The Madness Of Lord Ian Mackenzie

Chapter Twenty-three

Fellows stared at her. Ian straightened from his negligent sprawl, suddenly focusing on Beth.

“What secret?” Ian demanded.

“You don’t know nuthing.” Fellows sounded as Cockney as Curry.

Katie waltzed back into the room carrying the package Beth had instructed her to have ready. Her eyes were full of curiosity. Beth hadn’t confided in her, and she’d been very annoyed about it. “Is this the one you mean?” she said. “You going to a fancy-dress ball or something?” Beth took the package and opened it on the table next to the chaise. Ian rose and towered over her, as curious and mystified as Katie.

Beth turned around again, holding up the package’s contents.

“Would you indulge me, Inspector? Put these on?” Fellows’s face drained of color, and his eyes became fixed, like those of an animal in fear. “No,” he snapped. “I think you’d better,” Mac said quietly. He folded his arms against his wide chest and stood like a wall behind Fellows. Beth walked straight to the inspector. Fellows backed away rapidly, only to bump against Mac behind him. Ian stepped beside him to cut off any other retreat. “Do as she says,” Ian said.

Fellows went still, rigid and shaking. Beth lifted the false whiskers and beard Katie had purchased for her and held them to Fellows’s face.

“Who is he?” she asked.

The room went silent with shock.

“Son of a bitch,” Mac whispered.

“Blimey,” Katie said. “He looks just like that bloody awful painting of that hairy man on the staircase at Kilmorgan. Gives me the creeps, that thing does. Eyes follow you everywhere.”

“So there is a resemblance,” Fellows said to Beth. “What of it?”

Beth lowered the pieces of hair. Fellows was sweating.

“Perhaps you should tell them,” Beth said. “Or I can. My friend Molly knows your mum.”

“My mother has nothing to do with tarts.”

“Then how do you know Molly’s a game girl?”

Fellows glared. “I’m a policeman.”

“You’re a detective, and Molly never worked in your beat when you were a constable. She told me.” “Who is your mother?” Mac asked in a stern voice. “You mean to say you don’t know?” Fellows swung around to face the brothers. “After all these years of taunting me, of rubbing my face in your wealth and privilege? You even almost cost me my job, damn your eyes, my only way of making a living. But you didn’t care about that Why should you care that I’m the only one that looks after ray mother?”

“They truly don’t know, Inspector,” Beth interrupted. She wrapped up the false beard and handed the package to a smug-looking Katie. “Men often can’t see what’s beyond the tips of their noses.”

“I’m an artist,” Mac interjected. “I am supposed to be a brilliant observer, and I never saw it.”

“But you paint women,” Beth said. “I’ve seen your paintings, and if a man is in them, they’re vague and in the background.”

Mac conceded. “The fairer sex is much more interesting.” “When I saw the portrait of your father at Kilmorgan, the resemblance struck me.” She smiled. “Inspector Fellows is your half brother.”

Hart’s sitting room filled with Mackenzies. Curry bustled in with them, and the other three manservants hovered in the doorway, looking worried and curious at the same time. Beth was breathing hard, shaky from her trip down the stairs, and Ian made her sit next to him on the sofa. Why he believed he could keep Beth out of trouble, he didn’t know. She was headstrong and had a will of steel. His own mother had been a victim of his father, terrified of him. Beth’s mother had been a victim as well, but Beth had somehow managed to transcend the horrors of her childhood. Her troubles had made her courageous and unflinching, characteristics that had been lost on the idiotic Mather. Beth was worth saving, worth protecting, like the rarest of porcelains. Hart entered last, his eagle gaze taking in his brothers, Beth, and Fellows. Fellows was on his feet, facing them all under the room’s high ceiling.

“Who is your mother?” Hart asked him in his cool ducal voice.

Beth answered for the inspector. “Her name is Catherine Fellows, and they take rooms in a house near St. Paul’s Churchyard.”

Hart transferred his gaze to Fellows, looking the man up and down as though seeing him for the first time. “She’ll have to be moved to better accommodation.” Fellows blustered. “Why the devil should she? Because you couldn’t abide the shame if someone found out?”

“No,” Hart answered. “Because she deserves better. If my father used her and abandoned her, she deserves to live in a palace.”

“We should have all of it. Your houses, your carriages, your damned Kilmorgan Castle. She worked her fingers raw to keep me fed while you licked gold plates.”

“No gold plates in our nursery,” Cameron interrupted in a mild voice. “There was a china mug I was fond of, but it was chipped.”

“You know what I mean,” Fellows snarled. “You had everything we should have had.”

“And if I’d known that my father had left a woman to starve and raise his child, I’d have done something much sooner,” Hart said. “You should have told me.” “And come crawling to a Mackenzie?”

“It would have saved us all so much trouble.” “I had my own job, earned by my hard work, which you did your best to destroy. I’m older than you by two years, Hart Mackenzie. The dukedom should be mine.” Hart moved to the table behind a sofa and opened a humidor. “I’d give you the joy of it, but the laws of England don’t work that way. My father was married to my mother legally four years before I was born. Illegitimate children can be left money, but they can’t inherit the peerage.” “You wouldn’t want it,” Cameron put in. “More trouble than it’s worth. And for God’s sake, don’t murder Hart or I’m next.”

Fellows clenched his hands. He moved his gaze around the room, taking in the fifteen-foot-high ceiling, the portraits of Mackenzies, and Mac’s painting of the five Mackenzie dogs. Mac had painted them so lifelike that Ian expected them to come loping out of the painting and start drooling on Mac’s boots.

“I am not one of you,” Fellows began.

“You are,” Ian said. Beth smelled so good, her hair snaking over her shoulders in dark brown waves, making patterns on her gold dressing gown. “You don’t want to be, because that means you’re just as mad as the rest of us.” “I am not a madman,” Fellows returned. “There is only one madman in this room, my lord.”

“All of us are mad in some way,” Ian said. “I have a memory that won’t let go of details. Hart is obsessed with politics and money. Cameron is a genius with horses, and Mac paints like a god. You find out details on your cases that others miss. You are obsessed with justice and getting everything you think is coming to you. We all have our madness. Mine is just the most obvious.”

Everyone in the room stared at Ian, including Beth. Their scrutiny made him uncomfortable, so he buried his face in Beth’s hair.

After a silence, Mac said, “Proof we should always listen to the wisdom of Ian.”

Fellows made an impatient noise. “So we’re one big, happy family now? Will you broadcast it to the newspapers, lord it over me, make me a charity case? Long-lost son of a duke embraced? No, thank you.”

Hart chose a cheroot, then struck a match and lit it. “No. The newspapers don’t know what really goes on in our private lives, because they’re too interested in what we do in public. But if you are family, we take care of our own.” “Are you going to buy me off then? When I should have had your upbringing and your money, you’re going to dangle a bit of luxury before me to keep me quiet?” “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Inspector,” Beth snapped. “If their father did wrong by you, they want to make it up to you. They won’t offer false affection, but they’ll at least try to do the right thing.”

“We hate our father far more than you ever could,” Mac put in. “He abandoned you. We had to live with him.”

“It’s their father you want to hurt,” Beth said. “I don’t much blame you. I’d like to have fifteen minutes alone with him, myself.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Cameron said. He also moved to the humidor. “Trust me.”

“He’s dead and gone, where he can’t hurt anyone again,” Beth said. “Why carry on his legacy?”

“You’re trying to wrap me around your finger, my lady. You’ve thrown in your lot with them. Why should I thank you?”

Ian lifted his head again. “Because she’s right. Our father is dead and gone. He caused us all misery, and we shouldn’t keep letting him do it. Beth and I will have another marriage ceremony at my house in Scotland in a few weeks. We will all gather there and be finished with our father from that time on.”

Beth looked at him with shining eyes. “Do you understand how much I love you, Ian Mackenzie?”

Ian had no idea why this was relevant, and he didn’t answer. Everyone else started talking at once. Ian ignored them, anchoring himself with Beth. He wanted so much to leave her alone, to not hurt her, but the warmth and scent of her drove out everything else. He needed her. “Bloody hell,” Fellows said. “You’re all madmen.” “And you’re one of us,” Hart said grimly. “Be careful what you wish for.”

Cameron rumbled his big laugh. “Get the man a drink.

He looks like he’s about to swoon.”

“You’ll have a Scots accent before you know it,” Mac said. “The ladies like it, Fellows.”

“God, no.”

Daniel chuckled. “Ye mean ‘Och, noe.’”

Mac and Cameron dissolved into raucous laughter. “I think we should celebrate,” Daniel shouted. “With lots of whiskey. Don’t you think so, Dad?”

A week later, Hart’s coach let Ian and Beth, Curry and Katie out at Euston Station to take the train back north. The brothers and Isabella had said they would follow in their own time, promising that they’d be present for the elaborate wedding Ian would give Beth for consenting to be his wife.

The weather had turned rainy, and Ian was anxious to get back to the wide-open spaces of Scotland. At the station, while Curry rushed off to purchase tickets after settling Beth into the first-class lounge, Ian turned around to see Hart coming at him out of the rain.

The fog parted for his brother’s broad shoulders, just like the rest of the world did. Travelers’ heads turned as they recognized the famous and wealthy duke.

“I wanted to speak to you before you went,” Hart said stiffly. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Yes.” Ian hadn’t liked the way his rage mounted every time he found himself alone with Hart, and so he had found means to not be alone with him. Hart started to pull Ian aside, out of the crowd, but Ian remained stubbornly in the middle of the platform, the crowd snaking around them. Hart heaved a resigned sigh. “You are right that I’m a ruthless bastard. I truly didn’t know that for five years you were trying to protect me.” He hesitated, his eyes sliding sideways like Ian’s always did. “I’m sorry.”

Ian studied the steam billowing from the train across the platform. “I regret Mrs. Palmer’s death.” He watched a puff of steam swell, and then dissipate. “She loved you, but you didn’t love her.”

“What are you talking about? She was my mistress for years. Do you think her death means nothing to me?” “You will miss her, yes, and you cared for her. But you didn’t love her.” Ian looked at Hart, meeting his eyes for a brief moment. “I know the difference now.”

A muscle moved in Hart’s jaw. “Damn you, Ian. No, I didn’t love her. Yes, I cared for her. But yes, I used her, and before you remind me, yes, I used my wife, and both of them paid the ultimate price. What do you think that’s doing to me?”

“I don’t know.” Ian studied his brother, for the first time seeing him as something other than the stern, strong edifice of Hart Mackenzie. Hart the man looked out of his ambercolored eyes, and Hart the man was twisted in anguish. Ian put a hand on Hart’s shoulder. “I think you should have made Eleanor marry you all those years ago. Your life would have been ten times better.”

“My wise little brother. Eleanor jilted me, if you remember. Forcefully.”

Ian shrugged. “You should have insisted. It would have been better for both of you.”

“The Queen of England I can handle, Gladstone I can tolerate, and the House of Lords I can make to dance to my tunes.” Hart shook his head. “But not Lady Eleanor Ramsay.”

Ian shrugged again and pulled his hand away. His thoughts moved from Hart and his troubles to Beth waiting for him in the warm lounge. “I have a train to catch.” “Wait.” Hart put himself in front of Ian. They were the same height, looking straight into each other’s faces, though Ian had to move his gaze to Hart’s cheekbone. “One more thing. Beth, too, was completely right about me. I use you shamelessly. But with one difference.” Hart put his hands on Ian’s shoulders. “I love you, if I can be unmanly and say so. I didn’t take you out of the asylum just so you could help me with my politics. I did it because I wanted you free from that hell and given the chance to live a normal life.” “I know,” Ian said. “I don’t help you because you command me to.”

He saw Hart’s eyes grow moist, and suddenly his brother pulled him into a bear hug. The crowd milling around them turned their heads, smiled, or raised eyebrows. Ian held Hart close, fists pressing into his brother’s back. The two released each other, but Hart kept his hands on lan’s arms.

“Take Beth home and be happy. It’s over.” Ian glanced over as Curry opened the door to the waiting room, and Beth came out. She looked at Ian and smiled. “Maybe it’s over for you. For me, it’s just beginning.” Hart looked surprised, and then he nodded in understanding as Beth came to Ian, her hands outstretched, a warm smile on her face. Beth turned and planted a kiss on a startled Hart’s cheek, then took lan’s arm and let him walk her to the train.

In the train compartment, Curry fussed about making sure they’d have everything for the long ride north, until Ian sent him off. Rain and gathering dusk darkened the sky. Beth sank to the cushions and watched Ian yank the curtains closed against the gloom.

The train’s whistle hooted, the steam hissed, and the train jerked forward. Ian braced himself against the polished wall as the train rolled away from the station.

Beth leaned against the cushions, exhausted. “I could wish Curry had found a book or something for me,” she said. “Or we could have stopped for my needlework.” “Why?”

“For when you go a-roaming, up and down the train. I must keep myself occupied somehow.”

“I’m not going to roam the train.” Ian snapped closed the lock on the door. “You are here.”

“You mean you will stay alone with me? Without a chaperone?” Despite their bit of play in her bedchamber the day Fellows’s secret had been revealed, Ian had again kept his distance.

“I have a question to ask you.”

Beth stretched one arm across the back of the seat, hoping she looked provocative. “And what is that, husband?” Ian leaned down, his body hemming her in. His large fists rested on the seat back behind her. “Do I love you?” Her heart banged in her chest. “What a question.” “When you were ill, when Mrs. Palmer hurt you, I knew I’d die if you died. There would be nothing inside me, just a hole where you used to be.”

“Exactly how I would have felt if Inspector Fellows had let you go to the gallows or back to the asylum,” Beth said softly.

“I never understood before. It’s like fear and hope, both warm and cold. All mixed together.”

“I know.”

He cupped his hands around her face. “But I don’t want to hurt you. I never, ever want to hurt you.”

“Ian, you aren’t your father. From what you and your brothers have told me, you’re nothing like him. You left Sally rather than hurt her. You protected Hart from Fellows, and you thought you were protecting Lily. Everything you’ve done is to try to help people, not harm them.”

He stood silently, as though debating whether to believe her. “I have the rage inside me.”

“Which you know how to control. He didn’t. That’s the difference.”

“Can I ever be sure?”

“I’ll make you sure. You said yourself he caused you too much misery and that you and your brothers need to be done with him. Please, Ian. Let him go.”

Ian closed his eyes. Beth watched emotions flicker across his face, the uncertainty, the stubbornness, the raw pain he’d lived with for so long. He didn’t always know how to express his emotions, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel them deeply.

When Ian slowly opened his eyes, he guided his gaze directly to Beth’s. His golden eyes shimmered and sparkled, pupils ringed with green. He held her gaze steadily, not blinking or shifting away.

“I love you,” he said.

Beth caught her breath, and sudden tears blurred her vision.

“Love you,” Ian repeated. His gaze bore into hers harder than Hart’s ever could hope to. “Love you, love you, love you, love you, love you love you love you...”

“Ian.” Beth laughed.

“Love you,” he murmured against her lips, her face, against the curve of her neck. “Love you.” “I love you, too. Are you going to say it all night?”

“I’ll say it until I’m in you so hard I can’t speak.” “I suppose I’ll have to put up with that. It might be difficult, though I wouldn’t mind finding out.”

He paused. “Are you joking?”

Beth laughed until she slid out of the seat, but when she landed on the floor, Ian was right beside her. “Yes. I was joking.” She caught lan’s lapels in her hands. “I believe carnality is definitely called for. Perhaps we should send for Curry to pull out the bed.”

Ian got to his feet, tossed the cushions onto the other bench, and unlatched the hooks that unrolled the seat into a bed. “I don’t want Curry.”

“I see.”

Ian yanked the bed into place, then lifted Beth and laid her on it. He unlaced her boots with quick jerks, then unbuckled and unfastened every bit of her brand-new traveling clothes.

Moments later she lay back, naked in the chill air. Beth lifted one hand over her head, letting her breasts arch forward, while lan’s gaze warmed her like a blanket. She bent her knee, scooting her foot to her hip so he could see between her legs. It felt delicious and exciting to lie back for Ian Mackenzie and let him look his fill.

“Do you still love me?” she asked. “Or is it only desire?”

“Both.”

Ian tossed off his jacket, cravat, collar, and waistcoat in a few smooth moves, and had his shirt unbuttoned at cuffs and throat before she could blink. She watched his vee of brown chest come into view, then his strong thighs as he kicked out of his trousers and underdrawers. The shirt came off last. Dark hair snaked down his chest, and muscles rippled as he tossed the shirt aside.

He didn’t give her much time to appreciate what she saw. He climbed up to the bed, on hands and knees around her.

“Carnality?” he repeated.

Her natural instinct to joke fled her. “Yes. Now. Please.”

Ian slid his ringers between her legs, swirling the moisture he found there. “Love me?”

“I do. I love you, Ian.”

He withdrew his fingers, sparkling wet, and licked one clean. “The best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Better than single-malt whiskey from the Mackenzie distillery?”

“I’d rather drink you than whiskey.”

“And you a Scotsman? You must be in love.”

“S’up.”

Beth clamped her lips shut, and they trembled. Ian lowered his head and licked between her legs. He savored that, eyes closed, than began to work on her studiously. The train moved back and forth in a steady rhythm, but the room seemed to spin.

“Ian, please.”

He rose on his hands and knees again, his rigid stem hanging heavily. “Spread for me.”

He didn’t wait, didn’t go slowly. He lifted her hips with one strong hand and shoved his way inside her. The train rocketed over a bridge. Ian moved. He rested his weight on his fists, his muscles tightening, his skin gleaming with sweat.

“Love you,” he said as he thrust. “Love you, love you, love you.”

“Ian.” He was hard and moving fast, and she opened to him, hot, slick, and wet.

His words trailed off into grunts, and soon the sounds she made were just as incoherent. He drove his hips, pushing hard, harder.

Ian dropped onto to her, the slick sweat on his chest meeting the heat of hers. He clenched his teeth and forced his gaze to hers.

“Love. You.”

The man who couldn’t look anyone in the eyes was making himself do it, no matter what the pain. He was giving her a gift, the greatest one he could, straight from his heart.

Tears poured from Bern’s eyes at the same time her body wrenched into hot waves of joy. “I love you, Ian Mackenzie.” One more thrust, two, and he threw his head back, the cords of his neck tight. His seed burst out of him into her, and then they were twined together, arms and legs, lips and tongues.

“My Beth,” he whispered, his breath hot on her swollen lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Beth couldn’t stop crying, but she smiled, her face aching with it.

“Setting me free.”

Beth knew he didn’t mean from the asylum. He kissed her again, his mouth rough, bruising, then sank down to her. Their bodies fit together, hot and spent, hands caressing, cradling, touching.

“You’re welcome,” she said.