Fellows had plenty of ideas. And he couldn’t act on any of them, not without being as insidious as the most vicious criminals he’d chased to ground.
Louisa was alone with him, in his power, innocent, no matter what she claimed. She knew nothing of life, not in all the ugliness he’d lived through. And she was telling him she wanted to give that innocence to him.
So much heat washed through his veins that Fellows thought he’d fall. But cold followed hard upon the heat. Louisa trusted him. She had no idea what a man like Fellows was capable of. He could take her right here, to hell with virtue and respectability, and she wouldn’t be able to stop him. She trusted him because he was now one of the Mackenzies, acknowledged as the half brother of her sister’s husband. All in the family, she’d said.
But Fellows wasn’t like the Mackenzies—he was worse than any of them. For all the brothers’ hardness and ruthlessness, Hart, Cam, Mac, and even Ian had a modicum of polish. Fancy schools and university, money, influential friends, and the right circles, had given them a bit of a gloss.
Fellows had lived in squalor, his mother working harder than any woman should have to keep him fed. Catherine had stayed late into the night at the taverns, working her feet off for impatient tavern keepers, putting up with men trying to corner her. Fellows knew she’d let some of them corner her, for money, when she needed it. And he’d never blamed her for it.
The tamer Mackenzies had never had to watch their mother try not to cry as she counted out her coin for the night and realized it wouldn’t be enough. Hart hadn’t fed off tavern scraps grudgingly given, hadn’t had to watch his mother work harder and harder for less and less as her prettiness faded. Fellows had determined, the day he’d been accepted as a police constable, that his mother would never have to work again. And he’d fulfilled that vow.
Louisa knew nothing of these hardships, and Fellows would do everything in his power to make sure she never did.
He could frighten her away from him. Make her go running back to the safety of Mac and Isabella’s home, lock the door, stay there. He abruptly slid his hand to the back of her head, twisted her face up to his, and crushed his lips over her mouth.
Louisa gasped, lips parting. Fellows tasted the sweet and tart of the lemonade she’d drunk, brought to her by the insipid Mr. Franklin. The thought of Franklin made Fellows angry. He dragged Louisa closer, fingers tangling in her satin-smooth curls, the kiss turning hard.
She made a little sound, and he knew he was bruising her, but he didn’t care. He meant to frighten her, meant her to jerk away and flee him.
She didn’t flee. Louisa was warmer than the room, the heat of her mouth searing. Daniel’s coat, still around her shoulders, smelled of cheroots, but her fragrance was all Fellows heeded.
He scooped his arm under her legs, easing her up onto the wooden desk. Perfect. Louisa sat on its edge, looking up at him, lips red with his kisses. Fellows cradled her head in his hands and kissed her again, deeper and fuller, locking her in place.
He jumped when her slipper brushed his leg. The point of her heel touched his wool socks then the bare of his thigh beneath the kilt. The little scratch of the heel jolted his need into a rampant fire.
Louisa was supposed to be frightened. She was supposed to fight away from him, shout at him that he should never dare take such a liberty. She should instruct him to never touch her, never to speak to her again. But Louisa’s answering kiss was as frenzied as his. Her slipper went up and up, her leg wrapping his and holding on.
One swift thrust on the desk, and she’d be his forever. But this was wrong. Fellows should savor her, in a bed, perhaps in an elegant hotel on soft sheets. Louisa deserved that. But the desk was here, the room dark and empty, his yearning for her climbing.
Fellows forced his mouth from hers. Louisa looked up at him in need, her eyes half closed, her lips red, parted, swollen. Her body was soft, hands curled around the lapels of his coat.
“Louisa.” He could barely get out her name. “No.”
It was the hardest thing he’d ever said. Louisa released her hold on his coat, but only to slide her hands around his neck. “Lloyd.”
The whisper was the first time he’d ever heard her speak his name.
He felt something break apart inside him, a breath of air that cleansed everything soiled within him. Fellows’ arms went around her, and their bodies moved together down to the flat surface of the desk. Daniel’s coat fell from Louisa’s shoulders, pooling on the hard wood and all the papers beneath her.
Louisa made another little gasp as he kissed her again, and Fellows took advantage. He kissed her parted lips, licking them, suckling them.
She didn’t stop him, didn’t fight him. Louisa kissed him back, trying to imitate what he did, which was sweet and erotic at the same time.
Fellows moved from her lips to her throat and the black ribbon and cameo. Fellows bit the innocent cameo then brushed his tongue down the curve of her neck to her br**sts. Soft skin rose above the neckline of her bodice, the slight salt taste of her making him want more.
She’d be damp and warm under the gown, the space between her legs moist and welcoming. Fellows wanted to taste her, to sink his tongue into her and take her goodness into his mouth.
He could have her. Raise her skirts, kiss her thighs, enjoy her delights and bring her to heights of pleasure. Louisa’s restless hands in his hair, her leg still twined around his, told him she wanted him, wanted this.
Fellows licked across the top of her br**sts, his tongue catching the fabric of the bodice. The satin’s dry contrast to Louisa’s skin only spiraled his need to near madness.
“Lloyd,” Louisa said again.
Her beautiful, throaty voice caressed his name. Everything painful in him washed away on its sound . . .
Someone coughed.
Reality came crashing back into Fellows so hard he lost his next breath. He took his mouth from Louisa’s breast and carefully raised his head.
He expected Daniel. Embarrassing, but Daniel might be trusted to keep silent. The lad already suspected Fellows’ intense interest in Louisa. Fellows would apologize for taking the liberty and explain the situation, then ask that Daniel keep it to himself. If Fellows could explain.
The young man standing inside the doorway wasn’t Daniel. It was Constable Dobbs.
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.