The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie
Page 86
Ian’s gaze flickered. “Don’t talk. You’re too weak.” “I’m right, Ian Mackenzie. Sally threw Lily over and was going to keep all the blackmail money for herself. Lily must have been furious. You said she was hanging about outside the bedroom. While you were off in the parlor, and after Hart left the room, she nipped in, quarreled with Sally, and stabbed her. No wonder Lily agreed to go to that house in Covent Garden and not come out.”
Ian leaned over her. “Right now, I don’t give a damn who killed Sally.”
Beth looked hurt. “But I solved the mystery. Tell Inspector Fellows.”
“Inspector Fellows can rot in hell.”
“Ian.”
“He thinks he’s a bloody good detective. He can find out for himself. You rest.”
“But I feel better.”
Ian glared at her, his eyes still not meeting hers. “I don’t care.”
Beth obediently settled back into the pillows, but she couldn’t resist tracing his cheek. His jaw was dark and sandpaper rough, showing he hadn’t shaved in a while. “How did you find me at the church?” Beth asked. “How did you know?”
“Fellows found someone who heard Mrs. Palmer tell a cabbie to take them to Bethnal Green. Hart knew Mrs. Palmer’s sister lived there. When you weren’t at her house, I decided you’d try to get away from Mrs. Palmer and back to the church that had been your husband’s.” He looked away. “I knew you’d been happy there.”
“How did you even know where it was?”
“I’ve explored all parts of London. I remembered.” Beth leaned into his chest, loving the clean scent of his lawn shirt. “Bless you and your memory, Ian. I’ll never stand amazed at it again.”
“Does it amaze you?”
“Yes, but I’ve been viewing it rather like a circus trick. Dear heavens, like you’re a trained monkey.”
“Monkey. . .”
“Never mind. Thank you for finding me, Ian Mackenzie. Thank you for not killing Sally Tate. Thank you for being so damned noble and conscientious.”
“I worried sometimes.” Ian rubbed his forehead in the gesture that indicated one of his troubling headaches. “Sometimes I convinced myself that it wasn’t Hart; it was me in one of my rages, blocked out so I don’t remember.” Beth closed her hand over his. “But you didn’t. Both killers are dead, and it’s over.”
“You saw me try to choke the life out of Fellows. It took Curry and Mac to pull me off him.”
“You must admit Inspector Fellows can be provoking,” Beth said, trying to make her tone light.
“In the asylum I fought my handlers at first. I hurt more than one of them. They had to strap me down to give me my treatments “ “Handlers?” Beth started to sit up, but the pain pulled her back down. “You weren’t an animal.”
“Wasn’t I?”
“No one should be tied down and beaten and given electric shocks.”
“The headaches would come, and I’d lash out at them.” His gaze slid away. “I can’t always stop the rages. What if I hurt you?”
Beth’s heart squeezed at the fear in his eyes. “You’re not your father.”
“Aren’t I? He locked me away because I’d witnessed him killing my mother, but that wasn’t the only reason. I couldn’t convince a commission I was sane—I grew so angry I could only recite one line of poetry over and over, trying to contain myself.” He caught one of her hands, brought it to his mouth.
“Beth, what if I rage at you? What if I hurt you? What if I open my eyes and your body is under my hands—“
He broke off, his eyes closing tight, tight.
“No, Ian, don’t leave me.”
“I was so angry at Sally. And I am so strong.” “Which is why you left the room. You went out to calm yourself, and it worked.” She pressed a kiss to his closed fist. “I very much need to speak to Inspector Fellows,” she said. She found herself pinned against the mattress. Ian’s eyes were open again, his fear gone. But for all the strength in his hands on her wrists, he made sure his weight was far from her hurt side.
“No more conversations with Inspector Fellows. He is to leave you be.”
“But—“
“No,” he growled.
He stopped her next words with his lips, and Beth was not unhappy to surrender. She said no more about it, but her mind whirled with plans. She needed to have a nice long chat with Inspector Fellows, and the good inspector would know why.
Beth recovered swiftly from her fever, but the stab wound took far longer. She could walk fairly well after another week in bed, but the pain was still profound and tired her quickly. She hobbled around Hart’s big house, with his servants hovering, ready to bring her anything and everything. They unnerved Beth, who wasn’t used to being waited on quite so intently.
She was also frustrated because after the kiss to keep her silent, Ian distanced himself from her. He told her wanted to give her a chance to fully heal, but she knew he still worried about his anger getting away from him.
Her own father had been prone to violent rages when drunk, and he’d been free with his fists. Ian wasn’t like that—he understood the need to control his anger, and he didn’t try to do it with drink.
She knew her own reassurances wouldn’t work. She couldn’t deny that the Mackenzies had seen and caused their share of violence. But then she remembered the anguish on Hart’s face as Mrs. Palmer had died. He’d held her protectively, letting her know he was there with her until the end. Ian had that same protective nature, the one that had made him openly defy Hart to protect Beth. She burned for Ian, but most nights, he stayed away from the bed altogether. Beth had many visitors, from Isabella to Cameron’s son, Daniel, all anxious about her. She’d never had a family before, never had more than one person at a time care whether she lived or died. Sometimes she’d had no one at all. The Mackenzies’ acceptance warmed her. Isabella had been right that the brothers often forgot to dampen their very masculine manners for ladies, but Beth didn’t mind. She liked that Mac and Cameron were comfortable enough around her to be themselves, and she knew their rough manners hid good heartedness. As Ian continued to insist on confining her, Beth began to feel like a prisoner in a plush palace. She had to resort to bribing Curry to do what she wanted.
Ian leaned over her. “Right now, I don’t give a damn who killed Sally.”
Beth looked hurt. “But I solved the mystery. Tell Inspector Fellows.”
“Inspector Fellows can rot in hell.”
“Ian.”
“He thinks he’s a bloody good detective. He can find out for himself. You rest.”
“But I feel better.”
Ian glared at her, his eyes still not meeting hers. “I don’t care.”
Beth obediently settled back into the pillows, but she couldn’t resist tracing his cheek. His jaw was dark and sandpaper rough, showing he hadn’t shaved in a while. “How did you find me at the church?” Beth asked. “How did you know?”
“Fellows found someone who heard Mrs. Palmer tell a cabbie to take them to Bethnal Green. Hart knew Mrs. Palmer’s sister lived there. When you weren’t at her house, I decided you’d try to get away from Mrs. Palmer and back to the church that had been your husband’s.” He looked away. “I knew you’d been happy there.”
“How did you even know where it was?”
“I’ve explored all parts of London. I remembered.” Beth leaned into his chest, loving the clean scent of his lawn shirt. “Bless you and your memory, Ian. I’ll never stand amazed at it again.”
“Does it amaze you?”
“Yes, but I’ve been viewing it rather like a circus trick. Dear heavens, like you’re a trained monkey.”
“Monkey. . .”
“Never mind. Thank you for finding me, Ian Mackenzie. Thank you for not killing Sally Tate. Thank you for being so damned noble and conscientious.”
“I worried sometimes.” Ian rubbed his forehead in the gesture that indicated one of his troubling headaches. “Sometimes I convinced myself that it wasn’t Hart; it was me in one of my rages, blocked out so I don’t remember.” Beth closed her hand over his. “But you didn’t. Both killers are dead, and it’s over.”
“You saw me try to choke the life out of Fellows. It took Curry and Mac to pull me off him.”
“You must admit Inspector Fellows can be provoking,” Beth said, trying to make her tone light.
“In the asylum I fought my handlers at first. I hurt more than one of them. They had to strap me down to give me my treatments “ “Handlers?” Beth started to sit up, but the pain pulled her back down. “You weren’t an animal.”
“Wasn’t I?”
“No one should be tied down and beaten and given electric shocks.”
“The headaches would come, and I’d lash out at them.” His gaze slid away. “I can’t always stop the rages. What if I hurt you?”
Beth’s heart squeezed at the fear in his eyes. “You’re not your father.”
“Aren’t I? He locked me away because I’d witnessed him killing my mother, but that wasn’t the only reason. I couldn’t convince a commission I was sane—I grew so angry I could only recite one line of poetry over and over, trying to contain myself.” He caught one of her hands, brought it to his mouth.
“Beth, what if I rage at you? What if I hurt you? What if I open my eyes and your body is under my hands—“
He broke off, his eyes closing tight, tight.
“No, Ian, don’t leave me.”
“I was so angry at Sally. And I am so strong.” “Which is why you left the room. You went out to calm yourself, and it worked.” She pressed a kiss to his closed fist. “I very much need to speak to Inspector Fellows,” she said. She found herself pinned against the mattress. Ian’s eyes were open again, his fear gone. But for all the strength in his hands on her wrists, he made sure his weight was far from her hurt side.
“No more conversations with Inspector Fellows. He is to leave you be.”
“But—“
“No,” he growled.
He stopped her next words with his lips, and Beth was not unhappy to surrender. She said no more about it, but her mind whirled with plans. She needed to have a nice long chat with Inspector Fellows, and the good inspector would know why.
Beth recovered swiftly from her fever, but the stab wound took far longer. She could walk fairly well after another week in bed, but the pain was still profound and tired her quickly. She hobbled around Hart’s big house, with his servants hovering, ready to bring her anything and everything. They unnerved Beth, who wasn’t used to being waited on quite so intently.
She was also frustrated because after the kiss to keep her silent, Ian distanced himself from her. He told her wanted to give her a chance to fully heal, but she knew he still worried about his anger getting away from him.
Her own father had been prone to violent rages when drunk, and he’d been free with his fists. Ian wasn’t like that—he understood the need to control his anger, and he didn’t try to do it with drink.
She knew her own reassurances wouldn’t work. She couldn’t deny that the Mackenzies had seen and caused their share of violence. But then she remembered the anguish on Hart’s face as Mrs. Palmer had died. He’d held her protectively, letting her know he was there with her until the end. Ian had that same protective nature, the one that had made him openly defy Hart to protect Beth. She burned for Ian, but most nights, he stayed away from the bed altogether. Beth had many visitors, from Isabella to Cameron’s son, Daniel, all anxious about her. She’d never had a family before, never had more than one person at a time care whether she lived or died. Sometimes she’d had no one at all. The Mackenzies’ acceptance warmed her. Isabella had been right that the brothers often forgot to dampen their very masculine manners for ladies, but Beth didn’t mind. She liked that Mac and Cameron were comfortable enough around her to be themselves, and she knew their rough manners hid good heartedness. As Ian continued to insist on confining her, Beth began to feel like a prisoner in a plush palace. She had to resort to bribing Curry to do what she wanted.
