The Untamed MacKenzie

Louisa gave up. She leaned across the seat in the rattling coach and kissed Daniel’s cheek. “You are sweet, Danny. A complete madman, but a very sweet one.”

“Aw, Auntie. You know I love you. I’m devastated ye won’t pick me as your husband, but if not, I’m happy to help you land one of your own.”

“Pish. You haven’t fallen in love yet, so you don’t understand how very awful it can be. I used to be a rational girl, and now I’m doing foolish things like running about London in the middle of the night and letting police inspectors kiss me senseless. I shall be all right. It will pass. And when you do fall in love, Daniel Mackenzie, I shall laugh at you.”

“No fear of that. I enjoy ladies, as both friends and lovers, but I will let nothing stand in the way of my inventions.”

“So say you. Well, here I am,” she said as the carriage pulled to a halt in front of Isabella’s house. “Thank you, Danny.”

Daniel gallantly leapt down and handed her out. He surprised Louisa by pulling her into a crushing hug before he let her go. “Never worry, Auntie,” he said softly. “I’ll make sure all is well.”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek, another hug, and then backed away and waved good night. Louisa hurried into the house, Morton the butler pulling the door open for her before she reached the doorstep. Daniel called good night again, leapt into the hansom, and rattled off.

Louisa wasn’t sure whether to take hope from Daniel’s words or worry about what mad thing he’d take it into his head to do. Either way, most of her thoughts were still focused on Fellows’ kisses, the strength of his body on hers, the look of dark desperation in his eyes when he’d backed away from her.

She had to be right. It was hopeless.

Louisa went up the stairs, not stopping on the landing that led to her bedchamber. She kept climbing, up to the nursery to quietly slip inside and kiss the three sleeping children good night. She sat there after that, in the dark, watching them sleep, soaking in the calming silence.

***

“The guv’s asking for you,” Sergeant Pierce said to Fellows, looking apologetic. “Says now, sir.”

Damnation. Fellows looked up from the fifty statements he was going over again, meticulously, trying to decide who was telling the truth. They were all lying—people did that to the police—but usually for reasons that had nothing to do with the case. Fellows had to sift through and pick out the important lies from the unimportant ones.

He’d been here since the early hours, after going home last night and trying to sleep. Not possible. Fellows had lain awake, staring at the whitewashed ceiling above his bed, which reflected every passing light, the moon, streetlights.

In the reflections he saw Louisa, her red hair coming down, the sultry look in her eyes when he’d lain her back on the desk. He heard her voice, low and vibrant, saying his name. Lloyd.

He’d do anything to have her say it to him like that again.

Sleeping being out of the question, Fellows had come in to see if he could make sense of all this mess.

“Now?” Fellows repeated irritably.

“Yes, sir. Says it’s urgent.”

Fellows heaved an aggrieved sigh, slammed papers aside, got to his feet, and headed out of the room. Constable Dobbs was just coming in with cups of tea, and the two met in the doorway. Fellows turned sideways to move past him. Dobbs turned red. The constable’s hands shook so hard that tea sloshed from the full cups and splashed to Fellows’ shoes.

“Watch yourself, Constable,” Fellows snapped, then he was past and striding down the hall.

Detective Chief Superintendent Giles Kenton had been Fellows’ superior for nearly five years. It had been Kenton who’d lifted his former superior’s restrictions on Fellows’ promotions, put in place when Fellows had been fanatically pursuing the Mackenzies for murder.

Kenton had made clear that Fellows needed to have a care in who he offended with his obsessive investigations. Kenton was a good man to work for, though, because he recognized that Fellows had a unique way of solving his cases and that his clear-up rate was better than most.

Kenton waved Fellows to the only other chair in his office, keeping his attention on the papers that littered his desk. That was a good sign. No sitting upright, hands on the desk, gaze trained on Fellows. Just Kenton doing what he usually did.

Kenton signed a piece of paper, blotted the paper, and clattered the pen to a tray, spraying a few ink droplets to his desk. Finally he pushed aside everything and looked up at Fellows.

Not so good. Kenton had a sharp light in his eyes that came from anger. “I’m pulling you and your team off the Hargate case,” he said.

Fellows’ answer was abrupt and instant. “No. You can’t. I mean . . . No, sir. Please don’t.”

“I can and I will. Hargate was powerful, and his family is powerful, both his father’s and his mother’s. His friends are powerful. They are all busily screaming for our blood, wondering why we haven’t closed this case yet.”

Fellows couldn’t stay seated. He was on his feet, fists clenched. “It’s been less than a week. Cases like this can take months. Years. You know that.”

“Yes, I know that. Civilians don’t, especially posh ones. They either want the police to work miracles or else they complain we’re a bloody nuisance.”

“Then they should let me get on with my job. Having my chief super pull me in to twit me is wasting time.”