The Untamed MacKenzie
Page 47
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“Would it have done any good?”
“I think it would have done the world of good.” Louisa’s voice increased in volume. “But how could I know? How can I know anything of what you’re thinking? You hide so much.”
Fellows came out of his rigidity. “I don’t have much of a chance to speak to you, do I? Every time I see you, you’re at a party of some kind, surrounded by friends, laughing with them. You’re where you belong. You’re part of their world, with people you understand, and I am not.”
“What are you talking about?” She glared at him. “You are in that world now. You’re part of the Mackenzie family. They’ve welcomed you with open arms.”
“They have, yes.” His tone went ironic. “They’ve been adamant to erase the part of my life when I lived in penury. Their remorse is touching. The only one not wallowing in guilt is Ian, because I don’t think he understands the meaning of the word.”
Louisa flushed. “Do you think I’m wallowing in guilt?”
“You feel sorry for me, Louisa. You’ve told me.”
Her face reddened further. “You think I’ve kissed you out of pity?”
“You might believe otherwise, but yes.”
“Is that what you truly think? That I’d be so . . . patronizing?”
“Aren’t you?” Fellows knew he made her angry, but maybe if she grew furious enough she’d go, and stay away from him. “You told me once that I looked as though I needed cheering up. Poor Inspector Fellows—like a beggar standing outside the window, gazing at a feast he’s not allowed to have.” He’d felt that way often enough as a lad, especially the day he’d watched the boy Hart climb back into the sumptuous Mackenzie carriage and ride away with their father. Fellows had been left behind, outraged and bereft, and dragged off to a police station. That was the day he’d decided to become a policeman.
Louisa’s eyes were starry with anger. “How can you say that? How can you know anything about my feelings for you? You’ve never bothered to ask me!”
“I don’t remember you bothering to ask me before you coaxed me onto a ladder with you, or dragged me under the mistletoe.”
Louisa moved to him, halting close enough to him that he could breathe in her scent. Dangerous. “I don’t recall you pushing me away,” she said.
Was she mad? “Dear God, what sane man would? There you were, beautiful and wanting to kiss me. Last night you wrapped your arms around me and pulled me down to my desk with you. Only a saint would push you away, and I assure you, I am no saint.”
Louisa took a breath, pulling her voice down from a shout. “Why are you trying to make me angry? You are being deliberately cruel. Why?”
“Because you can’t be here. I said that when I came in. We can’t be together, Louisa. No declarations, nothing.” Fellows tried to speak steadily. “If anyone discovers me even talking to you, the investigation will be compromised. I’ll be pulled from the case and a detective assigned to it who cares nothing for truth, only for arrests and convictions.”
She looked puzzled. “But I’m not the only suspect now. Hargate was a blackmailer, with many other victims. You said you had ideas.”
“And by your own admission, Hargate was blackmailing you. You still had a motive, still are a very good suspect. So until this investigation is over, we don’t see each other, we don’t speak. If I have anything more to ask you regarding Hargate, I’ll send Sergeant Pierce to you. Do you understand?”
“Well enough.” Another of the small silences fell. “What about when the investigation is over?”
“I don’t know.” Fellows drew a breath. “There is still . . . I don’t know.”
“And yet, you have my photograph.”
They looked at each other a long moment. Everything spoken and unspoken hovered between them, waiting to be shattered.
Then Fellows moved around and past her, making himself give her a wide berth. He strode to the bedchamber, slammed inside it, grabbed the small photo from the dresser, and slammed out again.
He thrust the photograph at her. “Take it.”
Louisa didn’t reach for it. “Why? It’s yours.”
“Take it.” Fellows grabbed her wrist, pulled her gloved hand to him, and slapped the framed photo into it. “Give it back to Eleanor, keep it for yourself, give it to Mr. Franklin. I don’t give a damn.”
“You’re horrible.”
“Yes, I am. Best you know that. Now get out.”
Louisa stared at him, her mouth open, red lips moist. It was all Fellows could do not to sweep her up, deposit her on the sofa, strip off her clothes, and have her. Now. Hang the investigation.
And then Louisa might truly hang. No, Fellows would never let that happen. Even if he had to stay away from her from this point forward, let her marry another man, and never see her again, he’d do it to keep her from harm. Louisa’s life was worth far more to him than his own happiness.
Louisa didn’t hurry to obey. She looked up at Fellows for a long time, then clutched the photograph to her chest.
“I’ll go,” she said in her quiet voice. “I understand how it will look for the investigation if it’s thought we are having a liaison. But I won’t stay away forever.”
“When that time comes, no doubt we’ll argue again,” Fellows said.
“I think it would have done the world of good.” Louisa’s voice increased in volume. “But how could I know? How can I know anything of what you’re thinking? You hide so much.”
Fellows came out of his rigidity. “I don’t have much of a chance to speak to you, do I? Every time I see you, you’re at a party of some kind, surrounded by friends, laughing with them. You’re where you belong. You’re part of their world, with people you understand, and I am not.”
“What are you talking about?” She glared at him. “You are in that world now. You’re part of the Mackenzie family. They’ve welcomed you with open arms.”
“They have, yes.” His tone went ironic. “They’ve been adamant to erase the part of my life when I lived in penury. Their remorse is touching. The only one not wallowing in guilt is Ian, because I don’t think he understands the meaning of the word.”
Louisa flushed. “Do you think I’m wallowing in guilt?”
“You feel sorry for me, Louisa. You’ve told me.”
Her face reddened further. “You think I’ve kissed you out of pity?”
“You might believe otherwise, but yes.”
“Is that what you truly think? That I’d be so . . . patronizing?”
“Aren’t you?” Fellows knew he made her angry, but maybe if she grew furious enough she’d go, and stay away from him. “You told me once that I looked as though I needed cheering up. Poor Inspector Fellows—like a beggar standing outside the window, gazing at a feast he’s not allowed to have.” He’d felt that way often enough as a lad, especially the day he’d watched the boy Hart climb back into the sumptuous Mackenzie carriage and ride away with their father. Fellows had been left behind, outraged and bereft, and dragged off to a police station. That was the day he’d decided to become a policeman.
Louisa’s eyes were starry with anger. “How can you say that? How can you know anything about my feelings for you? You’ve never bothered to ask me!”
“I don’t remember you bothering to ask me before you coaxed me onto a ladder with you, or dragged me under the mistletoe.”
Louisa moved to him, halting close enough to him that he could breathe in her scent. Dangerous. “I don’t recall you pushing me away,” she said.
Was she mad? “Dear God, what sane man would? There you were, beautiful and wanting to kiss me. Last night you wrapped your arms around me and pulled me down to my desk with you. Only a saint would push you away, and I assure you, I am no saint.”
Louisa took a breath, pulling her voice down from a shout. “Why are you trying to make me angry? You are being deliberately cruel. Why?”
“Because you can’t be here. I said that when I came in. We can’t be together, Louisa. No declarations, nothing.” Fellows tried to speak steadily. “If anyone discovers me even talking to you, the investigation will be compromised. I’ll be pulled from the case and a detective assigned to it who cares nothing for truth, only for arrests and convictions.”
She looked puzzled. “But I’m not the only suspect now. Hargate was a blackmailer, with many other victims. You said you had ideas.”
“And by your own admission, Hargate was blackmailing you. You still had a motive, still are a very good suspect. So until this investigation is over, we don’t see each other, we don’t speak. If I have anything more to ask you regarding Hargate, I’ll send Sergeant Pierce to you. Do you understand?”
“Well enough.” Another of the small silences fell. “What about when the investigation is over?”
“I don’t know.” Fellows drew a breath. “There is still . . . I don’t know.”
“And yet, you have my photograph.”
They looked at each other a long moment. Everything spoken and unspoken hovered between them, waiting to be shattered.
Then Fellows moved around and past her, making himself give her a wide berth. He strode to the bedchamber, slammed inside it, grabbed the small photo from the dresser, and slammed out again.
He thrust the photograph at her. “Take it.”
Louisa didn’t reach for it. “Why? It’s yours.”
“Take it.” Fellows grabbed her wrist, pulled her gloved hand to him, and slapped the framed photo into it. “Give it back to Eleanor, keep it for yourself, give it to Mr. Franklin. I don’t give a damn.”
“You’re horrible.”
“Yes, I am. Best you know that. Now get out.”
Louisa stared at him, her mouth open, red lips moist. It was all Fellows could do not to sweep her up, deposit her on the sofa, strip off her clothes, and have her. Now. Hang the investigation.
And then Louisa might truly hang. No, Fellows would never let that happen. Even if he had to stay away from her from this point forward, let her marry another man, and never see her again, he’d do it to keep her from harm. Louisa’s life was worth far more to him than his own happiness.
Louisa didn’t hurry to obey. She looked up at Fellows for a long time, then clutched the photograph to her chest.
“I’ll go,” she said in her quiet voice. “I understand how it will look for the investigation if it’s thought we are having a liaison. But I won’t stay away forever.”
“When that time comes, no doubt we’ll argue again,” Fellows said.
