Daniel, so young and eager—and so wide awake; did he never get tired?—watched her with a shrewdness that belied his youth.

Louisa couldn’t answer. She sank into the hard back of the hansom’s seat, stifling a sigh. Isabella’s house on Mount Street wasn’t impossibly far from Whitehall, but the hansom went slowly, and she knew the ride would be long.

“Ah,” Daniel said when the silence had stretched a while. “So you did like his attentions. That’s the trouble, is it?”

Louisa let out an exasperated breath. “I don’t know what he wants. That is the trouble. I don’t know.”

“Well, ye have to understand that when a gent looks at a beautiful woman, such as yourself . . .”

Daniel left it hanging. Louisa sat up. “Yes, I know very well what you are implying. And you are very flattering. But I have no idea if he wants anything more than that. Or if I do. Blast it all, it’s a terrible thing when I can’t trust my own thoughts. I don’t even know what I want.”

“I think you do.”

“Yes, of course I do,” Louisa snapped. “I want to not have gone into the tea tent with the Bishop of Hargate. I want Mr. Fellows not to be so standoffish with me. I want to be his friend. More than his friend. I want . . . Oh, Danny, it’s so confusing.”

“Not really. You’re falling in love with him. Or are already in love with him.”

“But am I? Or just . . . overwhelmed?”

“Love is overwhelming. Look what your sister did when she met my uncle Mac. She lost her head and ran away with him the very night she met him. She was just eighteen, younger than I am now. Whatever Mac thinks, Isabella would never have done anything so reckless if she hadn’t fallen crazily in love with him.”

“She might have,” Louisa said darkly. “Isabella was always headstrong.”

“She is headstrong.” Daniel gave Louisa another assessing look. “Let me guess—Isabella was the bold one, while you were always the good girl. The one who stayed home, behaved herself, never did anything to upset people. Am I right?”

“Yes.” Louisa thumped her hands to the seat. “You are absolutely right. I never did anything. I stayed quiet and obedient and did what was expected of me. And what was my reward? People pitying me, whispering about my scandalous family. So I decided to look for a respectable husband to make them stop pitying me. Now I’m accused of murder, and I’m letting the detective in charge of the investigation kiss me senseless.”

“Ah ha, is that what went on upstairs when my back was turned?”

“Yes.” Louisa’s face heated. “If you must know, yes.”

Daniel grinned. “You didn’t really have to tell me, you know. The stars in your eyes, your hair coming down, the pretty flush on your cheek, all betrayed you.”

“And you mustn’t tell anyone.” Louisa pinned him with a severe look. “Promise me, Daniel.”

Daniel raised his hands. “Never worry. I always keep the confidences of my great friends. Now, what you have to decide is what you’re going to do about this falling-in-love business. Ignore it and pursue your respectable marriage? With Gil Franklin, I’m thinking? You won’t have to push hard for a proposal there, I’d wager. Or wait and see if Fellows tries to kiss you again? Or asks more of you?”

“He won’t,” Louisa said glumly.

“Which he? Won’t do what?”

“Mr. Fellows won’t ask anything of me. He barely speaks to me. I have no idea why he kisses me, except for the fact that I’ve thrown myself at him several times now. He must think me depraved. I’m not certain he’s wrong.”

Daniel watched her. “This is all fascinating. I had no idea it had gone this far.”

“Nothing has gone far at all,” Louisa said in exasperation. “I’m behaving like a flighty, ridiculous woman who’s been sitting on the shelf so long she’s starting to go mad. It’s the only explanation for my insanity. You’re right—I should tell Gil I welcome his attentions, marry him, and have done.”

Louisa turned abruptly to the window so Daniel wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. If she married Gil, she could never let herself be alone with Fellows again. She couldn’t trust her own body not to react to him or trust herself to remain sensible and not succumb to desire. Even now she couldn’t banish the sensation of Fellows’ burning kisses, the feeling of his mouth on her skin, and the knowledge of how much she wanted him.

“Yes, live in misery the rest of your life,” Daniel said. “That will show everyone.”

Louisa turned back. Let him see the tears. What did she care? “It won’t be in misery. Gil is a gentleman. He’s courteous and kind, never rude, generous, good-hearted . . .”

“And dull. I hear it in your voice. You’re trying to be fair to him because he is a good chap. But dull. You’d do the same thing every day, he’d never do anything unexpected, never make you wonder what was going on in his head. Gil is transparent. Makes him a fine bloke to play cards with, because I win every hand, but probably very tedious to live with.”

Louisa wanted to hotly defend Gil, who’d been a friend to her tonight when no one else had, but the words died on her lips.

Daniel wasn’t wrong. Louisa liked Gil immensely, she always had, but she didn’t love him. She’d never be interested in him in the way she wanted to understand what was inside Lloyd Fellows. When she saw Lloyd, she wanted to follow him, be with him, listen to him, touch him, make him understand that he wasn’t alone. Louisa was fascinated by Fellows’ job, wanted him to talk to her about it and confide in her, and she wanted to confide in him.

She leaned her head back on the seat. “It’s hopeless. Inspector Fellows is very conscious of his position in life, and mine.”

“That is true. He’s a snob. I’ve found that working-class chaps generally are. Any hint of getting above yourself is ruthlessly quashed. The posh should stay posh; the honest workers should stay honest workers. And Fellows has always seen himself as an honest worker. More so once he realized his dad was never going to acknowledge him. The working classes, now, they tolerate me because I’m such an honest bloke, and I don’t try to change them.”

Louisa had to laugh. “And you’re not conceited at all.”

“I’m all sorts of conceited, I know that. I’m very clever and see no reason to hide it. On the other hand, being clever is no assurance of being great or finding success. Success takes bloody hard work too. I know that. But we’re not talking about me, Auntie Louisa. We’re talking about you and Uncle Fellows. And what we’re going to do about it.”

“We will do nothing about it. I will marry Gil or remain a spinster, and Inspector Fellows will go on being a policeman. Perhaps he’ll find a cheerful working-class woman to marry him, and his life will become simple and pleasant.”

“Listen to yourself. Poor martyred Louisa. I predict that Fellows will solve this murder and then sweep you off your feet.” Daniel shrugged. “Well, the sweeping-you-off-your-feet part might take a little nudge. But he wants to do it. It’s a beautiful thing to watch the way he looks at you. Fellows glared at Gil tonight as though he wanted to find a claymore, learn how to use it, and finish him off. Or just pull out a pistol and shoot him.”

Louisa gave up. She leaned across the seat in the rattling coach and kissed Daniel’s cheek. “You are sweet, Danny. A complete madman, but a very sweet one.”

“Aw, Auntie. You know I love you. I’m devastated ye won’t pick me as your husband, but if not, I’m happy to help you land one of your own.”

“Pish. You haven’t fallen in love yet, so you don’t understand how very awful it can be. I used to be a rational girl, and now I’m doing foolish things like running about London in the middle of the night and letting police inspectors kiss me senseless. I shall be all right. It will pass. And when you do fall in love, Daniel Mackenzie, I shall laugh at you.”

“No fear of that. I enjoy ladies, as both friends and lovers, but I will let nothing stand in the way of my inventions.”

“So say you. Well, here I am,” she said as the carriage pulled to a halt in front of Isabella’s house. “Thank you, Danny.”

Daniel gallantly leapt down and handed her out. He surprised Louisa by pulling her into a crushing hug before he let her go. “Never worry, Auntie,” he said softly. “I’ll make sure all is well.”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek, another hug, and then backed away and waved good night. Louisa hurried into the house, Morton the butler pulling the door open for her before she reached the doorstep. Daniel called good night again, leapt into the hansom, and rattled off.

Louisa wasn’t sure whether to take hope from Daniel’s words or worry about what mad thing he’d take it into his head to do. Either way, most of her thoughts were still focused on Fellows’ kisses, the strength of his body on hers, the look of dark desperation in his eyes when he’d backed away from her.

She had to be right. It was hopeless.

Louisa went up the stairs, not stopping on the landing that led to her bedchamber. She kept climbing, up to the nursery to quietly slip inside and kiss the three sleeping children good night. She sat there after that, in the dark, watching them sleep, soaking in the calming silence.

* * *

“The guv’s asking for you,” Sergeant Pierce said to Fellows, looking apologetic. “Says now, sir.”

Damnation. Fellows looked up from the fifty statements he was going over again, meticulously, trying to decide who was telling the truth. They were all lying—people did that to the police—but usually for reasons that had nothing to do with the case. Fellows had to sift through and pick out the important lies from the unimportant ones.

He’d been here since the early hours, after going home last night and trying to sleep. Not possible. Fellows had lain awake, staring at the whitewashed ceiling above his bed, which reflected every passing light, the moon, streetlights.

In the reflections he saw Louisa, her red hair coming down, the sultry look in her eyes when he’d lain her back on the desk. He heard her voice, low and vibrant, saying his name. Lloyd.

He’d do anything to have her say it to him like that again.

Sleeping being out of the question, Fellows had come in to see if he could make sense of all this mess.

“Now?” Fellows repeated irritably.

“Yes, sir. Says it’s urgent.”

Fellows heaved an aggrieved sigh, slammed papers aside, got to his feet, and headed out of the room. Constable Dobbs was just coming in with cups of tea, and the two met in the doorway. Fellows turned sideways to move past him. Dobbs turned red. The constable’s hands shook so hard that tea sloshed from the full cups and splashed to Fellows’ shoes.

“Watch yourself, Constable,” Fellows snapped, then he was past and striding down the hall.

Detective Chief Superintendent Giles Kenton had been Fellows’ superior for nearly five years. It had been Kenton who’d lifted his former superior’s restrictions on Fellows’ promotions, put in place when Fellows had been fanatically pursuing the Mackenzies for murder.

Kenton had made clear that Fellows needed to have a care in who he offended with his obsessive investigations. Kenton was a good man to work for, though, because he recognized that Fellows had a unique way of solving his cases and that his clear-up rate was better than most.

Kenton waved Fellows to the only other chair in his office, keeping his attention on the papers that littered his desk. That was a good sign. No sitting upright, hands on the desk, gaze trained on Fellows. Just Kenton doing what he usually did.

Kenton signed a piece of paper, blotted the paper, and clattered the pen to a tray, spraying a few ink droplets to his desk. Finally he pushed aside everything and looked up at Fellows.

Not so good. Kenton had a sharp light in his eyes that came from anger. “I’m pulling you and your team off the Hargate case,” he said.

Fellows’ answer was abrupt and instant. “No. You can’t. I mean . . . No, sir. Please don’t.”

“I can and I will. Hargate was powerful, and his family is powerful, both his father’s and his mother’s. His friends are powerful. They are all busily screaming for our blood, wondering why we haven’t closed this case yet.”

Fellows couldn’t stay seated. He was on his feet, fists clenched. “It’s been less than a week. Cases like this can take months. Years. You know that.”

“Yes, I know that. Civilians don’t, especially posh ones. They either want the police to work miracles or else they complain we’re a bloody nuisance.”