The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie
Page 54

“What about Ian? Are you saying I bamboozled him?”
“Didn’t you?” Hart’s voice was deadly quiet.
“I remember telling Ian quite plainly that I had no interest in marrying again. And then there I was, signing a license and repeating that I’d be with him until death do us part. I believe Ian bamboozled me” “Ian is—“ Hart broke off and swung away to stare into the multicolored sky.
“What? A madman?”
“No.” The word was harsh. “He’s . . . vulnerable.” “He’s stubborn and smart and does exactly what he pleases.”
Hart pinned her with his stare. “You’ve known him, what, all of a few weeks? You saw that Ian is rich and insane, and you couldn’t resist taking down such an easy mark.” Beth’s temper flared. “If you had paid more attention, you’d have realized that I have a fortune of my own already. Quite a large one. I don’t need Ian’s.”
“Yes, you inherited one hundred thousand pounds and a house in Belgrave Square from a reclusive widow called Mrs. Barrington. Very admirable. But Ian is worth ten times that, and when you realized that, you wasted no time getting rid of Lyndon Mather and chasing Ian to the altar.” Beth clenched her hands. “No, I went off to Paris, and Ian came after me.”
“Quite a good ploy to smarm up to Isabella. She’s got too soft a heart for her own good, and I’m certain she thought it a fine scheme to push you together. Mac did, too. I can’t think what got into him.”
“Smarm? I don’t smarm. I wouldn’t know how to. I’m not even sure what the word means.”
“I know your background, Mrs. Ackerley. I know your father was a lying blackguard and your mother fell into his trap. Her folly led her straight to the workhouse. I’m sure you learned much there.”
Beth’s face burned. “Goodness, so many people looking into my past. You ought to have asked Curry. Apparently he has quite a dossier on me.”
Hart dropped his cigar and ground it out with his heel. He leaned close to Beth and spoke in a low voice, his breath tinged with sweet-smelling smoke. “I will not let a fortune hunter ruin my brother, if it’s the last thing I do.” “I assure you. Your Grace, I’ve never hunted a fortune in my life.”
“Don’t mock me. I’ll annul the marriage. I can do that, and you will leave. It never will have happened.” Beth summoned the courage to look straight into Hart’s golden eyes. “Can you not consider that perhaps I fell in love with him?”
Deeply, dramatically, foolishly in love.
“No.”
“Why not?”
Hart drew a breath but didn’t speak. A muscle twitched in his jaw.
“I see,” Beth said softly. “You believe he’s mad, and you don’t think any woman could love that.”
“Ian is mad. The commission of lunacy proved it. I was there. I saw.”
“Then why not leave him in the asylum if you think he’s insane?”
“Because I know what they did to him.” In the gentle twilight the powerful Duke of Kilmorgan looked suddenly haunted. “I saw what the damn quacks did. If he hadn’t been mad when he went in, the place would have driven him so.” “The ice baths,” Beth said. ‘The electric shocks.” “Even worse than that. Dear God, when he was twelve years old they had him bend bare-assed over his bed every night so they could strap him. To keep his dreams quiet, they said. My father did nothing. I couldn’t do anything; I didn’t have the power. The day my father fell off his horse and broke his damned neck, I went to the asylum and took Ian out.”
Beth flinched at his vehemence, but at the same time, her heart warmed. “And Ian is grateful you did. Very grateful.” “Ian couldn’t even speak. He wouldn’t look up when we talked to him or answer questions put to him. It was as though his body was with us but his mind was far away.” “I’ve seen him do that.”
“He did it for three months. Then one day when we were eating breakfast, Ian looked up and asked Curry whether there was any toast.” Hart nicked his gaze away, but not before Beth saw the moisture in his eyes. “As though nothing had been wrong, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to ask Curry for toast.”
The breeze of the dying afternoon stirred his hair, tugged at the curls on Beth’s forehead. She watched as one of the highest dukes in the land blinked away tears. “I’ll send for my solicitor in the morning,” he said abruptly. “We’ll find a way to negate the marriage. You’ll not be ruined.”
“I know you don’t believe me, but I would never hurt Ian.”
“You are right. I don’t believe you.”
The wind freshened, scattering cool droplets from the fountain over Beth’s face. Hart turned on his heel to stride back to the house, but Ian stood there like a solid wall.
“I told you to leave her be,” he said quietly.
Hart’s back went stiff. “Ian, she can’t be trusted.” Ian took one step closer to Hart. Though he kept his eyes averted, there was no mistaking the anger in his stance and his voice. “She is my wife, under my protection. The only way I will let you do anything against this marriage is if you declare me a lunatic again.”
Hart flushed dull red. “Ian, listen to me—“
“I want her as my wife, and she stays my wife.” Ian softened his voice a notch. “She is a Mackenzie now. Treat her as one.”