Jennifer Ashley - The Untamed Mackenzie

Louisa’s fingers went to her lips. The first time she’d kissed him, she’d smiled warmly at him. The second time, Fellows had left her abruptly and hadn’t seen her reaction. Now Louisa looked stunned, even ashamed.

Fellows made himself move around her to the door. He knew he should say something, a polite good-bye, but he couldn’t. Politeness had gone to hell and didn’t matter.

He found his hand shaking as he reached for the door handle, then he was in the hall, and going down the stairs, the encounter over.

No, not over. Fellows might have left Louisa behind, but he felt her hot kiss linger on his lips for the rest of the day and on into the night.

“Why aren’t you coming, exactly?” Louisa asked Eleanor six hours later.

“Because I am quite unwell.” Eleanor lounged on a sofa in her bedchamber, looking perfectly healthy as she bounced Alec on her knees. She wore a dressing gown instead of a ball gown, and was nowhere near ready to leave for Isabella’s supper ball.

Louisa in her finery had arrived at Eleanor and Hart’s, having agreed that Hart and Eleanor would escort her tonight. A young, unmarried lady did not go to a ball alone. When Louisa had argued that she could simply ride over to the assembly rooms with Isabella, Eleanor had negated the idea. If Louisa went with Isabella, she would be the sister working behind the scenes, not the young, eligible earl’s daughter announced to the crowd arriving with the Duke and Duchess of Kilmorgan.

Louisa had also questioned the need for them all to leave from the Grosvenor Square house—Hart and Eleanor could collect her from Isabella’s on their way. But no, Eleanor wanted them all to be seen leaving from the ducal mansion. She seemed adamant.

Usually it was easier to simply agree with Eleanor when she was determined, because she could talk any argument to death—Eleanor would go off onto many and varied tangents until everyone forgot what the original disagreement had been. What Eleanor wanted wasn’t unreasonable, so Louisa had given in before Eleanor had time to launch into one of her impossible speeches.

But now it seemed that Louisa was to go to the ball escorted by Hart, Beth, and Ian, while Eleanor remained at home to nurse a cold.

Cold, my foot.

Louisa said, “You do remember that Mr. Fellows asked you to converse tonight with the guests from the garden party?”

“Oh, you can do that, dear. And Beth can help you. She’s very good at making others open up.”

That, at least was true. Beth, married to the elusive Ian Mackenzie, was good at winning people over. But the thought of approaching the garden party guests unnerved Louisa a bit.

“Hart will be annoyed,” Louisa tried.

“Hart prefers I stay indoors and make my apologies if I don’t feel well. He never dances at balls anyway, and if he does not have to worry about me there, he’s free to spend the time coercing gentlemen into doing things for him. He so enjoys that. And he does not mind in the slightest escorting you. He calls you the only sensible woman in the family.”

Flattering from Hart, who tolerated so very few. “Hardly kind to you or the other Mackenzie ladies,” Louisa said.

“Hart also enjoys being rude. But in this case, I agree with him. Run along, dear.” Eleanor blew her a kiss. “You look absolutely beautiful in that gown. Isabella has wonderful taste, does she not? And it strikes just the right note.”

The gown was indeed beautiful. Isabella had taken Louisa to her modiste at the beginning of the Season to have Louisa fitted with an entire wardrobe, and had insisted on paying for the lot. Louisa had kept her protests to a minimum. She didn’t want to be ungrateful for her sister’s kindness, she did need the clothes, and also, it was true, Isabella had exquisite taste.

The ball gown for tonight was a cream and light sage green confection, the décolletage baring Louisa’s shoulders, the satin of the bodice hugging her waist. The underskirt was draped with cream lace, with a shimmering sage moiré overskirt pulled back and puffed over a bustle. The gown spoke of spring and light breezes, and set off Louisa’s red hair and green eyes to perfection.

Louisa crossed the room, leaned down, and kissed Eleanor’s cheek. She had no worry about catching Eleanor’s cold—she had as much chance of flying out the window.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’ll go,” Louisa said. She pressed a kiss to Alec’s forehead. The lad clutched at her hair, but Louisa gently untangled his tiny fingers, kissed him again, and left them.

Hart waited outside the front door at the carriage, stepping back so Louisa could be handed in first. He did not look pleased, but he greeted Louisa civilly enough and handed her into the landau himself.

Louisa understood now why Eleanor had asked her to come to the house tonight—with Louisa here, Hart would not steadfastly refuse to go without Eleanor. Eleanor apparently counted on his sympathy and liking for Louisa to override his annoyance, an event that would be more certain if he had Louisa standing before him.

Beth and Ian were already in the coach, sitting opposite each other. Beth gave Louisa a warm hello and squeezed her hand as Louisa sat down beside her. Beth was with child again, already about four months gone, though her gown had been made to not show it yet. Louisa was surprised she’d wanted to come tonight, but Beth was a strong and resilient woman who loved soaking up enjoyment from Isabella’s parties.

Ian had his head turned, gazing out the window at passing traffic, and said nothing at all. Louisa knew him well enough not to be offended—Ian might be thinking deeply about some mathematical conundrum and not even realize she’d entered the carriage.

Hart swung in next to his youngest brother, a footman shut the door, and the carriage lurched into traffic.

The two gentlemen rode in the rear-facing seat, leaving the front-facing one for the ladies. Louisa put aside her mixed feelings about the ball and studied the two Mackenzie men. Both wore formal frock coats and waistcoats, wool kilts of Mackenzie blue and green plaid, thick socks, and finely crafted leather shoes. The landau was generously sized, plenty of room for all, but was still crowded by the two large Scotsmen.

The brothers were much alike and yet entirely different. Hart was the most reminiscent of their Highland ancestors, with his hard face and arrogance—an arrogance Louisa had seen soften a long way since he’d married Eleanor. Now behind the imperious glint in Hart’s eyes was the look of a man who’d found happiness. Rest. Peace. Love.

Ian too had found peace. He still possessed a restless energy, one that could focus with amazing precision on whatever task he wanted to undertake. Ian could dive into a complex, impossible mathematical problem, close his eyes, and find the solution in his head. He’d become so famous for this that mathematicians, physicists, and astronomers throughout Europe wrote to him for advice.

Ian had come to love with great difficulty, but once he’d found Beth, his life had blossomed. He was still shy, preferring to spend time home alone with Beth and his children, or at most, with his extended family. He didn’t like crowds, and he had the unnerving tendency to spring into a conversation with a non sequitur—though his declarations made perfect sense once Louisa worked out how he’d arrived at that particular statement.

Louisa liked Ian, finding him a unique man in the midst of a society that strove for perfect sameness. She thought him refreshing.

Perhaps the same sort of interest in the unique was what drew her to Inspector Fellows. She didn’t want to think of him at the moment, but she hadn’t been able to think about much except him after the searing kiss in Eleanor’s sitting room this afternoon. This kiss he had instigated, though Louisa had instantly and readily succumbed. She could still feel the press of his lips, his hard muscles under his coat, the strength of his hands as he held her.

Fellows had broken the kiss and abruptly walked away, and Louisa couldn’t blame him for that. He was trying to investigate a murder, and she should let him get on with his job. Their mouths falling together every time they were alone had to cease. They needed to be comfortable with each other, friends.

Friends. The word sounded so empty.

The landau halted in the street, a little way from the assembly rooms, inching forward with the line of carriages depositing guests at the door. So many carriages, so many people.

As they at last reached the entrance, and a footman snapped open the door, realization struck Louisa with an ice-cold slap. Eleanor had sent Louisa to go among those from the garden party and ask questions because she wanted Louisa to report directly to Fellows herself. It would stand to reason, El would explain in all innocence. Louisa had asked the questions; she would best know how to relate the answers.

The glint in Eleanor’s eye, her secret smile, her decision to leave Louisa and Fellows alone in the sitting room this afternoon . . . Louisa wanted to groan with dismay. Eleanor was a romantic—the only explanation for how she’d remained in love with Hart all these years. Now she was inventing a romance for Louisa.

Louisa hid her disquiet under a sunny smile for Hart, who held out his arm to her. Hart shot her a look of grave suspicion then schooled his expression to a neutral one and led her inside.

“Lord and Lady Ian Mackenzie,” the majordomo announced. “The Duke of Kilmorgan, Lady Louisa Scranton.”