She’d gazed at him in anger and fear . . . no wide smile, no sparkle in her eyes. Those were reserved for the young man currently with his hand on Louisa’s waist. A fist tightened around Fellows’ heart until he could barely breathe.

Something in the back of Fellows’ mind told him to find his host and hostess, to speak to them, to pretend to be civilized. But Fellows couldn’t pull his gaze from Louisa. The rest of the ballroom didn’t matter, nor did the people in it. The only thing that existed was Louisa dancing on light feet, tiny diamonds glittering in her hair, her froth of cream and green skirts spinning around and around. She wore a black ribbon with a white cameo around her throat, which emphasized her lush femininity as well as her erotic beauty.

The splendor of her—the whole of her—was like a physical blow. As Fellows stood, alone among a sea of people, watching her, he realized what she meant to him.

Everything.

“What’s the matter, Uncle Fellows?” a voice said beside him. “You look like someone has just punched you in the gut.”

Daniel Mackenzie, Fellows’ tall nephew, had stopped next to him, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Daniel already had the hard look of his father, Cameron, though his lanky body still showed his nineteen-year-old youth.

“Or maybe punched you in the face,” Daniel continued, casting a critical eye over Fellows’ bruises. “I take it the other bloke looks worse?”

Fellows’ gaze went back to Louisa. “The other bloke is in Newgate awaiting trial. And, yes, he looks worse.”

Daniel chuckled. “Good for you. A villain, is he?”

“One of the worst. Don’t waste sympathy on him.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Daniel turned to look where Fellows’ attention had been dragged. “Ah. That explains the gut blow.”

Fellows wrenched his gaze away from Louisa again. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“I’m not a fool, Uncle. Our Louisa is beautiful. Why wouldn’t you fall for her?”

In all his life, Fellows had never considered marrying, no matter how many dalliances or flirtations he’d had. He’d assumed himself too buried in his work, too ruthless and suspicious, or simply not interested in marriage. He’d never seen a good example of it, had he? He’d spent his childhood wishing he belonged to a family who’d made it clear he wasn’t wanted. He’d grown up with a mother angry at a rich man who’d charmed her, used her, and cast her aside.

None of that had relevance now. As Fellows looked at Louisa, he knew why he’d never married. He’d been waiting for her. And now she danced and laughed with a young man of her class who held her admiration.

“She’s not exactly our Louisa,” Fellows said. “Yours, maybe.”

He felt Daniel studying him. His irritation rose. Daniel gave him a knowing, and also sympathetic, grin. “Ask her to dance,” Daniel said.

“I don’t dance.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Never had a dancing master.”

“I advise you to learn. Ladies love a gentleman who can spin them about the floor. Once they know you can dance, they’ll follow you anywhere.”

“You speak from experience?”

“Aye, that I do.”

None of the Mackenzie men had ever had trouble attracting women, and Daniel, despite his youth, was no different. The ladies here, of his age and a few years older, were eyeing him with interest. Daniel was young, virile, handsome, and rich. He would come into the money left to him in trust by his mother when he was twenty-one, and would inherit everything Cameron had at Cameron’s death. Then he’d be a wealthy man indeed, and powerful. The fact that he stood a few steps removed from a dukedom only added to his desirability.

“Watch yourself,” Fellows advised. “One of these hopeful mamas will have you in the noose before you know it, if you’re not careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Daniel said, speaking with confidence above his years. “But the matrons have started flinging the debutantes at me, haven’t they? Some of these girls are barely out of the schoolroom. They should still be in short skirts and pigtails.”

“That’s aristos for you. Marry young, repent for many years to come.”

“And put seventeen heirs in the nursery while you’re at it,” Daniel finished. “Cynical, Uncle. Whatever happened to true love?”

“Love is for the middle class,” Fellows said. “The poor can’t afford it, and neither can the rich.”

“A sad thing to say, but probably true. These mamas who are eyeing me like sharks would be devastated to know I don’t plan to marry for many years. First, I’m going to travel the wide earth, and then learn how to build all the machines I have in my mind. The world’s on the brink of great change. Many people fear the change, but I want to be at its forefront, looking down its throat.”

“The enthusiasm of the young,” Fellows said.

“Not only the young. I know plenty of older chaps ready to face it with me. Now if I can ever find a lady like that—she’s who I’d marry.”

Fellows had already returned to watching Louisa. “Perhaps you and Louisa should make a match of it.”

Daniel’s attention came back from his future, and he bent his shrewd stare on his uncle. “Louisa and I have become great friends,” he said, as though choosing his words with care. “But no. I don’t believe we would suit.”

“Maybe not now. In a few years, though . . .”

“No. I’m thinking that in a few years, she won’t still be waiting.”

Daniel was right. Louisa shone with brilliance. She was kind, warmhearted, and stronger than she understood. As soon as Fellows proved her innocence and all this blew over, Louisa would be snapped up by any of a string of eligible bachelors. The newspapers would make much of the marriage between the earl’s daughter and some sprig of aristocracy. She’d marry in glory, and then be gone. She might greet Fellows at family parties, but Louisa would have her own life, no longer connected with his.

Louisa and her partner whirled closer to the corner in which Fellows and Daniel stood. Daniel lifted his whiskey glass in salute. Louisa smiled back at him, then her gaze landed on Fellows.

Her smile vanished, and the light drained from her face as though someone had extinguished a lamp. She stumbled. The gentleman with her caught her, so smoothly no one but Fellows and Daniel saw the near fall.

The gentleman said something to her, and Louisa laughed. The light returned, she spun away from Fellows, and resumed the dance.

Fellows felt as though someone had crushed all the air out of him. He might as well be lying at the bottom of a pile of bricks, with no hope of clawing his way out.

When he could manage to speak again, Fellows asked sharply, “Who is he?”

“Gilbert Franklin. The Honorable. His dad’s an earl. England’s bloody thick with earls, don’t you think? Can’t turn around without tripping over one. He was at the notorious garden party, you know. If he’s sweet on Louisa, he might have a reason to do in Hargate. You could always arrest him and ask him.”

Daniel wasn’t smiling, but amusement definitely hovered near. Fellows turned a cold look on him.

“I don’t arrest people and get them convicted for my convenience,” Fellows said. “My job is to find true villains and keep them from hurting others.”

Was Daniel cowed at the admonishment? No, his grin broke free. “Ah ha—so you admit it would be to your convenience.”

Fellows scowled. “You probably should go off on your world travels soon, Danny. Might take the cockiness out of you.”

“I doubt that.” Daniel gave him a tip of his glass. “I doubt it very much.”

Daniel turned and sauntered away. Fellows watched him go, reflecting that however arrogant Daniel was, he was smart and too perceptive for his own good.

He looked back at the dance floor, but Louisa had gone. Fellows craned to see her, but her shining red hair glittering with diamonds had vanished.

Fellows circled around the crowd to search for her again, even while he growled at himself for doing it.

* * *

“I’m fine, really,” Louisa said. Gilbert had her seated on a divan at the end of the ballroom. He’d brought lemonade and an ice, and then sat down and held them for her while she partook. “You don’t need to stay with me.”

“I need to look after you,” Gil said reasonably. “You might have a sprain, and it would be my fault. It is either this or I carry you out of the ballroom in my arms, and what would people think?”

“Don’t be so silly.” But Louisa smiled. Gil had the knack of making people feel better.

She’d stumbled in her too-high heels because she’d seen Lloyd Fellows standing at the edge of the ballroom. He’d been wearing a kilt—one of the Mackenzie plaids that Hart had thrust upon him. It fit him well, hugging his hips, smooth against his thighs, showing his strong legs below its hem. He wore a coat as finely tailored as any man’s here, though it looked better on him because he had the body to fill it out.

The bruises from whatever brawl he’d been in were obvious on his face, though he was clean-shaven tonight. He looked like a warrior who’d taken time off fighting to look in on civilization.

No, Fellows didn’t fit among these soft-faced people. There was still too much of the brute Highlander about him for civilized company. He fought battles out in the world so the ladies and gentlemen in this ballroom could walk about in peace.

“Louisa?” Gil was looking at her. She’d missed what he’d just said.

“I do beg your pardon. I believe my ankle hurts more than I thought it did.” She lied, but Louisa needed a reason to cover for her distracted state.