The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie
Page 82

“You had no right to go digging everything up, bringing the inspector to my house. You’re as much to blame as I am.” Spittle flecked her lips.
Beth couldn’t fight anymore. Her whole body wanted simply to stop. She’d die here in Thomas’s little church, not ten yards from the churchyard where Thomas lay. She thought she heard the lectern door squeak, and she saw Thomas standing by it in the white cassock she’d darned so often. His dark hair was gray at the temples, his kind eyes so blue.
Be brave, my Beth, she thought he said. It’s almost over.
“Ian.”
Mrs. Palmer scanned the chapel, her fingers still gripping Beth’s hair. “Who are you talking to?”
Shouting interrupted her, deep male voices, one of them Ian’s. Mrs. Palmer screamed, hauling Beth in front of her like a shield. Beth groaned in agony.
Ian, his face white, eyes wild, barreled into Mrs. Palmer. He was shouting something, but Beth couldn’t hear him, couldn’t understand his words. Mrs. Palmer stumbled, shrieking, and Ian caught Beth as she fell.
He was beside her, warm, solid, and real. Beth tried to reach for him, but her arms wouldn’t work. He lifted her and cradled her against him on the pew. His golden eyes were wide as he looked straight into hers.
“Ian.” Beth smiled and touched his face. She was the one who couldn’t hold the gaze, as her eyes drifted sideways. In her peripheral vision, she saw Hart rush in, followed by Cameron and Inspector Fellows. Mrs. Palmer stood tall against the wall.
“I’ll not hang for that slut,” she said in a loud, clear voice. Her knife gleamed in her hands, and she plunged it straight between her br**sts.
Beth heard Hart’s cry, saw Mrs. Palmer’s knees give and her body slide down the wall. Hart caught her in his arms. Mrs. Palmer looked up at Hart. “I love you.”
“Don’t speak,” Hart said, his voice incredibly gentle.
“I’ll get a doctor.”
She shook her head, her smile weak. “It’s all dark now. I can’t see your face.” She groped blindly for him. “Hart, hold me.”
“I’m here.” Hart gathered her against him, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I’m here, love. I won’t leave you.” Ian didn’t even look at them. He had his eyes closed now, rocking Beth. Beth tried to say, “I knew you’d find me,” but darkness closed on her, and her lips would no longer move. She slid into unconsciousness just as Mrs. Palmer’s last breath rattled through her throat.
Ian used Hart’s opulent carriage to take Beth home to the ducal mansion on Grosvenor Square. Hart’s house was always staffed, always at the “ready for any business the duke might want to conduct in town. Ian carried Beth inside, and the well-trained servants scrambled to obey his frantic commands.
Ian carried Beth to the bedchamber set aside for his use. A doctor came to clean Beth’s wound and sew it closed, but Beth wouldn’t wake up.
Cameron had stayed with Hart and Inspector Fellows at the church while Fellows fetched who he needed to fetch and tried to make sense of what happened. Ian didn’t care what had happened. It was over, Mrs. Palmer was dead, and Beth had nearly died herself trying to put everything right. Fellows could do as he liked.
Beth lay in a stupor, feverish and sweating. No matter how much Ian bathed the cut in her side, it swelled and reddened, and fever set in.
Ian stayed by her all night. He heard the others return, Cameron’s gruff voice and Hart’s quiet replies, the deferential voices of the servants. He pressed a cool cloth to Beth’s forehead, wishing he could bring the fever down by force of will.
He heard the door open behind him and Hart’s heavy tread, but Ian wouldn’t look up.
“How is she?” his brother asked in a low voice.
“Dying.”
Hart came around the bed and looked down at Beth, unmoving on the sheets. His face was white, strained. Beth was so hot. She groaned with it, tossing her head from side to side. She whimpered when her wound touched the bed, as if trying to find release from haunting pain. Ian glared at Hart. “You and your f**king women. You made them your tame animals, and now they’ve killed Beth.”
Hart flinched. “Damnation, Ian.”
“You thought Beth wanted my money, our name. Why should she?”
“I did at first. I don’t any longer.”
“Too bloody late. She never wanted anything for herself, never demanded anything from us. You don’t know what to do with people like that.”
“I don’t want to see her die, either.”
Hart put his hand on Ian’s shoulder, but Ian jerked away. “You took me to that house to be your damned spy. You used me, like you’ve use me for every other scheme in your life. You released me from the asylum so I could help you, but you’ve never believed I wasn’t mad. You just needed what I could do.”
“That’s not entirely accurate,” Hart said, tight-lipped. “It’s close enough. You thought I was insane enough to kill Sally. I did what you said because I was grateful to you, and I wanted to protect you. I admired you and worshiped you just like your tame sluts.”
Ian was breathing hard, but he gentled his hand to brush back Beth’s hair.
“For God’s sake, Ian.”
“I’m finished obeying your commands. Your bloody high-handedness has killed my Beth.”
Hart remained still, his eyes fixed. “I know. Let me help her.”