Fellows dragged in a breath, pulling his thoughts back from burying himself in Louisa and never coming out. “Flattering.”
Ian Mackenzie had once lumped Fellows’ dedication in with the Mackenzie family’s madness, saying Fellows’ focus on catching criminals was as intense as Cameron’s brilliance with horses, Mac’s with painting, or Ian’s with numbers and total recall.
“If I tell you, the good policeman, everything, it will end up in a report on a desk, will it not? The foolishness of Lady Louisa Scranton in black and white, for all to see. Shall I then find it splashed across every newspaper and scandal sheet in London?” Louisa gave a half-hysterical laugh. “Why not? They played out my sister’s marriage and near-divorce there. They’ll quite enjoy themselves over me.”
Fellows held up his empty hands. “My notebook is over there. Whatever you say to me, in this room, will go no further. I’ll write it into no report. What you tell me will be between you and me, I promise you. You’ll have to take me at my word.”
“And why would you, the good policeman, not write down every syllable I say?”
Because I’d do anything for you, Louisa.
“Because I’m not always the good policeman,” Fellows said. “Never mind what the Mackenzies tell you about me—sometimes I’m just a man.”
Just a man who remembered every brush of her lips, every touch, their impulsive kisses, the stolen moments. I shouldn’t have done that, she’d whispered after the first time. But I’ve been wanting to kiss you. Fellows’ world had changed that day and hadn’t righted itself yet.
“I want to trust you,” Louisa said.
“I want to trust you.”
Louisa looked away, head turned, but not bowed. She was courageous, elegant, beautiful. Fellows wanted her with the intensity of a small sun. Somewhere not this overly large sitting room where she could walk so far away from him, somewhere he could close her in his arms, lay her head on his shoulder, and simply be with her.
“Very well, I’ll tell you,” Louisa said. She looked back at Fellows, her green eyes luminous with unshed tears. “Mrs. Leigh-Waters encouraged me to go alone to the tea tent with the Bishop of Hargate, because she knew he would propose to me there.”
Chapter Five
Isabella’s maid had laced Louisa’s stays too tightly. She could not draw a proper breath, couldn’t keep her voice from sounding scratched.
She hated the way Inspector Fellows was looking at her—Chief Inspector now; he’d won his long sought-after promotion. His hazel eyes were steady but behind them were questions, skepticism.
This man, this half-Mackenzie, always unnerved her. He was as tall and strong as his brothers, and possessed their air of confidence so acute it was almost arrogance. His hair, a dark shade of auburn, had been cut short, now rumpled as though the wind had caught it. Unshaved whiskers were dark on his bruised and battered face, and his eyes were red-rimmed.
But the hazel eyes that looked out at her showed anything but exhaustion. Fellows watched her with the keenness of a hawk, one waiting for the right moment to strike its prey.
The abrasions on his face had stunned Louisa almost as much as seeing him again. She wanted to touch him, ask in concern what had happened to him, try to make his hurts better, as though she had a right to.
The wild streak in the rest of the Mackenzies had been honed in Fellows into a ruthless need to pursue whatever criminals he believed needed to be pursued. He was just as single-minded as the rest of the family, but not as scandalous, because he kept a very tight rein on his emotions.
Fellows waited, not saying a word. The hawk would let his prey come to him.
Louisa drew another breath, or tried to, silently cursing her tight corset. “And yes, he did propose.”
“And you said . . . ?”
“I never had the chance to answer. As I tried to think of a way to let him down politely, he took ill.”
Fellows’ expression didn’t change. “You were going to refuse him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I thought of you, and I couldn’t. “Why?” She wanted to laugh again. “Because I did not want to marry him. I knew we wouldn’t suit.”
Fellows’ expression didn’t change. “Because your father defrauded him?”
Louisa flinched but had to nod. “I was surprised Hargate wanted to propose to me, in light of that.”
“Curious.”
“Yes, it was.” Humiliating too. Something she did not want to discuss with Mr. Fellows.
Fellows looked her up and down, and when he spoke again, his voice was mild and even. “I’ve spent years listening to people lie to me, Louisa. I’ve learned what exactly it sounds like. Up until this moment, you’ve been telling me the truth. Now you are lying. Why?”
With any other man, Louisa might hold her head up and demand him to cease badgering her, but with Fellows, she couldn’t. He knew too much about her. He knew she liked kissing him, liked the smoothness of his lips, the taste of his tongue.
Her face burned. “You are presumptuous.”
“It isn’t presumption,” Fellows said, keeping the mildness. “Or assumption. Why did you refuse the Bishop of Hargate? He’s rich, has plenty of titles in his family, and a lofty position. He should have been a good match for you.”
His indifferent tone made Louisa’s heart sting. “I should have married him for his wealth and position?” She gave him a mirthless smile. “Is that what you’re asking?”