“Forgave him enough to let your father invest money for him?” Fellows asked.

Louisa’s smile was thin and forced. “Investing with my father became the fashionable thing to do. Everyone wanted to say they’d of course entrusted their money to Earl Scranton.”

All the worse when the scheme came tumbling down. “And Hargate was angry when everything fell apart?”

Eleanor broke in. “Of course he was. So many were, unfortunately. But when I spoke to Hargate earlier this Season, he seemed unconcerned about it. No grudges there. But Hargate’s family have always given him piles of money, even though he was the second son, and he never had to worry much about the ready. Seems to me Hargate led a charmed life. He would have found a seat in the House of Lords soon and lived happily ever after. Well, happy except for being a bit bullied by Hart. But then his luck ran out, poor man.”

“And I need to find out who killed him, and quickly. That’s why I’ve come to you for help,” Fellows said, looking at Eleanor.

Eleanor contrived to look surprised again. “I don’t know what I can do.”

She did know, but she was making Fellows spell it out. “You know everyone. When I talk to them, they see a policeman prying into their affairs. No, don’t bother telling me I’m one of the family and they should treat me as though I’m a true Mackenzie. I’m the illegitimate son and always will be. When you talk to them, they see their friend Lady Eleanor Ramsay. They’ll tell you things they’d never dream of telling me.”

“And then I report it all to you.” Eleanor gave him a severe look. “You are asking me to spy on my friends.”

“I am, yes.”

Eleanor’s severe look vanished, and she beamed a smile. “Sounds delightful. When do I begin?”

“As soon as you can.”

“Hmm, Isabella’s supper ball would be a good place to start. Absolutely everyone will be there. She’s hired assembly rooms for it, because her house is far too small for such a grand event—even this house isn’t large enough to hold the entire upper echelon of English society. Besides, Hart has become quite tedious about having any large affairs here now that there’s a baby in the house, although I—”

Eleanor broke off when a small cry—more of a grunt—invaded the silence, even over Old Ben’s snores. Fellows saw now what he’d missed by focusing all his attention on Louisa—a bassinet hidden behind the sofa, its interior shielded from the sunshine by a light cloth.

Eleanor rose immediately, went to the bassinet, and lifted out a small body in a long nightgown. “Here’s my little man,” she cooed, her voice filling with vast fondness. “Forgive my abruptness, dear friends, but I wanted to pick up my son before he started howling. He can shatter the windows, can little Alec.”

Fellows had risen automatically as soon as Eleanor left her seat. Eleanor lifted the boy high, gazing at him in pure rapture. “Did you have a good nap, Alec? Look, Uncle Lloyd has come to see you.” Eleanor turned the baby and held him out to Fellows.

Fellows looked at a sleep-flushed face, tousled red-gold hair, and the eyes of Hart Mackenzie. At the age of four months, Alec—Lord Hart Alec Mackenzie, Eleanor and Hart’s firstborn—already had the hazel-golden Mackenzie eyes and the look of arrogant command of every Mackenzie male.

As Fellows stood still, unwilling to reach for this little bundle he might drop, Alec’s face scrunched into a fierce scowl. Then he opened his mouth, and roared.

Fellows had heard plenty of children cry in hunger, in fear, or in want of simple attention. Alec’s bellowing possessed the strength of his Highland ancestors, calling out for blood.

Old Ben woke up with a snort, looking around in concern. Eleanor laughed, turned Alec, and cuddled him close. “There, now, Alec. The inspector can’t help looking at you like that. He scrutinizes everyone so.” Alec’s cries quieted as he snuggled into his mother’s shoulder. Ben huffed again then laid his large head back down.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Eleanor said. “I must return this lad to the nursery for his afternoon feeding. Tell Louisa what you wish me to do, and thank you for keeping us up on the matter.”

So saying, she gathered Alec tighter and breezed out of the room before Fellows could say a word.

The closing door left him alone with Louisa. She looked up from her place on the sofa to where Fellows stood, awkwardly holding his coffee cup.

“You may leave if you wish,” Louisa said. She wanted him to, that was plain.

Fellows remained standing but set down the coffee. “I’m glad to report I was able to make the investigation turn its focus from you,” he said, trying to sound brisk and businesslike. “You’re not to be arrested unless there’s evidence solid enough to bring you before the magistrate. The coroner and my chief super don’t want to risk putting an earl’s daughter in jail unless the chance of making the charges stick is very high. I’ve convinced my sergeant and my guv that the story of the man escaping from under the tent wall is true.”

“It’s very good of you.”

Such a stiff and formal response from the woman he wanted to gaze at him in soft delight. His heart burned. “No, it’s very bad of me to lie to my own men, but I am trying to keep you out of Newgate.”

“And I am grateful to you, make no mistake.”

“But angry you have to be grateful to me,” Fellows said, his words brittle.

“No, not angry. It’s just . . .” Louisa heaved a sigh, pushed herself to her feet, and paced the sunny room. Ben watched her without raising his head. “I’m confused. I don’t know what to do, or how to think or feel. How I should think or feel. Or how to behave.”

“It’s a bad business,” Fellows said tightly.

“And now you’re trying to help me, and I’m being horribly rude. I . . .” Louisa swung around, her peach and cream skirts swishing. “Nothing in my life has prepared me for this. Even Papa defrauding all his friends was not as difficult to understand—you’d be appalled how many wealthy gentlemen are bad at simple business matters. But watching a man die and then being accused of killing him—that I have no idea how to parry.”

“Being accused?” Fellows asked sharply. “Has someone said that to you?”

“No, but they are all thinking it. I can feel them thinking it. Out there.” She waved her hand at the windows. “Even you think it.”

“I don’t. That’s why I’m trying to find the culprit.”

“If you didn’t have a doubt, you wouldn’t go to such pains to keep me from being arrested.”

Fellows stepped in front of her, forcing her to stop. “Let me make this clear to you, Louisa. You’re right that everything at this moment points to you. But if you believe our system of justice will prove your innocence, only because you’re innocent, you are wrong. If a judge gets it into his head that you’re a giddy young woman who goes around poisoning potential suitors, nothing will change his mind, not the best barrister, not the jury. Most of the judges at the Old Bailey are about a hundred years old and regard young women as either temptresses or fools. Would you like to face one of them? Or a gallery of eager people off the streets, coming to mock you? Journalists writing about what you look like standing in the dock? Every expression, every gesture you make?”

Louisa’s face lost color. “No, of course not.”

“Then let me do my job and keep you out of court. I wish you didn’t hate me for it, but if the price of keeping you free is your hatred, so be it.” And a hard price to pay it was.

Louisa’s eyes glittered with tears. “No, I don’t hate you. You must know that. I never could.”

She was too beautiful. Her hair was coming down in soft little ringlets, the red shining in the April sunshine. Many English aristocratic families had Anglo-Saxon ancestry, and it was evident in Louisa—pale skin, bright hair, eyes of brilliant green. Fellows could drown himself in her beauty and never want to come up for air.

He caught her hands. The touch of her warm flesh sent his heart pounding and swept away the last fragment of his self-discipline.

He pulled her by her fisted hands against him, her soft body becoming the focus of his world. Fellows heard nothing, saw nothing but her beautiful face and eyes, her lips parting as he came down to her.

The first taste was intoxicating. Sweetness clung to Louisa’s lips from the tea she’d drunk, laced with sugar and cream.

He needed more. Fellows opened her mouth with his, sweeping his tongue inside. Louisa made a noise in her throat, and clutched the lapels on his coat. She kissed him clumsily, unpracticed, but eager.

She smelled of lilacs and dusty silk, and a warmth that was all Louisa. They were alone in silence and sunshine. Fellows slid his arms around her, finding the curve of her waist. Her bodice’s smooth fabric was thin, the bones of her corset the only barrier between him and her soft skin.

If he could strip away the layers of her—satin, lawn, lace—and touch her, he knew he’d fill the gaping hole in his life.

She was against him now, her breasts to his chest, her fingers tightening on his coat. Fellows tasted more of her. Her lips were soft, hot, but seeking, learning . . . wanting. He was hard for her, growing harder by the second.

I need her. I would do anything . . .

A sound outside the door made Fellows break the kiss. Louisa backed away, her eyes wide, breath coming fast. Fellows let her go, finding his fists clenched, his heart pounding, raw emotion tearing at his control.

But he needed control. They were in the Duke of Kilmorgan’s London house, with servants moving to and fro outside the door, the lady of the house likely to enter at any moment. Eleanor had slyly left them alone, but if she opened the door and found virginal Louisa in Fellows’ arms, he ravishing her mouth, even Eleanor wouldn’t be able to look the other way.