“Monkey. . .”

“Never mind. Thank you for finding me, Ian Mackenzie.  Thank you for not killing Sally Tate. Thank you for being so damned noble and conscientious.”

“I worried sometimes.” Ian rubbed his forehead in the gesture that indicated one of his troubling headaches. “Sometimes I convinced myself that it wasn’t Hart; it was me in one of my rages, blocked out so I don’t remember.” Beth closed her hand over his. “But you didn’t. Both killers are dead, and it’s over.”

“You saw me try to choke the life out of Fellows. It took Curry and Mac to pull me off him.”

“You must admit Inspector Fellows can be provoking,” Beth said, trying to make her tone light.

“In the asylum I fought my handlers at first. I hurt more than one of them. They had to strap me down to give me my treatments “ “Handlers?” Beth started to sit up, but the pain pulled her back down. “You weren’t an animal.”

“Wasn’t I?”

“No one should be tied down and beaten and given electric shocks.”

“The headaches would come, and I’d lash out at them.” His gaze slid away. “I can’t always stop the rages. What if I hurt you?”

Beth’s heart squeezed at the fear in his eyes. “You’re not your father.”

“Aren’t I? He locked me away because I’d witnessed him killing my mother, but that wasn’t the only reason. I couldn’t convince a commission I was sane—I grew so angry I could only recite one line of poetry over and over, trying to contain myself.” He caught one of her hands, brought it to his mouth.

“Beth, what if I rage at you? What if I hurt you? What if I open my eyes and your body is under my hands—“

He broke off, his eyes closing tight, tight.

“No, Ian, don’t leave me.”

“I was so angry at Sally. And I am so strong.” “Which is why you left the room. You went out to calm yourself, and it worked.” She pressed a kiss to his closed fist.  “I very much need to speak to Inspector Fellows,” she said.  She found herself pinned against the mattress. Ian’s eyes were open again, his fear gone. But for all the strength in his hands on her wrists, he made sure his weight was far from her hurt side.

“No more conversations with Inspector Fellows. He is to leave you be.”

“But—“

“No,” he growled.

He stopped her next words with his lips, and Beth was not unhappy to surrender. She said no more about it, but her mind whirled with plans. She needed to have a nice long chat with Inspector Fellows, and the good inspector would know why.

Beth recovered swiftly from her fever, but the stab wound took far longer. She could walk fairly well after another week in bed, but the pain was still profound and tired her quickly.  She hobbled around Hart’s big house, with his servants hovering, ready to bring her anything and everything. They unnerved Beth, who wasn’t used to being waited on quite so intently.

She was also frustrated because after the kiss to keep her silent, Ian distanced himself from her. He told her wanted to give her a chance to fully heal, but she knew he still worried about his anger getting away from him.

Her own father had been prone to violent rages when drunk, and he’d been free with his fists. Ian wasn’t like that—he understood the need to control his anger, and he didn’t try to do it with drink.

She knew her own reassurances wouldn’t work. She couldn’t deny that the Mackenzies had seen and caused their share of violence. But then she remembered the anguish on Hart’s face as Mrs. Palmer had died. He’d held her protectively, letting her know he was there with her until the end.  Ian had that same protective nature, the one that had made him openly defy Hart to protect Beth. She burned for Ian, but most nights, he stayed away from the bed altogether.  Beth had many visitors, from Isabella to Cameron’s son, Daniel, all anxious about her. She’d never had a family before, never had more than one person at a time care whether she lived or died. Sometimes she’d had no one at all. The Mackenzies’ acceptance warmed her. Isabella had been right that the brothers often forgot to dampen their very masculine manners for ladies, but Beth didn’t mind. She liked that Mac and Cameron were comfortable enough around her to be themselves, and she knew their rough manners hid good heartedness.  As Ian continued to insist on confining her, Beth began to feel like a prisoner in a plush palace. She had to resort to bribing Curry to do what she wanted.

“Your ladyship, ‘e’ll kill me,” Curry said in dismay when he heard Beth’s instructions.

“I only want to speak to the man. You can bring him here.”

“Oh, right you are. And then ‘is lordship will kill me. Not to mention ‘Is Grace.”

“Please, Curry. And I won’t chide you on what I saw you and Katie getting up to on the back stairs yesterday morning.”

Curry turned brilliant red. “You’re a hard one, ain’t ya?

Does my master know what ‘e’s got ‘imself into?” “I grew up in the gutter, Curry, same as you. I learned to be hard.”

“Not the same as me, begging your pardon, missus. We might ‘ave both lived in the gutter, but you ain’t from it.  You’re quality, m’lady, ‘cause your mum was a gentleman’s daughter. You ain’t ever the same as me.”

“I beg your pardon, Curry. I didn’t mean to presume.”

He grinned at her. “Right. Just so it doesn’t ‘appen again.”

He sobered. “Ooh, but ‘e’s going to kill me.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Beth said. “You just get on with it.”

Ian opened the door of Beth’s bedchamber a week into Beth’s healing and sidestepped as Curry rushed out. For the last few days, he’d seen Curry scuttle in and out of Beth’s bedchamber, giving Ian furtive glances. He gave Ian one now.  “Where the hell are you going?” Ian asked him.  Curry didn’t stop. “Things to do, things to do.” He disappeared into the hall below and was gone.

Inside, Beth reclined on the chaise, her face pink, her breath quick. Ian crossed to her and put his hand on her forehead, but found no fever. He sat down on the sliver of chaise next to her, liking her body against his.

“We’ll leave for Scotland next week. You should be well enough to travel by then.”

“Is that an order, husband?”

Ian laced his hand through her hair. He wanted her, but was willing to forgo the pleasure of sating himself to keep from hurting her. “You will like my home in Scotland. We’ll get married there.”

“We’re already married, I might point out.”

“You can have your real wedding, with the white dress and lilies of the valley, like you told me at the opera.” Her slim brows arched. “You remember that? But of course you do. That sounds delightful.”

Ian rose. “Rest until then.”

Beth caught his hand. Her touch warmed his blood, made him crave her. “Ian, don’t go.”

He disentangled her hand from his, but she gripped it again. “Please stay. We can simply . . . talk.”

“Best not to.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Please.”

She thought he was rejecting her. Ian leaned down swiftly, placed his fists on either side of her. “If I stay, my wife, I won’t want to talk. I won’t be able to stop myself from doing as I please with you.”

Her eyes darkened. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Ian ran the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “I can protect you from everyone else, but who protects you from me?”

Beth’s lip trembled as she tried to catch his. gaze. He flicked it quickly away. Beth used his moment of distraction to lace her arms around his neck and kiss him full on the mouth.

Treacherous woman. He met her seeking tongue with his, her lips warm and skilled with what he’d taught her. She distracted him again by nibbling his lower lip, while her hand went straight to his hard shaft.

“No,” he groaned.

Beth slid her fingers around the buttons of his trousers and popped them open one by one. “I vow I will speak to whoever designs undergarments for men and tell them that they are deuced difficult to part under certain circumstances.”

Ian was so hard he hurt. Her fingers were more confident as she closed them around his cock, her thumb brushing across his tip. He clenched his teeth as she swirled her fingers around his flange, teasing his sensitive skin. Ian found himself fisting her hair, and released her before he could pull it. He closed his fingers over her shoulder, his grip biting into the thick brocade of her gown.

“Do you like that?” she whispered.

Ian couldn’t answer. His hips moved, wanting to thrust.  “I like it,” she said. “I love how hard your staff is, yet the skin is silken. I remember how it feels under my tongue.” She must be trying to kill him. Ian closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, willing himself to make her stop.  “It tasted warm and just a bit salty,” she went on. “I remember comparing you to smooth cream.” She laughed a little. “When I took your seed inside my mouth, it was the first time I’d ever done that. I wanted to swallow every bit of you.”

Her voice was shy and sultry at the same time, her fingers as skilled as a courtesan’s. Better than a courtesan’s, because Beth wasn’t doing this at his command. She was giving it as a gift.

“I am trying to learn bawdy talk,” she said. “Am I doing well?”

“Yes.” He grated the word. Ian tilted her face up to his and gave her a long, deep-tongued kiss. Beth opened her mouth for him, smiling at the same time.

“Will you whisper bawdy talk to me?” she asked. “I seem to like it.”

Ian put his lips to her ear and told her in very explicit terms exactly what he wanted to do to her, and where and how and with what. Beth flushed a deep red, but her eyes were starry.

“How vexing that I am so feeble,” she said. “We will have to save such things for when I am well.”