, Paris in the summer is heavenly.”

“I think I’d prefer Rome. I hear some of the outlying towns are very pretty. Perhaps you can introduce me to your acquaintance there.”

Gil looked at her in confusion for a few moments longer, then Louisa saw him realize that she knew. His brows came down, lower, lower, in puzzlement, worry, anger.

“Louisa.”

Louisa patted his arm. “Do not worry, Gil. I wouldn’t make any sort of trouble for you. But it is a bit unfair to her, isn’t it? Oh, and to me. Marrying me under false pretenses, I mean.”

The last statement brought the other conversations in the box to a halt. Heads turned. Gilbert suddenly found himself under the scrutiny of four pairs of Mackenzie eyes, and the equally stony stares of the Mackenzie wives.

Gil’s face lost color. “It isn’t . . . the marriage wasn’t legal.”

“I have been told that it was legal without doubt,” Louisa said. “From a very good source. I am certain she insisted on it, wise lady. I think you’d better confess your sins, Gil. To your parents, to your friends, to me. Is bringing your true wife to England such a difficulty?”

“Louisa.” Gil tried frantically to lower his voice, but too late. “It was nothing. A youthful indiscretion is all. Long ago.”

Daniel broke in. “Ah, those youthful indiscretions. Always come back to haunt one, don’t they?”

Mac laughed. “You’re too young to have youthful indiscretions haunting you, Danny.”

“Don’t be so certain,” Ainsley said. “You’d be amazed what comes to light about our Daniel. But you were speaking of your indiscretions, Gil. Do not let us interrupt.”

Gilbert kept his gaze on Louisa. “You must believe me, Louisa. I was very young. It was mad and brief, and over.”

Louisa’s anger had climbed down a long way since she’d first learned Gilbert’s guilty secret. Wild happiness had erased most of her outrage. Now she could pity him, but the anger was still there. Gil had cold-bloodedly decided he’d lie to Louisa, and to his true wife, to deceive everyone. It was base and mean.

“I would believe you, Gil,” Louisa said. “But four children? Four little ones hardly indicates that you’ve left the affair far in the past.”

Gil dropped the innocent look. “Bloody hell.”

“A wife and four children, Mr. Franklin?” Hart’s eagle gaze skewered him.

“Indeed,” Louisa said. “They live in a village near Rome. Gil married her . . . about six years ago, was it, Gil? I imagine you realized your father would kick up a fuss if he discovered you’d married an Italian farmer’s daughter, so you decided to take an English wife of noble birth to keep him happy.”

Gil seized her hands. “No, Louisa. I asked you to marry me because I want to marry you. I will divorce her. I am having difficulty, I will admit—she’s Catholic and won’t hear of it. But I promise, I’ll get out of it. I have my best solicitors on it.”

Louisa tried to withdraw her hands, but Gilbert held them hard. She shook her head, realizing as she did so, that a piece of hay still rested on her shoulder. Daniel had noticed it, according to the sudden shrewd look he gave her.

“It makes no difference to me whether you extract yourself from the marriage or not,” Louisa said to Gil. “You must see that. I rather think you weren’t going to tell me about it at all, were you?”

“I will obtain the divorce,” Gil said stubbornly. “I won’t hold you to anything, Louisa. We won’t announce an engagement, even, if you don’t want to, until it’s done. But please, don’t say no. I love you.”

Hart had left his place in the corner of the box to take a seat next to Gil. “You’re in a bad place, Franklin,” he said. “Louisa is trying to tell you to take yourself away from her. I’ll go further and tell you to leave England altogether. Go back to Italy and acknowledge your wife and children. If you don’t think they’ll be happy in England, then stay with them and settle down there.”

Gil drew himself up. “Do not presume to tell me what to do, Kilmorgan. Your copybook is blotted far worse than mine.”

“It’s the nature of the blots that are important,” Hart said. “Secret wives cause all sorts of legal complications. And then there are your children. Four, Louisa said? All yours?”

“Yes,” Gil snapped.

“Then acknowledge them as yours. Raise them. Be a father to them. The cruelest thing you can do in this world, Franklin, is to not acknowledge your sons and daughters. Don’t let them grow up believing their father doesn’t want them.”

Like Lloyd. He grew up knowing his father had rejected him. Hart understood that. Louisa read remorse in Hart’s eyes for what his father had done.

“They’ve done nothing to deserve that,” Louisa said in avid agreement.

“Louisa, please.”

Louisa got to her feet. Gil, trained in politeness from the cradle, rose to his at the same time. But Louisa had reached the end of her patience with him. “I won’t marry you, Gil. Not now, not if you obtain a divorce. You may as well go to Italy and stay there. I think you should leave at once. I’m sure you can find a train that will carry you to Dover this very evening.”

“Louisa . . .”

“No, Gil. I’d like you to go now.”

Louisa took a step away from him, intending to join the ladies. Gil reached for her, desperation on his face. Louisa sidestepped his outstretched hands, tripped, and came down on the same foot she’d wrenched dancing.

She cried out and started to fall. Gil snatched at her in true alarm and missed.

Another hand caught Louisa under her arm, lifting her up again. Ian. He frowned down at her, the look in his eyes telling Louisa he knew everything that was going on and everything that would come.

How he knew, Louisa didn’t bother trying to understand. What Ian did and didn’t know was always astonishing to her.

“Wretched foot.” Louisa took a step and cried out again. Ian’s grip tightened, and Daniel sprang to her other side, supporting her between himself and Ian.

“Sit down, Aunt Louisa,” Daniel said. “I’ll fetch Angelo. He’s excellent at binding up fetlocks.”

Louisa grimaced. “Thank you, Danny, but I believe I’ve done more to my fetlock than I previously thought.”

“She’s right,” Isabella said worriedly. “We’ll take you to a doctor, dear. I’m sure there are competent surgeons in Newmarket.”