The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie

“But it’s a lie.”

“You and I know the truth, and the people who prefer the fiction will be satisfied.”

“Ian, you will make me a confidence trickster myself, just like my father. I’m no better than he was.” “You are better. You are a hundred times better.”

“But if someone found out . . . Ian, it could be horrible. Newspapers . . .”

He wasn’t listening. “We don’t fit in, you and me,” he said. “We’re both oddities no one knows what to do with. But we fit together.” He took her hand, pressed her palm to his, then laced their fingers through each other’s. “We fit.”

He was saying, We are adrift and no one wants us, not the real us. We might as well drift together. Not, Please marry me, Beth. I love you.

Ian had told her that first night at the theatre that he could never love her. She couldn’t expect that. On the other hand, as Mac pointed out, they got on. Beth had learned not to be startled at his abrupt speeches, not to be offended when he looked as though he hadn’t heard a word she said.

“The priest is Catholic,” she said faintly. “I’m C of E.” “The marriage will be legal. Mac saw to that. We can have another ceremony when we return to Scotland.” “Scotland,” she repeated. “Not England.”

“We’ll go to Kilmorgan. You’ll be part of it, now.”

“Do stop trying to make me feel better, Ian.”

He frowned, Ian always taking her words literally. She went on. “A lady likes to be wooed a bit before she’s thrust into marriage. Offered a diamond ring and so forth.” Ian’s grip tightened. “I’ll buy you the largest ring you ever saw, covered with sapphires to match your eyes.” Her heart skipped a beat. His gaze was so intense, even when he couldn’t meet hers directly.

She remembered the breathless moment when he’d actually looked at her when they’d made love. His eyes had been so beautiful, fixed on her as though she were the only person in the world. The only person who mattered. What would she give to have him look at her like that again?

Everything she had.

“Blast you, Ian Mackenzie,” she whispered.

Someone tapped on the door, and Curry stuck his head around it. “The rain’s slackened, and the good inspector’s getting impatient.”

“Beth,” Ian said, his grip crushing.

Beth closed her eyes. She hung onto Ian’s hands as though he were the only thing between her and drowning. “All right, all right,” she said, her voice shaking as much as her. body. “We’d better do it quickly, before the inspector storms the battlements.”

And it was done. Beth’s eyes were heart-wrenchingly blue as she repeated the vows. Then the marriage was sealed by the priest, witnessed by Curry, Mac, and Bellamy. Ian slipped a plain ring he’d instructed Curry to bring onto Beth’s finger, a placeholder until he could buy her the wide sapphire band. When he kissed her, he tasted the heat left over from their lovemaking as well as her nervousness.

They walked out together, Ian holding an umbrella over both himself and Beth. Ian pointedly ignored Fellows and the crowd of Paris police and journalists who waited on the opposite side of the street.

Ian’s carriage pulled forward as they emerged, blocking Fellows’s view. The man strode around the carriage anyway as Ian was handing Beth in.

Fellows’s eyes were grim, his mustache soaked with rain. His stance bore the furious exhaustion of a man who’d stalked his prey all night and now saw it slipping away.

“Ian Mackenzie,” he said heavily. “My friends in the Surete have come to arrest you for abducting Mrs. Beth Ackerley and holding her hostage in this inn.” Beth gazed out of the carriage, a warm, lighted haven from the rain. “Oh, don’t be so ridiculous, Inspector. He didn’t abduct me.”

“I have witnesses who saw him drag you out of that gambling den and hustle you here.”

Ian slowly folded his umbrella, shook it out, and stowed it inside the carriage. “Mrs. Beth Ackerley is no longer here,” he said, focusing on the pension they’d just left. “Lady Ian Mackenzie is.”

He turned and climbed into the carriage before Fellows could begin to splutter. Mac came out of the pension, a wide grin on his face, followed by Curry with a valise, and Bellamy with a basket of wine and bread Ian had bought from the hotelier.

“You lost that round, Fellows,” Mac said, clapping the inspector on a soggy shoulder. “Better luck next time.” He climbed up into the carriage and thumped down opposite Beth and Ian, smiling broadly at them. Bellamy climbed up with the coachman, but Curry sprang into the coach and slammed the door in Fellows’s face. The inspector’s eyes were hard as agates, and Ian knew he’d thwarted the man only briefly. The battle had been won, but the war would rage on.

They left immediately for Scotland. Beth had only a few hours to pack and say good-bye to Isabella, because Ian was suddenly in a tearing hurry.

“Oh, darling, I’m so happy.” Tears wet Isabella’s lashes as she gathered Beth in a right hug. “I’ve always wanted a sister, and you are the best I can think of.” She held Beth at arm’s length. “Make him happy. Ian deserves to be happy, more than any of them.”

“I’ll try,” Beth promised.

Isabella’s dimples showed. “When I move back to London, you’ll come down and stay with me, and we’ll have scads of fun.”