The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie
Page 24
“The inspector drew it anyway.”
Ian’s rage began to rise again. “I know. I tried to protect her from him. I failed her.”
“A footpad or a cracksman might have killed her. That can’t be your fault.”
Lily hadn’t struggled. She’d known and trusted whoever had driven the scissors deep into her chest. His own observation and Curry’s confirmed that.
“I couldn’t protect her. I can’t protect you.” Her little smile returned. “You have no need to protect me.”
Lord, could the woman be any more innocent? Beth was associated with Mackenzies now. That marked her in the eyes of the world. “Fellows will use you to get to us. It’s his way.”
“Does he use Isabella?”
“He tried. He failed.” Fellows had thought Isabella would hate all things Mackenzie once she’d walked out on Mac.
He’d assumed she’d tell Fellows all their secrets, but Fellows had been so very wrong. Isabella was the daughter of an earl, blue-blooded through and through, and she refused so even to speak to a mere policeman. Her loyalty remained with Mac’s family.
“There you are, then,” Beth said. “He’ll fail with me as well.”
“If you throw in your lot with us, you’ll regret it.” “I told you, it’s too late for that. I’ve come to know Isabella well, and I know she wouldn’t speak so fondly of you if she thought you capable of murder.”
It was true that Isabella retained affection for Ian, Hart, and Cam, God knew why. Ian had liked Isabella right away when Mac had presented her the day after their elopement. She’d been incredibly innocent, but she’d taken her plunge into their masculine world with aplomb.
“Isabella believes in us.”
Beth’s touch softened. “If she does, I do, too.” He felt his red anger lessening, the despair easing. Beth believed him. She was a fool to, but the fact that she did wormed its way into the empty spaces inside him. “You’d take the word of a madman?” he asked.
“You’re not a madman.”
“I was put into that asylum for a reason. I couldn’t convince the commission that I was sane.”
She smiled. “One of my husband’s parishioners firmly believed she was Queen Victoria. She wore black bombazine and mourning brooches and talked constantly of her poor, deceased Albert I can’t believe you are as eccentric as she.” Ian turned from her, forcing her to let go of his arm. “When I was first released from the asylum I wouldn’t speak for three months.”
He heard her stop behind him. “Oh.”
“I hadn’t forgotten how—I simply didn’t want to. I didn’t know it distressed my brothers until they told me. I can’t read hints from others. A person has to tell me a thing plainly.” She gave him a shaky smile. “Which is why you don’t laugh at my little jokes. I thought I’d lost my knack for it.”
“I learn what to do by watching others, like applauding at the opera when the rest of the audience starts. It’s like learning a foreign language. And I can’t follow a conversation when I’m with a crowd.”
“Is that why you didn’t speak much when you came to Mather’s box at Covent Garden?”
“One-on-one is much easier.” He spoke a fact. He could focus on what one person was saying, but trying to follow several people’s contributions to a conversation led to confusion.
As a youth he’d been punished for not answering at the table or not joining in a discussion. Sullen, his father had labeled him. Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy.
Beth’s eyes were tight. “My dear Ian, then we are birds of a feather. Mrs. Barrington had to teach me how to behave in society from the ground up, and I still don’t understand all the rules. For instance, do you know it is considered vulgar to eat ices with a spoon? One must use a fork, which seems rather ridiculous. The most difficult is to leave a few morsels of food on the plate, so as not to seem overzealous in eating. I had so many hungry days in my youth that I consider this beyond perplexing.”
Ian let her words wash over him without bothering to follow them. He liked her voice, smooth and cool, like the mountain stream he fished from in the wilds of Scotland. “You call me Ian now,” he said.
She blinked. “Do I?”
“You’ve said it five times since I arrived.”
“You see? I do consider us friends.”
Friends. He wanted so much more than that.
Beth gave him a glance from under her lashes. “Ian, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
He waited, but she took a step back, toying with the silver ring on her left hand He knew jewels well enough to see that the ring was cheap, the one stone in it the merest chip.
Someone poor had given it to her, but she’d kept it with care. She’d returned Mather’s diamond ring without hesitation, but this one was precious to her.
“Ian, I wonder if perhaps . . .”
Ian focused his attention on her words with difficulty. He’d rather listen to her flowing voice, watch the rise and fall of her br**sts, study the movement of her lips. “Since you seem to like me a little,” she said, “I wonder whether you would be interested . . . in having a liaison with me.”
The last words came out in a rush, and lan’s attention snapped to her.
“Have carnal relations, I mean,” Beth continued. “On occasion, when we mutually agree.”
Ian’s rage began to rise again. “I know. I tried to protect her from him. I failed her.”
“A footpad or a cracksman might have killed her. That can’t be your fault.”
Lily hadn’t struggled. She’d known and trusted whoever had driven the scissors deep into her chest. His own observation and Curry’s confirmed that.
“I couldn’t protect her. I can’t protect you.” Her little smile returned. “You have no need to protect me.”
Lord, could the woman be any more innocent? Beth was associated with Mackenzies now. That marked her in the eyes of the world. “Fellows will use you to get to us. It’s his way.”
“Does he use Isabella?”
“He tried. He failed.” Fellows had thought Isabella would hate all things Mackenzie once she’d walked out on Mac.
He’d assumed she’d tell Fellows all their secrets, but Fellows had been so very wrong. Isabella was the daughter of an earl, blue-blooded through and through, and she refused so even to speak to a mere policeman. Her loyalty remained with Mac’s family.
“There you are, then,” Beth said. “He’ll fail with me as well.”
“If you throw in your lot with us, you’ll regret it.” “I told you, it’s too late for that. I’ve come to know Isabella well, and I know she wouldn’t speak so fondly of you if she thought you capable of murder.”
It was true that Isabella retained affection for Ian, Hart, and Cam, God knew why. Ian had liked Isabella right away when Mac had presented her the day after their elopement. She’d been incredibly innocent, but she’d taken her plunge into their masculine world with aplomb.
“Isabella believes in us.”
Beth’s touch softened. “If she does, I do, too.” He felt his red anger lessening, the despair easing. Beth believed him. She was a fool to, but the fact that she did wormed its way into the empty spaces inside him. “You’d take the word of a madman?” he asked.
“You’re not a madman.”
“I was put into that asylum for a reason. I couldn’t convince the commission that I was sane.”
She smiled. “One of my husband’s parishioners firmly believed she was Queen Victoria. She wore black bombazine and mourning brooches and talked constantly of her poor, deceased Albert I can’t believe you are as eccentric as she.” Ian turned from her, forcing her to let go of his arm. “When I was first released from the asylum I wouldn’t speak for three months.”
He heard her stop behind him. “Oh.”
“I hadn’t forgotten how—I simply didn’t want to. I didn’t know it distressed my brothers until they told me. I can’t read hints from others. A person has to tell me a thing plainly.” She gave him a shaky smile. “Which is why you don’t laugh at my little jokes. I thought I’d lost my knack for it.”
“I learn what to do by watching others, like applauding at the opera when the rest of the audience starts. It’s like learning a foreign language. And I can’t follow a conversation when I’m with a crowd.”
“Is that why you didn’t speak much when you came to Mather’s box at Covent Garden?”
“One-on-one is much easier.” He spoke a fact. He could focus on what one person was saying, but trying to follow several people’s contributions to a conversation led to confusion.
As a youth he’d been punished for not answering at the table or not joining in a discussion. Sullen, his father had labeled him. Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy.
Beth’s eyes were tight. “My dear Ian, then we are birds of a feather. Mrs. Barrington had to teach me how to behave in society from the ground up, and I still don’t understand all the rules. For instance, do you know it is considered vulgar to eat ices with a spoon? One must use a fork, which seems rather ridiculous. The most difficult is to leave a few morsels of food on the plate, so as not to seem overzealous in eating. I had so many hungry days in my youth that I consider this beyond perplexing.”
Ian let her words wash over him without bothering to follow them. He liked her voice, smooth and cool, like the mountain stream he fished from in the wilds of Scotland. “You call me Ian now,” he said.
She blinked. “Do I?”
“You’ve said it five times since I arrived.”
“You see? I do consider us friends.”
Friends. He wanted so much more than that.
Beth gave him a glance from under her lashes. “Ian, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
He waited, but she took a step back, toying with the silver ring on her left hand He knew jewels well enough to see that the ring was cheap, the one stone in it the merest chip.
Someone poor had given it to her, but she’d kept it with care. She’d returned Mather’s diamond ring without hesitation, but this one was precious to her.
“Ian, I wonder if perhaps . . .”
Ian focused his attention on her words with difficulty. He’d rather listen to her flowing voice, watch the rise and fall of her br**sts, study the movement of her lips. “Since you seem to like me a little,” she said, “I wonder whether you would be interested . . . in having a liaison with me.”
The last words came out in a rush, and lan’s attention snapped to her.
“Have carnal relations, I mean,” Beth continued. “On occasion, when we mutually agree.”
