The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie

“How vexing that I am so feeble,” she said. “We will have to save such things for when I am well.”

Ian circled her ear with his tongue, finished with words. Beth squeezed his shaft, her fingers strong. She would be well very soon, and then he’d lay her down and proceed to do everything he promised.

She stroked him up and down, taster and faster, her fingers burning him. He didn’t stop his thrusts now. He closed his own hand over hers and helped her stroke, helped her squeeze.

Ian threw back his head as the room spun around, and he ground out his release. His seed spilled all over her hand and his, wet and scalding hot. “Beth,” he said into her ear. “My Beth.”

Beth turned to meet his lips, and their tongues tangled. He snaked his hand through her beautiful hair, kissing her over and over until her mouth was red with it. “I take it you liked that,” she said with a teasing glint in her eyes.

Ian could barely speak. His heart thumped and his breath came fast, and he was nowhere near sated. But it was beautiful. He kissed her one more time, then reached to the washbasin for a towel to clean them both up.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Someone knocked rapidly on the door. Beth gasped, but Ian calmly tossed aside the towel, fastened his trousers, and said, “Come in.”

Mac walked into the room. Beth’s face heated, but Ian betrayed no shame to be caught with his shirt open and his wife cradled on his lap.

“That blasted inspector is here,” Mac said. “I tried to toss him out, but he insisted you sent for him.” Ian began to growl, but Beth cut in quickly, “It’s all right. I invited him.”

She felt the weight of Ian’s glare, and Mac asked, “Haven’t we had enough of him?”

“I want to ask him something,” Beth said. “And since you wouldn’t allow me to go out, I had to have him come to me.”

Ian’s eyes narrowed. “Curry helped you.”

Beth started to slide off his lap. “Come down with me,” she said quickly. “We’ll see him together.”

Ian’s arms locked around her. “Send him up.”

“We’re hardly decent.”

“He’ll have to take us as he finds us. You aren’t well enough to dress up for him.”

Beth subsided, knowing that if Ian ordered the footmen to throw Fellows on the pavement, they’d listen to him, not her. Mac shrugged and retreated Beth tried to straighten her hair, which had come out of the braid she’d twined it into. “I must look like a courtesan who was just with her lover.” “You are beautiful,” Ian said. He held her loosely, but she knew his arms could close like a vise if she tried to rise and walk away.

The door opened again, and she heard Fellows’s intake of breath. “Really, this is unseemly.”

Fellows had his hands behind his back, clenching his hat. Mac stood nearby, arms folded, as though he didn’t want to let Fellows out of his sight.

“I beg your pardon, Inspector, but my husband refused to let me rise and greet you like a good hostess ought to.” “Yes, well.” Fellows stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room, averting his eyes. “Are you better, my lady? I was sorry to hear you were so ill.”

Surprisingly, the inspector did sound sorry. “Thank you,” Beth said, putting warmth into her tone. “Well?” “I heard all about your theory. About Lily Martin.” Fellows deflated. “I searched Mrs. Palmer’s rooms and found the photograph of Sally Tate that Lily had kept. It was signed on the back, ‘From Sally, with all my love.’ There was also a letter stuck into the back of the frame.”

“A letter? What did it say?”

“It was a love letter from Sally to Lily, ill spelled, but the gist was clear. Lily had slashed lines across the page and written, ‘You had it coming.’”

“Is that enough?” Ian asked.

Fellows scratched his forehead. “It will have to be, won’t it? Scotland Yard likes the solution, because it leaves you high-and-mighty lords out of it. But your names are all over my report for anyone to read.”

Mac gave a derisive laugh. “As though anyone will amuse themselves digging through a police, file.” “The journalists will make a meal of you.” Fellows said. “They always do,” Ian said quietly. “They haven’t stopped, and they never will.”

“Writing about high-and-mighty lords always sells newspapers,” Beth said. “I don’t mind, as long as you know the truth, Inspector. Ian didn’t do it, and neither did Hart. You’ve been barking up the wrong tree all this time.” She gave the inspector a sunny smile, and he scowled back at her. Being in this room made him highly uncomfortable, but Beth had no sympathy. He deserved it for all he’d put Ian through.

Fellows still couldn’t look directly at Beth and Ian, so he pinned Mac with his stare. “You Mackenzies might not have done the actual murder, but you were involved up to your necks. Next time you put a foot out of line, I’ll be waiting, and I’ll get you. I promise you that next time, I’ll pot you good.”

His face was red, a vein beating behind his tight collar. Mac only raised his brows, and Ian ignored him completely, nuzzling Beth’s hair.

Beth squirmed out of Ian’s arms and landed on her feet.

She was still a little wobbly, and put her hand on Ian’s strong shoulder to steady herself. She pointed at Mac. “You two must take him seriously.” Her finger switched to Fellows. “And you will not pot them at all. You’ll leave them alone and find real criminals who are doing real harm.” Fellows finally looked at her, anger overcoming embarrassment. “Oh, I will, will I?”