“You needed me to forgive you. You demanded it, and I no longer had the strength.”

“I had no business demanding anything of you. I told you that before, remember? I humbly apologized, and I still do. I mean it.”

“I know.” Isabella finally looked at him, and he saw anxiety in her eyes, as though she worried that he wouldn’t forgive her. “I did forgive you. I knew about everything you did after I left you. Ian reported to me—and when Ian makes a report, you can be sure I hear every detail.”

They both smiled a little. Ian had the kind of mind that could remember a list of numbers three months after he’d seen it, or every word of a conversation from the previous week even when no one had thought him listening.

“So, where are we now?” Mac asked. “I’m a responsible teetotaler who’s adopted a child, but you married a carousing, carefree, wild cad. Will you even like the Mac Mackenzie I’ve become?”

Isabella reached for his hand. “You . . . I don’t know how to put this, but you’re the real you now, I think. You’ve lost all the things you hid behind. As though you’re naked and unafraid.”

Mac squeezed her fingers. “I could be naked, if you like. It’s warm enough in here.”

“But there are things about the other Mac I still love,” Isabella went on. “I love your humor, your ability to render things harmless by laughing at them. I love your charm. When you were playing with the band on the street corner, you rose to the occasion with aplomb and made your friends look like idiots for ridiculing people. I was so proud to be your wife that night.”

Mac kissed her fingers. “You know, the sergeant said I was welcome to canvass with them any time. Then you can show me again how proud you are of me.”

“And I love how you turn anything we talk of into a game of seduction.”

“Now, that is good to know.”

“It makes me feel wanted and loved.” Isabella covered his paint-smeared hand with both of hers. “I’m willing to try to be your wife again.”

Mac’s heart thumped so hard he could barely breathe. Never mind the damn letter. Having Isabella herself was hundred times better. “What do you mean by that? Exactly. Be precise. Be as precise as Ian would be. I don’t want to misunderstand. Misunderstanding would make me hope, and I can’t live on false hope.”

Isabella stilled his lips with her fingertips. “I mean that I’m willing to try to live as your wife, to see how we rub along. No more games. Just life.”

“Try.” Mac kissed her fingers before she lowered them. “Only try? Not—yes, Mac, please reverse the separation and we’ll live happily ever after?”

“No hurrying. Living together as man and wife. If we both truly have changed, if we are able to settle down and trot along happily together, then we summon Mr. Gordon and have him attend to the legal matters.”

While part of Mac rejoiced at her words, another part chafed in impatience. He wanted this done, finished, so that the gnawing in his belly could go away, and he wouldn’t wake up in terror that she’d be gone again.

Still another part of him felt a twinge of guilt. He’d started to show her his soft underbelly with the letter, but she’d cut him off before he could do much more. The letter was only part of it. She was wrong; he was still hiding, and she was praising him for it.

He gave her a wicked smile, the wretch inside him banished again. “You wish to live together as man and wife, eh? My deliciously scandalous lady.” He grasped her hand and pulled her to him. “I’ll agree to your terms. For now. Not exactly the dazzling romance I had in mind, but I’ll take it.”

“And, Mac?”

“Yes, angel?”

“I’d like to try for a baby.”

Her words washed more hope through him. Isabella had been so terrified to conceive again after her miscarriage that they’d ceased sleeping in the same bed together. Mac had understood and wanted to give her time, but keeping away from each other had put even more strain on their already strained marriage.

“That sounds a fine idea,” Mac’s mouth said while his head rang with jubilation. “We’ve been doing quite a bit of trying already. Something may come of that.”

Isabella shook her head. “I had my courses when we were in Kent.”

“Mmm.” Mac strove to suppress his sudden and acute disappointment. “Well, my sweet, we’ll simply have to try harder.” He touched a silken curl on her forehead. “And often. Much, much more often.”

“May we today?”

“Certainly.” Mac was fully erect behind his kilt, which she had to have felt even through her layers of skirts. “I know where a nice, soft bed is to be found. Across the room, in fact.”

Isabella smiled, her eyes taking on a wicked sparkle. Mac tamped down his guilty feelings as he led her to his wide bed. She’d exposed a large part of her heart this time, but Mac’s hurts would remain hidden until another day.

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” Miss Westlock said as she walked into the breakfast room the next morning.

Isabella looked up from her letters and arched her brows in surprise. The usually tidy Miss Westlock’s hair was mussed, her face ruddy, her collar askew. At the other end of the able, Mac lowered his newspaper.

“What happened?” he asked.

“As you know, my lord, it is my habit in the mornings to take a brisk walk in Hyde Park before Aimee rises.”

“Yes,” Mac said impatiently. Miss Westlock was a hardy sort, up before dawn, taking light meals and no drink, walking every day.

“Well, a peculiar thing happened this morning. A gentleman approached me along one of the walks, and for a moment, I thought it was your lordship.”

Mac stiffened, and Isabella’s pulse quickened. “Yes?” she prompted.

“When he reached me, I saw that, indeed, it was not your lordship. He looked most like you, but his eyes were different. His are most definitely brown, while yours, your lordship, are more like copper. He alarmed me, rather.”

Isabella clenched her napkin so hard she felt her nails press her palms through the cloth. “What did he do?”

“He asked me at what time I took Aimee for her walk, and would I let him speak to her then? I asked him why, and he claimed he was her father. I of course had no way of knowing whether this was true, and I advised him to consult your lordship. When I said that, he became most incensed, declaring that he was your lordship, and that you were impersonating him.”

Mac said nothing. Isabella saw his stare fix and a blood vessel begin pulsing in his neck, and she recognized that Mac was very, very angry. He rarely grew truly enraged; yes, he liked to shout and could conduct blazing rows with her, but those didn’t stem from true anger. Irritation, frustration, and exasperation, but not fury.

This was anger. Dangerous anger.

“What did you say to him?” Isabella asked Miss Westlock.

“I bade him good morning and started to walk away. He was obviously a madman, and I have learned that one does not engage a madman in conversation. And would you believe it? He seized my arm and tried to drag me away with him.”

Isabella half rose in her chair. “Are you all right? We will summon the police.”

“No, my lady, do not trouble yourself. I saw the wretch off with a few stout thumps of my umbrella. He hastened away. I doubt he wanted a constable to see him trying to accost a helpless woman.”

No one looking at Miss Westlock, especially with her stout umbrella, would think of her as a helpless woman, but Isabella was too unnerved to smile.

“Did you see which direction he went?” she asked.

“Down Knightsbridge, but my lady, he could have gone anywhere after that. He might have hailed a hansom cab and be on the other side of the city by now.”

“Damn him.”

Mac’s snarl made both women jump. He rose from his seat, resting his fists on the table, the rage in his eyes frightening to behold. “Damn the man. I’ve had enough of this.” He kicked aside his chair and shouted for Bellamy.

“Mac,” Isabella said in alarm. “Where are you going?”

“To see Fellows. I want Payne found, and I want him out of our lives.”

Isabella leapt to her feet. “Perhaps you shouldn’t . . .”

“I’m not afraid of him, Isabella. I’ll fetch Fellows, and we’ll hunt him.”

“But if he’s convinced himself that he’s you, and you’re him—or whatever he thinks—he’ll be dangerous.”

Mac gave her a feral smile. “Not half as dangerous as I am, my love.”

Isabella wanted to tell him not to go, to stay with her, but her anger matched Mac’s own. Payne had to be stopped. But the thought of the imposter trying to kill Mac terrified her.

Miss Westlock gave Mac an approving nod. “Her ladyship and I will hold down the fort, my lord, while you do battle. Between us all, we’ll see him off.”

Mac came to Isabella and gave her a hard kiss on the mouth. She tasted his rage and determination, and his strength. She loved all of it. Too soon, the pressure of his fingers disappeared, and she felt a cold draft blow through the room as Mac exited the front door.

Chapter 21

The family Mackenzie have descended on the capital, with the astonishing announcement that the youngest of them, Lord I—, has taken a wife. The artist Lord lately of Mount Street moved into a hotel for so brief a stay in Town, and his Lady, who had been sleeping at the same hotel, immediately changed her lodgings. —August 1881

Mac didn’t return. Rain came and went, and the day darkened, but Mac was not back by the time Morton tapped the gong to announce the evening meal. Isabella sat alone in the dining room, picked at her food, and sent most of the meal back untouched.