Jennifer Ashley - The Untamed Mackenzie

One of Sir Richard Cavanaugh’s lackeys hurried in with his bag and departed just as quickly. Sir Richard ran his hand competently over Louisa’s ankle, and she made a noise of pain when he squeezed the right place.

“I’ll need to examine it more closely—it might be broken. Gentlemen, if you’ll go?”

He meant that he might have to expose Louisa’s bare ankle. Daniel and Ian weren’t closely enough related to her that it would be proper for them to see that. Silly, but Sir Richard had likely learned long ago to adhere strictly to the rules. Hence his knighthood.

“Wait for Isabella first,” Daniel suggested.

Louisa waved him off. “No, please go. The quicker he finishes, the quicker I’ll be out of pain. I’ll be fine.”

Ian, without a word, put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder, turned the puzzled young man around, and marched him out of the tent. Daniel went, but with reluctance.

“Now then, Lady Louisa.” Sir Richard worked the stopper from a small green bottle and held it out to her. “Take the smallest sniff of this. It will relax you and make you feel better.”

Louisa regarded the bottle with suspicion. “What is it?”

“Just a sedative. See?” Sir Richard waved the bottle under his own nose. “Nothing noxious.”

He held it out to her again. Louisa took a small sniff, smelling something sharp and sweet. She lay down on the table again, the pain almost evaporating, or at least receding to someplace far away. Louisa’s limbs relaxed, and she drew a long breath.

“That’s nice,” she said.

“Just a touch of ether,” Sir Richard said. “I don’t want my examination to hurt you.”

He picked up her foot, unlaced and drew off her boot, and slid his hand up her leg to take down her stocking. All quick, competent, professional. He rotated her foot this way and that, pressed her ankle, and then ran warm hands all over her foot.

“I don’t think you’ve broken anything, fortunately, Lady Louisa. A mild sprain is all, though they can hurt very much. I’ll bind the foot and give you something for the pain.”

“Thank you.” He was kind, really. “You’re nice,” Louisa said. Then she drew a breath. Why on earth had she said that?

“Lovely of you to say so, my dear.” Sir Richard smiled at her, then something else entered his eyes. “You have beautiful legs, Louisa. A pity no one sees them.”

Louisa’s dry lips parted. “I beg your—”

She broke off with a little squeak as Sir Richard put his hand on her ankle again. It didn’t hurt, but she watched, wide-eyed, as he caressed her leg all the way to the knee, the touch no longer that of a compassionate doctor. “Very nice,” he said, his voice thick with pleasure.

Louisa wanted to shriek and kick, but the sedative he’d given her made her giggle instead. How very awful. Lloyd had been right after all.

“He generally is,” Louisa said before she could stop herself.

“Pardon?” Sir Richard went on caressing behind her knee, his fingers sliding under the hem of her drawers. “Who generally is what?”

“Lloyd. He’s always right about people. He’s very clever.”

“I’m certain.” It was apparent Sir Richard had no idea who “Lloyd” was. He didn’t connect the name with the police inspector who’d interviewed him—how very rude of him. “Louisa, my dear, you are quite a beautiful woman.” Sir Richard withdrew his hand from her skirt only to slide it up her bodice and her bosom. He squeezed her breast, then started to undo the buttons that closed the bodice to her chin. “Let me loosen your gown, so you can breathe easier.”

“Yes.” The open buttons did let her draw a long breath. “Help,” she tried to shout, but the word came out quietly.

“Hush now,” Sir Richard said. “We don’t have much time. Someone will come soon. That makes it a bit more exciting, doesn’t it?” He drew her placket apart and put his large, rather soft hand on her breast . . .

A very large fist connected with the side of Sir Richard’s face. Louisa’s eyes widened as Sir Richard staggered, blood appearing on his temple. He tried to keep to his feet, then he fell over like a tree in a storm and lay stunned on the wilted grass.

Louisa looked at the fist that had done the punching and recognized the black leather gloves Lloyd liked to wear. The punch had been very competent. Louisa tried to leverage herself up on her elbows, then she gave up and laughed.

Sir Richard struggled to rise. A large boot, this one belonging to Sergeant Pierce, landed on the man’s chest.

“Now then, sir,” Pierce said. “Just you rest there a bit.”

The tent seemed to be full of people all the sudden. Ian Mackenzie, thunder in his eyes, put his booted foot on Sir Richard’s chest as well. Sir Richard wasn’t going anywhere.

The rest of the Mackenzies, including Isabella, took up the rest of the small tent. Gilbert, fortunately, was nowhere in sight.

Fellows had shrugged off his coat and now he draped it over Louisa. She smiled up at him and touched his strong hand. “Did I do all right?” she asked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d give me such a strong sedative. I couldn’t scream for help.”

“You did fine. Thank you.” Lloyd leaned down and kissed the top of her head. No one looked surprised, least of all Ian, the crafty devil.

Isabella was giving Fellows a hard look. “Do you mean to say, Chief Inspector, that you used my sister as bait?”

Daniel laughed. “It was well done. I never suspected, until Ian told me.”

“Ian knew?” This from Mac, who came to stand protectively near Louisa with Isabella. “Why did no one tell me? I’m still not clear on everything, come to think of it.”

“I needed an ally who could keep his mouth shut,” Fellows said. “And one who would look after Louisa. Ian was the obvious choice. Thank you, Ian.”

Ian only nodded. At one time, Louisa had heard from Isabella, Ian had possessed fury to the point of violence against Lloyd, especially when Lloyd had tried to use Beth to get to Ian and Hart. Now Ian gave Fellows a satisfied look, an acknowledgment of camaraderie. He pushed a little harder on Sir Richard’s chest with his boot, making Sir Richard cry out.

Fellows moved back to Sir Richard, took the iron cuffs Sergeant Pierce held out to him, and snapped them around Sir Richard’s wrists. “Sir Richard Cavanaugh, I am arresting you for the murder of Frederick Lane, the Bishop of Hargate. I will take you to a magistrate, who will examine you and determine if there is cause to bind you over for trial.”

“On what evidence?” Sir Richard scoffed. “You have none.”

“Oh, I have plenty.” Fellows tapped Sir Richard’s doctor’s bag. “All in here. And in your surgery, and at your house, and in the Bishop of Hargate’s notes. I will try to make sure all the lady patients you’ve molested over the years, the poor women too afraid and ashamed to say anything against you, will be present in the gallery at your trial. Not enough justice for them, I think, but it will have to do. A man of your standing might wriggle out of a charge of indecent behavior, even sexual assault, but I intend to see you go down for murder.”

Lloyd’s voice was quiet but held the weight of authority. Sir Richard was furious, but he was down now. He couldn’t fight.

Louisa, still drunk with sedative, raised her head and curled her lip. “You are disgusting,” she said clearly. Then she found herself rushing back down to the table. “Oh, my.” She reached for Lloyd and held his hand when he gave it to her. “I think I’ll sleep now.”

Lloyd kissed her forehead, his rough whiskers brushing her skin. “I’ll be with you when you wake.”

And he was.

“You must explain all to us, dear Lloyd,” Eleanor said from her place at the foot of the table.

A Mackenzie family dinner was taking place at the Duke of Kilmorgan’s mansion on Grosvenor Square several days after their return from Newmarket. A family dinner meant all the Mackenzies, including Fellows and Daniel, Louisa, and Fellows’ mother.

They dined informally, no place settings to conform to. The guests could sit where they chose, with whom they chose. The only structure to the table was that Hart sat at the head, Eleanor at its foot.

Ian claimed the chair next to Beth, Daniel was with his father and stepmother, and Mrs. Fellows sat next to Louisa, delighting in every moment of the gathering. She was highly pleased with Fellows’ choice of bride and kept smiling broadly at Louisa.

“I knew he had good taste,” she said. “You are the sweetest little thing, Louisa. You do know that?”

When Eleanor demanded the story, the rest of the table quieted. Fellows, on Louisa’s other side, calmly laid down his fork.

“Louisa’s hatpin,” he said.

They waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, Daniel said, “What are we supposed to understand from that? Play fair, Uncle Fellows. You have to tell the less clever of us what that means.”

Fellows didn’t smile, but Louisa could see he was enjoying teasing them all. He took a sip of wine, gave Daniel an acknowledging nod, and went on.

“When I saw Louisa sticking hatpins into her hat, it gave me the idea. If someone coated a pin or needle with a poison and stuck it into someone, perhaps that person might not die instantly, especially if it was a low enough dose. Or if the pin had been coated with a sedative instead of a poison, the victim might simply grow sick or perhaps fall unconscious. If Sir Richard Cavanaugh spoke to Hargate before he went into the tea tent, perhaps clapped him on the shoulder or shook his hand, he’d have the opportunity to stick something into him surreptitiously. Cavanaugh, as a doctor, would have needles at his disposal. Hargate begins to grow ill in the tea tent. Louisa runs out for the doctor. Cavanaugh comes to investigate, finds Hargate on the ground. A final prick of prussic acid finishes the job, or perhaps Cavanaugh poured it into Hargate’s mouth while he examined him. He had the prussic acid in his doctor’s bag, in a little bottle, along with his medicines and sedatives. He could also pretend to try to revive the man and wave the poison under his nose. Inhaling prussic acid can be just as deadly as imbibing it.”