Fellows made a noise in his throat. He could reach for her right now. She was alone with him, vulnerable. He could do anything to her, and nothing that came to his mind at the moment was honorable.

“Do you believe the same as they do?” Louisa was asking. “That I’m fast?” She let out a small sigh and another shiver. “I’m very afraid they might be right.”

She waited for his answer worriedly, as though what Fellows’ thought mattered to her very much. The cameo at her throat beckoned him to lean down to lick her there. “Louisa, you’re an innocent.” He had to remember that. “Of that there is no doubt.”

Louisa rose, her breath lifting her too-low décolletage in a dangerous way. “Then why do I think about kissing you every time I see you? I should be at my sister’s ball, hoping one of the gentlemen I dance with will propose to me and solve my troubles. Instead, I ran off with you the moment you beckoned. Whenever I see you, I know I don’t want duty and properness—I want the wicked things my brothers-in-law whisper to my sisters-in-law when they think I don’t hear them. I want to do those things with you, not with the young men I was raised to expect to marry. Please, explain to me how I can be so innocent with those desires in my head.”

Oh God. Fellows’ body tightened. He wasn’t good with words, was much better at chasing down criminals and then beating them until they stayed down. Words weren’t his gift—persistence and his fists were. And now the woman he craved was asking him to explain away the basic animal instinct that burned inside him.

He cleared his throat. “Have you acted on these thoughts, either with me or other gentlemen?”

“No, of course not . . .”

“Then you are an innocent. You have no idea of the full of it.”

“But I want to know.” Louisa put her hand on his where it rested on the desk. “I want to know all these things. With you.”

The world stopped. The flash of Louisa undressing, smiling at him over her shoulder, came to Fellows again, with force. He couldn’t say anything, not even her name. Louisa. The beautiful, sweet word. She wanted him. What he desired, what he craved—she wanted it too.

Louisa nodded, her diamonds flashing again. “You see? I am a wanton. At least, I am where you are concerned. And I have no idea what to do about it.”

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 breasts. 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 breasts, 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.

“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?”