The Untamed Mackenzie

Chapter Eleven

The offices of Scotland Yard were quiet and echoing at night, though not deserted. Constables went in and out from the ground floor on their duties. Detectives used the calm of night to work on cases or for writing up the paperwork that went with them. Talk had been ongoing about moving the cramped police offices to a larger building to be erected near the Victoria Embankment, where a new opera house had been started then abandoned years ago. Fellows had been hearing about this theoretical move for a long time—he wondered if he’d still be alive when it happened.

The few men on the ground floor glanced at Fellows in curiosity when he walked inside in his formal kilt and suit, escorting a young lady in a fancy ball gown and a younger man in kilt and coat. That is, the constables stared until Fellows gave them a look that made them scramble back to their duties.

Fellows had shown Daniel Scotland Yard before. Being a curious lad, he’d turned up not long after Fellows’ identity had been revealed to the Mackenzies and demanded a tour. He’d wanted to know everything about the workings of the Metropolitan Police, thinking to perhaps become a detective himself. After the tour, Daniel told Fellows he’d changed his mind—he’d rather be an inventor. But maybe Scotland Yard would be purchasing some of his inventions in time, he’d said.

Daniel gazed about him in as much curiosity tonight, and Louisa looked interested as well. She was completely out of place here in her cream and green bustle gown, diamonds in her red hair, but she looked about without fear.

They had to walk up the two flights of stairs to Fellows’ office. Louisa shivered—it was always either too cold or too hot in this blasted building. Before Fellows could turn back and offer her his coat, Daniel had slid his from his shoulders and wrapped it around Louisa. Daniel threw Fellows an apologetic look, but Fellows didn’t comment.

He led them into his office. The small room held two desks, one for himself and one for Sergeant Pierce, with a cubbyhole for Constable Dobbs. The constable dealt with the bulk of the menial work, such as sending telegrams and messages, typing up handwriting notes, pigeonholing papers or fetching them, and keeping his chief inspector and sergeant supplied with coffee and tea, and in the case of Sergeant Pierce, thin cigarettes. The smell of stale smoke clung to the rooms, though the charwoman had cleared out the bowls of ash and spent butts hours ago.

The top of Fellows’ desk was bare. Every night before he left, Fellows shoved all the files and papers he was currently working with into the deep drawers. The drawers looked like a jumbled mess, but Fellows knew precisely where each item was.

He fished up the bulkiest stack, gestured for Louisa to sit at his desk, and dropped the papers onto the desk’s flat surface.

Louisa took the seat and looked at the tall file in front of her. “My.”

Fellows started fanning out the stacks of papers. “My notes on the suspect interviews,” he said, touching a pile covered with his painstaking handwriting. “These are Pierce’s notes. This is the pathology report on Hargate, and the reports on the tea, the cups, the pot, the plates, the pastries. Photographs of the tent, inside and out. This is the second set of witness interviews; this, notes of my search of Hargate’s flat and my interview with his parents. Every single detail typed up here.” Fellows put a blunt finger on sheets of paper crowded with typewritten characters.

Louisa stared at it all uncomprehendingly. Dobbs’ typing left something to be desired—there were overstrikes, bad erasure marks, and penciled-in words everywhere. Hardly surprising that Louisa gazed at the report in perplexity.

“You can see why I couldn’t make a detailed account of my progress,” Fellows said. “Mostly because I don’t know what my progress is. The truth is somewhere in that mess. If I go over it another fifty times or so, I might find some clear thread to pull.”

Fellows had expected Daniel to give him suggestions, if he didn’t just start reading the entire report right there, but when Fellows turned to look for Daniel, he found that the young man had gone. Where, Fellows couldn’t imagine. He might have smelled the smoke and longed for a cheroot, he might have spied someone he knew—Daniel seemed to know everyone in London, upper-, middle-, or working– class—or he might have decided that Fellows needed a discreet chat with Louisa. No matter what his motive, Fellows and Louisa were now alone.

Louisa touched one of the pages. “You’ll find it. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Look at a jumble no one else understands and discover a clear pattern?”

That was exactly what he did, but this time, Fellows was finding the way murky. “You have much faith in me.”

“I’ve heard about your cases from Hart. He’s very interested in what you do. You find people, you solve crimes that no one else is able to.” Louisa looked up at him, her eyes full of confidence. “You’ll solve this one. That was what I was trying to tell you before you dragged me away so precipitously from my sister’s supper ball.” Her smile returned, the warm one she’d bestowed on Fellows a few times in the past. He remembered every single instance. “If anyone saw us go, my reputation will be in tatters—even more than it already is.”

“You’ll not be ruined,” Fellows said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Because Daniel is with us? True, I wager he’ll spin a tale that he and I begged you to show us the inner workings of Scotland Yard until you capitulated.” She shrugged, pretending nonchalance, though her shoulders were stiff. “It is all in the family, after all.”

“We’re not family,” Fellows said abruptly.

Louisa shook her head, which made the diamonds glitter in the room’s stark gaslight. “Indeed, we are, which is Isabella’s fault. I never thought I’d find myself with five somewhat overbearing brothers and one energetic grown-up nephew, but when Isabella married Mac, that is what I got. I do like it, most of the time.”

“You and I are not brother and sister.” Fellows’ words came out harsh and flat.

“Well, no, not by blood.” Louisa smiled again, that heartbreaking, beautiful smile. "We have shared a kiss or two, after all."

He was going to die. Louisa sat in his office chair, decorating the room as nothing ever had, smiling her sweet little smile. She didn’t belong here, and yet she brightened the space like a beacon.

“A kiss or two,” Fellows said. “Is that how you think of them?” While he dreamed of them in the nighttime and woke up hot, sweaty, and hard. He had to stifle his groans so he wouldn’t disturb the neighbors.

Louisa’s smile wavered. “I imagined that was how you thought of them. The silly kisses of a silly girl.”

Fellows came around the desk and stood over her, his breath hurting him. “I’m not like Daniel,” he said, voice still grating. “Or your Mr. Franklin. Or those stuffed asses at the ball with lust in their eyes as they watched you dance. I wanted to pound the faces of every one of those bastards for looking at you like that.”

Louisa blinked in surprise. “What are you talking about? They looked at me in disgust. Everyone believes I poisoned Hargate.”

“And the idea that you might be a murderess excited them. Every male there wanted you, Louisa; I watched them want you. That’s another reason I took you away from there tonight, another reason I urged you to stay home until this is over.”

They stared at each other. Louisa’s eyes were a beautiful green, slightly moist with tears she refused to let form. The men tonight had wanted her, Fellows had seen. Not only was she lovely in her froth of a ball gown, that black ribbon around her throat, the taint of the murder made her even more seductive. The same taint also took away some of the stigma for touching her—she was not the sweet innocent her set had thought her, or so they now believed. If they debauched her, it would be Louisa’s fault, not theirs.

Fellows had to protect her from that. At the same time, he knew he was a hypocrite, because he wanted her as much as had any man there. Fellows didn’t only dream of Louisa in the night, he dreamed of her every waking minute.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her soft red lips in the kisses they’d shared. He couldn’t cease imagining how her mouth would feel on other parts of him, especially the one that was hard under his kilt even now. He wanted to kiss every inch of her body, taste her skin, inhale her scent.

When he lay awake in his bed of nights, his imagination put Louisa in the room with him, she casually undressing with her back to him. She’d slowly strip off her gown, then what was under the gown, letting each piece of clothing loosen and fall. When she was clad only in her corset, her red hair rippling down her back, she’d look over her shoulder and give him her lovely smile.

Fellows made a noise in his throat. He could reach for her right now. She was alone with him, vulnerable. He could do anything to her, and nothing that came to his mind at the moment was honorable.

“Do you believe the same as they do?” Louisa was asking. “That I’m fast?” She let out a small sigh and another shiver. “I’m very afraid they might be right.”

She waited for his answer worriedly, as though what Fellows’ thought mattered to her very much. The cameo at her throat beckoned him to lean down to lick her there. “Louisa, you’re an innocent.” He had to remember that. “Of that there is no doubt.”

Louisa rose, her breath lifting her too-low décolletage in a dangerous way. “Then why do I think about kissing you every time I see you? I should be at my sister’s ball, hoping one of the gentlemen I dance with will propose to me and solve my troubles. Instead, I ran off with you the moment you beckoned. Whenever I see you, I know I don’t want duty and properness—I want the wicked things my brothers-in-law whisper to my sisters-in-law when they think I don’t hear them. I want to do those things with you, not with the young men I was raised to expect to marry. Please, explain to me how I can be so innocent with those desires in my head.”

Oh God. Fellows’ body tightened. He wasn’t good with words, was much better at chasing down criminals and then beating them until they stayed down. Words weren’t his gift—persistence and his fists were. And now the woman he craved was asking him to explain away the basic animal instinct that burned inside him.

He cleared his throat. “Have you acted on these thoughts, either with me or other gentlemen?”

“No, of course not . . .”

“Then you are an innocent. You have no idea of the full of it.”

“But I want to know.” Louisa put her hand on his where it rested on the desk. “I want to know all these things. With you.”

The world stopped. The flash of Louisa undressing, smiling at him over her shoulder, came to Fellows again, with force. He couldn’t say anything, not even her name. Louisa. The beautiful, sweet word. She wanted him. What he desired, what he craved—she wanted it too.

Louisa nodded, her diamonds flashing again. “You see? I am a wanton. At least, I am where you are concerned. And I have no idea what to do about it.”

Fellows had plenty of ideas. And he couldn’t act on any of them, not without being as insidious as the most vicious criminals he’d chased to ground.

Louisa was alone with him, in his power, innocent, no matter what she claimed. She knew nothing of life, not in all the ugliness he’d lived through. And she was telling him she wanted to give that innocence to him.

So much heat washed through his veins that Fellows thought he’d fall. But cold followed hard upon the heat. Louisa trusted him. She had no idea what a man like Fellows was capable of. He could take her right here, to hell with virtue and respectability, and she wouldn’t be able to stop him. She trusted him because he was now one of the Mackenzies, acknowledged as the half brother of her sister’s husband. All in the family, she’d said.

But Fellows wasn’t like the Mackenzies—he was worse than any of them. For all the brothers’ hardness and ruthlessness, Hart, Cam, Mac, and even Ian had a modicum of polish. Fancy schools and university, money, influential friends, and the right circles, had given them a bit of a gloss.

Fellows had lived in squalor, his mother working harder than any woman should have to keep him fed. Catherine had stayed late into the night at the taverns, working her feet off for impatient tavern keepers, putting up with men trying to corner her. Fellows knew she’d let some of them corner her, for money, when she needed it. And he’d never blamed her for it.

The tamer Mackenzies had never had to watch their mother try not to cry as she counted out her coin for the night and realized it wouldn’t be enough. Hart hadn’t fed off tavern scraps grudgingly given, hadn’t had to watch his mother work harder and harder for less and less as her prettiness faded. Fellows had determined, the day he’d been accepted as a police constable, that his mother would never have to work again. And he’d fulfilled that vow.

Louisa knew nothing of these hardships, and Fellows would do everything in his power to make sure she never did.

He could frighten her away from him. Make her go running back to the safety of Mac and Isabella’s home, lock the door, stay there. He abruptly slid his hand to the back of her head, twisted her face up to his, and crushed his lips over her mouth.

Louisa gasped, lips parting. Fellows tasted the sweet and tart of the lemonade she’d drunk, brought to her by the insipid Mr. Franklin. The thought of Franklin made Fellows angry. He dragged Louisa closer, fingers tangling in her satin-smooth curls, the kiss turning hard.

She made a little sound, and he knew he was bruising her, but he didn’t care. He meant to frighten her, meant her to jerk away and flee him.

She didn’t flee. Louisa was warmer than the room, the heat of her mouth searing. Daniel’s coat, still around her shoulders, smelled of cheroots, but her fragrance was all Fellows heeded.

He scooped his arm under her legs, easing her up onto the wooden desk. Perfect. Louisa sat on its edge, looking up at him, lips red with his kisses. Fellows cradled her head in his hands and kissed her again, deeper and fuller, locking her in place.

He jumped when her slipper brushed his leg. The point of her heel touched his wool socks then the bare of his thigh beneath the kilt. The little scratch of the heel jolted his need into a rampant fire.

Louisa was supposed to be frightened. She was supposed to fight away from him, shout at him that he should never dare take such a liberty. She should instruct him to never touch her, never to speak to her again. But Louisa’s answering kiss was as frenzied as his. Her slipper went up and up, her leg wrapping his and holding on.

One swift thrust on the desk, and she’d be his forever. But this was wrong. Fellows should savor her, in a bed, perhaps in an elegant hotel on soft sheets. Louisa deserved that. But the desk was here, the room dark and empty, his yearning for her climbing.

Fellows forced his mouth from hers. Louisa looked up at him in need, her eyes half closed, her lips red, parted, swollen. Her body was soft, hands curled around the lapels of his coat.

“Louisa.” He could barely get out her name. “No.”

It was the hardest thing he’d ever said. Louisa released her hold on his coat, but only to slide her hands around his neck. “Lloyd.”

The whisper was the first time he’d ever heard her speak his name.

He felt something break apart inside him, a breath of air that cleansed everything soiled within him. Fellows’ arms went around her, and their bodies moved together down to the flat surface of the desk. Daniel’s coat fell from Louisa’s shoulders, pooling on the hard wood and all the papers beneath her.

Louisa made another little gasp as he kissed her again, and Fellows took advantage. He kissed her parted lips, licking them, suckling them.

She didn’t stop him, didn’t fight him. Louisa kissed him back, trying to imitate what he did, which was sweet and erotic at the same time.

Fellows moved from her lips to her throat and the black ribbon and cameo. Fellows bit the innocent cameo then brushed his tongue down the curve of her neck to her breasts. Soft skin rose above the neckline of her bodice, the slight salt taste of her making him want more.

She’d be damp and warm under the gown, the space between her legs moist and welcoming. Fellows wanted to taste her, to sink his tongue into her and take her goodness into his mouth.

He could have her. Raise her skirts, kiss her thighs, enjoy her delights and bring her to heights of pleasure. Louisa’s restless hands in his hair, her leg still twined around his, told him she wanted him, wanted this.

Fellows licked across the top of her breasts, his tongue catching the fabric of the bodice. The satin’s dry contrast to Louisa’s skin only spiraled his need to near madness.

“Lloyd,” Louisa said again.

Her beautiful, throaty voice caressed his name. Everything painful in him washed away on its sound . . .

Someone coughed.

Reality came crashing back into Fellows so hard he lost his next breath. He took his mouth from Louisa’s breast and carefully raised his head.

He expected Daniel. Embarrassing, but Daniel might be trusted to keep silent. The lad already suspected Fellows’ intense interest in Louisa. Fellows would apologize for taking the liberty and explain the situation, then ask that Daniel keep it to himself. If Fellows could explain.

The young man standing inside the doorway wasn’t Daniel. It was Constable Dobbs.

Dobbs was about nineteen, eager to learn, eager to please. He had close-cropped blond hair, blue eyes, and a tall, Viking-like body.

Right now, his fair face was scarlet. “Sir.”

“Out,” Fellows said.

“Sir.” Dobbs nodded nervously. “Sorry, sir.”

Even as Dobbs turned for the open door, he peered surreptitiously at Louisa, trying to make out who she was. Catching Fellows’ glare, he turned quickly away and sidled out, leaving the door open.

Louisa’s eyes were wide with alarm, her breathing rapid as she struggled to sit up. Fellows helped her from the desk and steadied her on her feet. Louisa’s hair was mussed, red ringlets straggling down her neck, her face as flushed as Dobbs’ had been.

No apology came from Fellows’ lips. He wouldn’t apologize for doing something he’d longed to do with everything inside him.

“Dobbs won’t say a word,” Fellows said.

Louisa reached for the coat, not looking at him, her cheeks still red. “We should find Daniel.”

She slid the coat around her shoulders. Fellows helped her settle it, but still Louisa wouldn’t look at him.

The moment was fragile. One wrong word, and she’d be lost to him forever.

But there were no right words. Fellows wasn’t elegantly articulate, like Mr. Franklin, or glib like Daniel. He’d learned plain speaking from his mother, as well as the value of keeping his mouth shut when the situation called for it.

He said nothing.

Louisa wouldn’t look at him, but she didn’t bow her head. She was a proud lady, from a long line of proud people. She was elegant and regal and wouldn’t crumble to dust because a police detective kissed her on his desk.

Fellows led her out the door. Louisa didn’t blindly rush away; she walked calmly with him through the empty corridors and down the stairs. Neither of them spoke or even looked at each other.

Daniel leaned on a desk inside the front door, talking and laughing with the sergeant there. When Daniel saw Fellows and Louisa, he straightened up in surprise. The sergeant quickly found something else to do, but Daniel’s eyes narrowed as he looked them over.

Fellows led Louisa past Daniel without a word and out into the street. The hansom cab still waited outside. Daniel, who’d insisted on paying the fare, must have tipped the driver well.

Fellows handed Louisa into the cab. She gripped his hand without hesitation as she stepped inside, but still she didn’t look at him.

“Take her home,” Fellows said to Daniel.

Louisa leaned forward, finally meeting his eyes. “Aren’t you coming?”

Fellows shook his head. “Have things to do, and my flat isn’t far from here. Daniel will escort you home.”

“That he will,” Daniel said. “Good night.” He didn’t look pleased that Fellows was deserting Louisa, but at least he didn’t argue. He climbed in after Louisa and settled onto the seat with a swing of kilt and a boisterous thump.

“Good night.” Fellows closed the door to the hansom with a snap.

Louisa continued to watch him. Curls of her loosened hair fell forward, haloing her in red. Then the carriage jerked forward, and Fellows’ view of her was lost.

Lost. A good word. Fellows remained on the street, watching the receding carriage for too long, until it disappeared into the April mists.