A Mackenzie Family Christmas: The Perfect Gift

"No, thank you, to any of those," Louisa said. "I hear the fiddles going for a Scottish tune, which you might want to run off and join."

Daniel stood tall and looked down his nose at her. "A gentleman does not desert a lady."

"This lady prefers to walk in the cool hall a moment, alone. You do rather dance one's breath away, Danny."

Daniel executed a deep bow, ruining his dignified look by breaking into a wide grin. "M' heart shatters that you send me away, but never let it be said I pushed my attentions onto an unwilling lady. Good evening, dear Aunt-in-law."

So saying he whirled, kilt swinging, and ran back for the ballroom, narrowly missing a footman carrying a tray of champagne.

Louisa walked on down the hall, trying to slow her breathing. She'd sent Daniel away not only because she wanted to recover from the dance, but because she'd glimpsed a man in black disappear down this hall, one who looked like a Mackenzie and not at the same time.

But he'd vanished, to her disappointment. Ah, well. Probably for the best. But it would have been nice to speak to him one last time before she and Mama departed for London to prepare for the Season.

Perhaps he'd gone into the sitting room at the end of the short hall, beckoning with its open doors. She avoided the place where the mistletoe hung and made for the sitting room, satin skirts in hand.

The room was empty. A fire had been lit here for the guests, but the guests remained in the colorful ballroom. The hall bent beyond the sitting room, she saw, ending in a flight of dark steps leading upward.

Louisa hid a sigh. Likely Mr. Fellows had gone upstairs, retiring to his chamber. She knew that he felt a bit out of place among the Mackenzie guests, as Louisa sometimes did herself.

She turned firmly away, ready to return to her mother and put the man out of her mind . . . and ran straight into Mr. Fellows.

"Oh." The word escaped Louisa's mouth before she could stop it. "I mean, good evening, Mr. Fellows."

Fellows took a step back, then he bowed, the bow stiff, as though he forced himself to remember conventional politeness. "Lady Louisa."

"It's . . . well . . . I . . ." At supper she'd been able to be gracious and decorous, but now her polish and training deserted her. She roved her gaze over him, trying frantically to think of something to say, then she looked again. "You're wearing a kilt."

Mr. Fellows spoke in his usual dry tone. "Hart Mackenzie's gift to me."

"You weren't wearing it at supper."

"His wife persuaded me to don it for the ballroom. However I doubt there will be any Scottish dancing for me."

"Nor for me. I haven't yet mastered the steps."

Mr. Fellows cleared his throat. "Then perhaps you would like to sit?"

He gestured to the chairs placed about inside the sitting room, each of them a polite distance from the others.

Mr. Fellows did not want to sit down with Louisa. She saw that in his stance, in the tightness around his eyes, in the way he wouldn't look directly into her face.

Louisa remained where she was in the doorway. "Such a shame that you must return to London tomorrow. That you cannot spend New Year's with us."

"Unfortunately, the criminals of London do not stop for the holidays. I have a continuing investigation for which my governor wants a result before the new year."

"Perhaps we shall see you in London in January, then. Mama and I will be spending the Season there. With Isabella and Mac."

"Perhaps," Fellows said, his voice going still more dry. Unlikely that a Scotland Yard inspector would cross paths with a society miss. He knew this, as did she.

"Yes, well." Louisa fell silent, and he went quiet as well.

How foolish, Louisa's rapid thoughts went. Two grownup people with connections to the same family, standing and staring at each other. Surely we can speak of the weather if nothing else.

But no sound came from her throat. Louisa knew that when Mr. Fellows walked away, when he left the house early in the morning to begin his journey south, she would not see him again. Not for a long time, and then only at family gatherings where they'd again be awkward and overly polite.

A burst of song came down the hall--fiddles and pipes, the beat of a drum. Guests laughed and clapped. Louisa should return, should sit with her mother, dance with other gentlemen, make herself agreeable.

She couldn't move. Louisa opened her mouth to make an inane remark to Mr. Fellows, anything to keep the conversation going, and found him looking up at the doorway in which they stood.

Someone had hung mistletoe in it. Louisa had made a wide berth around the sprig that hung in the hall, but in her quest to find Mr. Fellows, she'd not seen this one.

He looked at her for a frozen moment. Louisa's words died, every lesson that governesses and finishing school had pounded into her evaporating.

She only knew that a strong man stood with her, different from any gentleman she'd ever met. A cushion of music floated up the hall, canceling all other sound.

Louisa had kissed him before. She remembered the pressure of his mouth, the taste of his lips. She, the forward thing, had coerced him into kissing her.

Louisa grasped the lapels of his coat, rose on her tiptoes, and caught his mouth in another kiss. Mr. Fellows stiffened under her touch, ready to pull away.

Then something in him changed. His mouth formed to hers, responding, and his arms flowed around her.

He tasted of whiskey and the acrid bite of smoke. Hard arms enfolded her, crushing her against the flat planes of his body. No hesitant kisses of a gentleman wanting to court a lady--Fellows kissed her in hunger, in need.