The Untamed MacKenzie

Dobbs was about nineteen, eager to learn, eager to please. He had close-cropped blond hair, blue eyes, and a tall, Viking-like body.

Right now, his fair face was scarlet. “Sir.”

“Out,” Fellows said.

“Sir.” Dobbs nodded nervously. “Sorry, sir.”

Even as Dobbs turned for the open door, he peered surreptitiously at Louisa, trying to make out who she was. Catching Fellows’ glare, he turned quickly away and sidled out, leaving the door open.

Louisa’s eyes were wide with alarm, her breathing rapid as she struggled to sit up. Fellows helped her from the desk and steadied her on her feet. Louisa’s hair was mussed, red ringlets straggling down her neck, her face as flushed as Dobbs’ had been.

No apology came from Fellows’ lips. He wouldn’t apologize for doing something he’d longed to do with everything inside him.

“Dobbs won’t say a word,” Fellows said.

Louisa reached for the coat, not looking at him, her cheeks still red. “We should find Daniel.”

She slid the coat around her shoulders. Fellows helped her settle it, but still Louisa wouldn’t look at him.

The moment was fragile. One wrong word, and she’d be lost to him forever.

But there were no right words. Fellows wasn’t elegantly articulate, like Mr. Franklin, or glib like Daniel. He’d learned plain speaking from his mother, as well as the value of keeping his mouth shut when the situation called for it.

He said nothing.

Louisa wouldn’t look at him, but she didn’t bow her head. She was a proud lady, from a long line of proud people. She was elegant and regal and wouldn’t crumble to dust because a police detective kissed her on his desk.

Fellows led her out the door. Louisa didn’t blindly rush away; she walked calmly with him through the empty corridors and down the stairs. Neither of them spoke or even looked at each other.

Daniel leaned on a desk inside the front door, talking and laughing with the sergeant there. When Daniel saw Fellows and Louisa, he straightened up in surprise. The sergeant quickly found something else to do, but Daniel’s eyes narrowed as he looked them over.

Fellows led Louisa past Daniel without a word and out into the street. The hansom cab still waited outside. Daniel, who’d insisted on paying the fare, must have tipped the driver well.

Fellows handed Louisa into the cab. She gripped his hand without hesitation as she stepped inside, but still she didn’t look at him.

“Take her home,” Fellows said to Daniel.

Louisa leaned forward, finally meeting his eyes. “Aren’t you coming?”

Fellows shook his head. “Have things to do, and my flat isn’t far from here. Daniel will escort you home.”

“That he will,” Daniel said. “Good night.” He didn’t look pleased that Fellows was deserting Louisa, but at least he didn’t argue. He climbed in after Louisa and settled onto the seat with a swing of kilt and a boisterous thump.

“Good night.” Fellows closed the door to the hansom with a snap.

Louisa continued to watch him. Curls of her loosened hair fell forward, haloing her in red. Then the carriage jerked forward, and Fellows’ view of her was lost.

Lost. A good word. Fellows remained on the street, watching the receding carriage for too long, until it disappeared into the April mists.

Chapter Twelve

“Do you want to talk about it?” Daniel asked.

Louisa jerked from her reverie, in which she saw, heard, and felt nothing but Lloyd’s warmth around her, his mouth on her, his strong hands . . .

“Talk about what?”

“What happened upstairs,” Daniel said. “I step away for five minutes, you come down flushed and mussed, not to mention distracted and upset. Did ye not like his attentions? Do I have to pummel him for you?”

Daniel, so young and eager—and so wide awake; did he never get tired?—watched her with a shrewdness that belied his youth.

Louisa couldn’t answer. She sank into the hard back of the hansom’s seat, stifling a sigh. Isabella’s house on Mount Street wasn’t impossibly far from Whitehall, but the hansom went slowly, and she knew the ride would be long.

“Ah,” Daniel said when the silence had stretched a while. “So you did like his attentions. That’s the trouble, is it?”

Louisa let out an exasperated breath. “I don’t know what he wants. That is the trouble. I don’t know.”

“Well, ye have to understand that when a gent looks at a beautiful woman, such as yourself . . .”

Daniel left it hanging. Louisa sat up. “Yes, I know very well what you are implying. And you are very flattering. But I have no idea if he wants anything more than that. Or if I do. Blast it all, it’s a terrible thing when I can’t trust my own thoughts. I don’t even know what I want.”

“I think you do.”

“Yes, of course I do,” Louisa snapped. “I want to not have gone into the tea tent with the Bishop of Hargate. I want Mr. Fellows not to be so standoffish with me. I want to be his friend. More than his friend. I want . . . Oh, Danny, it’s so confusing.”

“Not really. You’re falling in love with him. Or are already in love with him.”

“But am I? Or just . . . overwhelmed?”

“Love is overwhelming. Look what your sister did when she met my uncle Mac. She lost her head and ran away with him the very night she met him. She was just eighteen, younger than I am now. Whatever Mac thinks, Isabella would never have done anything so reckless if she hadn’t fallen crazily in love with him.”