Ian paused to speak to another gentleman, then turned away with him, walking back through the darkened hall. Of course he wouldn’t enter the ballroom. He hated crowds.
Beth swallowed her pang of disappointment. She couldn’t expect him to dance attendance. Or was it part of what he’d told her, that he couldn’t engage his heart? More fool Beth. She kept up lighthearted chatter with Isabella and her friends, but her attention kept straying to the outer hall. Ian never reappeared.
Fog was gathering as Beth and Isabella left the house much later. As they crossed the small space of pavement to Isabella’s waiting carriage, Beth saw a man in the shadow between lampposts. He moved away when he caught her gaze, and the lamplight briefly shone on his thick, luxuriant mustache.
“Mrs. Ackerley.”
Beth turned sharply the next morning on her walk through the Tuileries Gardens. The burned-out remains of the Tuileries Palace loomed across the park, a reminder of violence in this beautiful place.
Katie walked next to her, surly because Beth had insisted on coming out early after such a late night. Isabella remained in bed, fast asleep, but Beth felt energetic and restless. “Fashionable ladies never rise before noon,” Katie growled under her breath. “I thought now we were fashionable, too.” “Hush, Katie,” Beth said. She bade Katie walk ahead and waited for the tall man in black to catch up to her. “Well?” she asked when Katie was out of earshot “I know you’ve been following me about, Inspector. Please tell me why.”
“Just doing my duty.”
The wind blew in from the river, bringing with it the musty stench of water and the sound of bells from Notre Dame.
“Does Scotland Yard know you’re in Paris?” she asked.
“Looking into murders that you’ve been forbidden to investigate?”
“I took a leave of absence. I’m in Paris on holiday.”
“Then I take it you will not be making any arrests.” Fellows shook his head, his hazel eyes hard. “If I feel there’s reason to arrest anyone, I’ll go through the proper channels. I’ll inform the Surete and assist them any way” I can.” Beth gave him a cold look. “I’ve already told you that I’ll not spy on my friends.”
“I’ve not come to renew that suggestion.”
“Because you know it is useless?”
“Because I realize you have integrity, Mrs. Ackerley. Surprising, considering your background.”
“You’ve made your point. My mother was gently bred, despite her unfortunate marriage, please remember.” “Yes, I’ve made inquiries and found one country squire from Surrey called Hilton Yardley. Very respectable, very English. Died of grief when his daughter married a frog of dubious origins.”
“No, he died of a liver complaint four years later,” Beth said. “You will no doubt say it was brought on by the shock of his daughter marrying my father.”
“No doubt,” Fellows answered dryly.
Beth turned and walked away at a pointedly brisk stride, but Fellows easily kept pace with her. “I approached you about a different matter, Mrs. Ackerley.”
“I have no interest, Inspector.”
“You will.”
Beth halted so abruptly that her skirts swung. She held her parasol firmly and bathed him in a glare. “Very well, what is it?”
He looked her up and down, his hazel gaze raking her in a most insulting manner. His mustache twitched. “Mrs. Ackerley, I want you to marry me.”
Chapter Nine
Beth stared at Inspector Fellows until she realized this wasn’t a joke. “I beg your pardon?”
“Marry me, Mrs. Ackerley,” Fellows repeated. “I am a respectable man with a job and income, although I know you no longer need to worry about money. But you’re in deep waters, too deep for your own good.”
“And you fear that I’ll drown?”
Fellows grasped her elbow. His fingers were strong, like Ian’s. “The Mackenzies will pull you under. Look what they did to Lady Isabella. She was an innocent debutante, and now she’s not received by her own family. You have even less social position than she does, and once you’ve lost public regard, you will have nothing. Doesn’t matter about all your money.” Fellows’s words rang with sincerity. But there was something behind the sincerity, a watchfulness that she couldn’t quite place.
“It is the best offer you’ll have,” he said. “I’ve seen the gigolos here running after you, panting after your fortune. They’ll ruin you. I care nothing for your money—I am happy being a detective, and I will continue to forge ahead at Scotland Yard.”
Beth clutched her parasol’s handle until her knuckles hurt. “You amaze me. Why should you worry so much about my reputation?”
True anger blazed from his hazel eyes. “Because the Mackenzies destroy everything they touch. Any lady who goes nigh that family comes to grief. I’d like to save one, at least.”
“One?” she asked sharply. “There have been others?”
“Do you not know the stories?”
Fellows’s eyes glittered. It was obvious he wanted to tell her, and Beth was cursed with wanting to know. She studied the sad ruin of-the palace, which the Parisians had already started to knock down. Clearing out the past, ridding itself of its ghosts.
“Please tell me, Inspector,” she said. “You are going to anyway.”
“I am talking about the wives of Hart and Cameron Mackenzie. Hart married a slip of a girl, a marquess’s daughter. This was after another young woman jilted him—came to her senses in time, most like. But the poor thing His Grace married was terrified of him by all accounts. He shut her up in that great house in Scotland and never let her out. She died trying to give him the heir he wanted. It’s said he took five minutes out to bury her in the family mausoleum, then went back to his houseful of fancy women.” “You’re very certain of this information.” “I have my sources. The duke now won’t talk about his wife and refuses to have her name mentioned.” “Perhaps he is grief-stricken.”
Fellows snorted. “Unlikely. Did you forbid all and sundry to speak your husband’s name when he passed, Mrs. Ackerley?”
“No.” She remembered the emptiness of her life after Thomas had gone. “You’re right. I didn’t want people to forget him. I wanted his name mentioned everywhere. Thomas Ackerley was a good man.”