Drat it. He had to choose that moment to spy her, didn’t he? When she had cream smeared across her lips, her eyes wide as she looked frantically about for Isabella.

Other ladies were staring at her, and their gazes were not friendly. She heard someone say behind her, “Shame on Mr. Franklin for leaving better girls in the starting gate.”

Louisa slammed the plate to the table and walked out of the tea tent, scrubbing her mouth with her handkerchief. Ladies parted to let her pass, their hostile looks barely veiled.

She emerged to see Inspector Fellows heading for the stables. Louisa kept a good distance and part of the crowd between her and him as she followed, pretending she was doing nothing more than wandering about looking at horses.

Had Louisa understood his minute signal that she was to follow him? Or had it been her wishful thinking? She’d welcome the chance to explain to him about Gil. The situation was not what Fellows’ thought—what anyone thought. Fellows would understand, perhaps, but only if she had a chance to speak to him.

Fellows walked into the far end of one of the long rows of stables. Few people lingered there—a couple of grooms were leading horses out, but that was all. The bulk of the spectators, owners, trainers, and jockeys were in the stands or on the track.

No one bothered about one stray lady in pale yellow as she crossed behind horse vans and stable blocks and ducked into the last stable yard. This stable block wasn’t much in use—a few horses poked their heads over the stall doors as Louisa entered, curious as to who was coming to see them.

The peace and coolness of the stables started to soothe her. Louisa loved horses. As a child, she’d sought refuge in the barns whenever her lessons in deportment drove her mad, or when the household was too busy making a fuss over Isabella to pay attention to Louisa. No one had much noticed where Louisa had gone.

She spied Fellows. He stood at the end of the line of loose boxes, his hand on a horse’s nose. He was talking to the animal, the horse basking in his attention.

Louisa walked toward him, heels clicking on the cobbles. Fellows heard her, turned, and scowled formidably. He didn’t call out; he waited until she neared him, then he walked away from her into an open, empty stall.

He knew Louisa would follow. She ducked inside the stall to find him standing on freshly strewn hay, his arms folded, eyes glinting in the dim light. Fire.

The shade of the stall was soothing. So were the scent of horses, the pungent smell of feed, and the mellower smells of leather and soap.

“Did anyone see you?” Fellows asked.

“No. I was careful.”

“Good.”

“Then I was right,” she said. “You wanted me to follow you?”

“Yes. I need to talk to you. About Franklin. You can’t marry him.”

His gruff tone made her heart beat faster. At the same time, her anger rose. “I see. Do the police approve all marriages now?”

“Only yours. You are engaged to him?”

His voice was calm, but full of rage. Louisa looked into his hazel eyes to find the fire high.

“No,” Louisa said. She wanted him to know. “The truth is, Gil did propose. I admit I didn’t discourage him from asking. He’d spoken to my mother and my cousin before he called on me. Such an old-fashioned gentleman, don’t you think? They were delighted.”

“And were you delighted?” Fellows watched her closely.

Louisa rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled. “It was very kind of him. Considering my current notoriety, it was brave of him to declare his intentions. But in all honesty—and no one but the family knows this—I haven’t given him my answer yet. So no, I am not officially engaged to him.”

Fellows lost his stiffness in an instant. “Thank God.” The words flowed with relief.

Louisa regarded him in surprise. “I thought you’d be pleased to hear I was engaged. That would keep tongues from wagging about me and you, wouldn’t it? And prevent you being taken off the investigation. I am letting people believe as they wish until I give Gil my final answer.”

“Why the devil should I be pleased?” His rage was back. “Use the betrothal as a blind if you want, but tell him no. You can’t marry Gilbert Franklin.”

“Why not? I believe you made it clear that you and I are not suited. Never will be. That you have no intention of trying to make us suit.” Louisa unlaced her arms to pick at her tight gloves. “You made it painfully clear.”

“This has nothing to do with what is between you and me. You can’t marry Franklin for the very simple reason that he is already married.”

Louisa had drawn a breath, ready to argue, then the breath lodged in her throat. “What?”

Fellows gave her a grim nod. “The Not-So-Honorable Mr. Franklin about six years ago married a woman in a village outside Rome. He has four children by her.”

Louisa staggered. She reached her hand out to the board wall to steady herself. Not enough support. She turned to put her back against it.

“Four children . . . No, that can’t be. You must be mistaken. You must have the wrong Mr. Franklin.”

“It’s not a mistake.” The words were flat, final.

“But . . .” Louisa wet her lips, finding a bit of cream she hadn’t managed to wipe away. “Good heavens, why didn’t you tell me before this? I’ve been considering accepting Gil’s offer. Seriously considering it, because you gave me no hope.”

“I didn’t know until yesterday evening. I ordered Sergeant Pierce to find out everything he could about Franklin, especially after his name turned up in Hargate’s notebook of sinners. I only had the telegrams from Rome last night. A copy of a parish register will follow in the post. Franklin married her all right. Legally. She’s the daughter of a farmer. But I suppose an earl’s son knew he needed a more acceptable bride to please his family and friends.”