Ian went to her and cupped her cheek, loving her petal soft skin beneath his palm. “I don’t want you to know about this. It’s base and dirty. It will soil you.”
He wasn’t certain what all Fellows had told her, though he could guess. But Fellows had dug up only the barest part of the incident. The reality went miles deep, secrets so nasty they could ruin all of them.
Beth waited, expecting him to clear it up in a sentence or two, to reassure her. Ian couldn’t, because he knew the stark truth. His damned memory wouldn’t blur, wouldn’t let go of what he’d seen, what he’d done. Both ladies had been involved, and they’d both died. Would Beth?
“No,” he said sharply.
“Ian.”
Her whisper cut him to the heart. Ian released her, the shaking rage pouring to the surface again. “You shouldn’t have anything to do with Mackenzies,” he said harshly. “We break whatever we touch.” “Ian, I believe you.”
Her fingers closed on his sleeve and held tight. He wished he dared stare into her eyes, but that was impossible. Beth spoke rapidly. “You’re afraid that Fellows turned me away from you. He hasn’t. He obviously has a bee in his bonnet. He said himself he had no evidence, and there was never a case against you.”
That was partly true, but would it were that simple. “Let it alone,” he snapped. “Forget.”
Ian wished he could forget, but he forgot nothing in his life. The events were as vivid to him as was sitting here playing the piano with her this morning. As vivid as every “experiment” the quack doctor had performed on him in the private asylum.
“You don’t understand.” Beth let go of his sleeve only to close her hand on his arm. “We are friends, Ian. I don’t hold friendships lightly—goodness knows I’ve had few enough of them in my life.”
Friends. Ian didn’t think he’d ever heard that term applied to him. He had his brothers, no one else. Courtesans liked him and liked him well, but he was under no illusion that they’d like him if he didn’t give them so much money. Beth’s gaze was intense. “What I mean is, I will not flounce off in a huff because Inspector Fellows turned up and made accusations.”
She still wanted him to clear it up, to declare his innocence at the top of his voice. Ian had difficulty with lies, not understanding the point of them, but he also knew that the truth was tricky.
“I didn’t see Sally Tate die,” he said, his gaze fixed on the door frame. “And I didn’t drive the scissors into Lily.” “How did you know it was scissors?”
He darted his gaze over her face, watching her eyes sharpen. “I saw her that night. I went to visit her and found her dead.”
A swallow moved in Beth’s slender throat. “You didn’t report this to the police?”
“No. I left her and caught the train to Dover.” “Inspector Fellows says a witness saw you go to the house.”
“I didn’t notice anyone there, but I didn’t look. I had the train to catch, and I didn’t want to draw a connection between me and Lily and High Holborn.”
“The inspector drew it anyway.”
Ian’s rage began to rise again. “I know. I tried to protect her from him. I failed her.”
“A footpad or a cracksman might have killed her. That can’t be your fault.”
Lily hadn’t struggled. She’d known and trusted whoever had driven the scissors deep into her chest. His own observation and Curry’s confirmed that.
“I couldn’t protect her. I can’t protect you.” Her little smile returned. “You have no need to protect me.”
Lord, could the woman be any more innocent? Beth was associated with Mackenzies now. That marked her in the eyes of the world. “Fellows will use you to get to us. It’s his way.”
“Does he use Isabella?”
“He tried. He failed.” Fellows had thought Isabella would hate all things Mackenzie once she’d walked out on Mac.
He’d assumed she’d tell Fellows all their secrets, but Fellows had been so very wrong. Isabella was the daughter of an earl, blue-blooded through and through, and she refused so even to speak to a mere policeman. Her loyalty remained with Mac’s family.
“There you are, then,” Beth said. “He’ll fail with me as well.”
“If you throw in your lot with us, you’ll regret it.” “I told you, it’s too late for that. I’ve come to know Isabella well, and I know she wouldn’t speak so fondly of you if she thought you capable of murder.”
It was true that Isabella retained affection for Ian, Hart, and Cam, God knew why. Ian had liked Isabella right away when Mac had presented her the day after their elopement. She’d been incredibly innocent, but she’d taken her plunge into their masculine world with aplomb.
“Isabella believes in us.”
Beth’s touch softened. “If she does, I do, too.” He felt his red anger lessening, the despair easing. Beth believed him. She was a fool to, but the fact that she did wormed its way into the empty spaces inside him. “You’d take the word of a madman?” he asked.
“You’re not a madman.”
“I was put into that asylum for a reason. I couldn’t convince the commission that I was sane.”
She smiled. “One of my husband’s parishioners firmly believed she was Queen Victoria. She wore black bombazine and mourning brooches and talked constantly of her poor, deceased Albert I can’t believe you are as eccentric as she.” Ian turned from her, forcing her to let go of his arm. “When I was first released from the asylum I wouldn’t speak for three months.”
He heard her stop behind him. “Oh.”
“I hadn’t forgotten how—I simply didn’t want to. I didn’t know it distressed my brothers until they told me. I can’t read hints from others. A person has to tell me a thing plainly.” She gave him a shaky smile. “Which is why you don’t laugh at my little jokes. I thought I’d lost my knack for it.”
“I learn what to do by watching others, like applauding at the opera when the rest of the audience starts. It’s like learning a foreign language. And I can’t follow a conversation when I’m with a crowd.”
“Is that why you didn’t speak much when you came to Mather’s box at Covent Garden?”
“One-on-one is much easier.” He spoke a fact. He could focus on what one person was saying, but trying to follow several people’s contributions to a conversation led to confusion.