The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie (Mackenzies & McBrides, #1)

by Jennifer Ashley

Mrs. Ackerley, it began in a careful, neat hand. I make bold to warn you of the true character of Sir Lyndon Mather, with whom my brother the Duke of Kilmorgan is well acquainted. I wish to tell you that Mather keeps a house just off the Strand near Temple Bar, where he has women meet him, several at a time. He calls the women his “sweeties” and begs them to use him as their slave. They are not regular courtesans but women who need the money enough to put up with him. I have listed five of the women he regularly meets, should you wish to have them questioned, or I can arrange for you to speak to the duke. I remain, Yours faithfully, Ian Mackenzie

“He didn’t need me.” Hart often took Ian on his expeditions to Rome or Spain, because Ian was not only a genius at languages, but he could remember every single word of every single conversation that went on during negotiations. If there were any dispute, Ian could recall the transaction word for word.

truths. You are perfect as you are. I want to see you bare, and I wish to kiss your cunny.” The heat there flared. “And as always, I don’t know whether to run away from you or stay and bask in your attention.”

He touched the swirl of hair between her legs. A hot tingle flushed through her body, and she made a soft sound in her throat. “Beautiful,” he murmured. Beth could barely breathe. “I am happy not to disappoint you.” “You could never disappoint me.” He sounded grave, as though he took her flippant words seriously. He leaned forward and touched his lips to the nub that was swelling with all its might. “You are wet for me.” Ian’s breath brushed her where no man’s breath should in someone else’s sitting room. “So wet.” His tongue flicked out and tasted it.

He slid his hands around her buttocks, leaned forward, and pressed his tongue into her cleft.

The position with her foot on the chair let him spread her as much as he liked. And he seemed to like it. His thumbs massaged her as his tongue probed her depths. He was right: She was wet, and Ian lapped up every drop.

Ian tortured her for a long time, drinking her until she couldn’t contain her cries any longer. Beth felt her hips gyrating, her hands locking around her skirts. A sob burst from her, feminine joy that had been denied her for so long. Tears rained down her face. Ian drew back and looked up, his eyes burning her. She felt herself falling, but Ian caught her and pulled her to his lap, safe in his strong arms. “Did I hurt you?” Beth buried her face in his fine-smelling shoulder. “No. It was wonderful.” “You’re crying.” Beth lifted her head. “Because I never thought I’d feel such bliss again.”

He pushed her legs open, then leaned down and showed her that he’d done only half of what he could do with his gifted mouth.

Ian coughed again, but still fought like an animal not understanding it had been caught. Mac stepped in front of Ian and grabbed his face. “Ian, look at me.” Ian tried to pull away, to do anything but look his brother directly in the eye. “Look at me, damn you.” He swiveled Ian’s head, forcing Ian’s eyelids open until finally, Mac’s eyes and Ian’s met. Ian stopped. He gasped for breath, tears shining on his face, but he stilled, staring, mesmerized, into Mac’s eyes. Mac’s hold on him softened, and Beth saw that Mac’s own eyes were wet. “That’s it. You’re all right.” His grip on Ian’s cheek turned to a caress, and then Mac leaned forward and kissed Ian on the forehead.

soundly apologize.” “Very pretty,” Cybele sneered. Mac leapt from his stepladder, threw a dressing gown at Cybele, took her by the ear, and pulled her with him out of the room. Cybele shrieked and swore in French. The slam of the door shook the walls, and then everything went silent.

“It stays away most of the time. But when I saw him touch you, my Beth, it rose like a fire. I frightened you.”

He jerked Beth to her feet and started dragging her toward the back of the room. Beth craned to see what was going on as Ian propelled her at a rapid pace to the rear of the casino. People ran every which way, and the female croupiers scrambled to grab money and stuff it into their corsets. “Wait.” Beth clutched his sleeve. “We can’t leave Isabella.” “Mac’s here. He’ll see to her.” Beth scanned the room and saw Mac’s large body breaking through the swarming people. Isabella’s red head stopped when Mac grabbed her arm. “Why didn’t you tell her he was coming?” “He made me promise not to.” “Mac wanted to watch out for her, didn’t he?” Her hopes rose. “He came to protect her.” “Yes. It’s dangerous.” “So you said.

“I want you inside me.” His entire body tightened. “Yes.” He was too big. It had been nine years since a man had entered her, and she was too tight. She couldn’t take it. Ian groaned softly as he pushed all the way in. He took a long breath, his chest pressing hers. He wouldn’t look at her, turning his head so Beth stared directly at his cheekbone and rain-wet hair slicked to his skull. “Am I hurting you?” he asked. “No.” “Good.” He thrust once. “Good.”

Deeper, faster. Please. She rocked her hips up as he came down. He held himself up on one hand while he fisted her hair in his other. He tickled the ends of her hair along her breasts, and her overly sensitive nipples rose and tightened. He leaned down and licked one areola, teasing the point into his mouth. She watched his teeth play, his tongue swirl over the nipple, the pink skin rising into his mouth. He closed his eyes as though he were savoring some rich dish, his lashes soft points against his cheeks.

Hart gave up, but Beth could see that it rankled. “The gong goes at seven forty-five and the meal is served at eight. We dress formally, Mrs. Ackerley. Don’t be late.” Beth slid her hand through Ian’s, trying to hide her nervousness. “Call me Beth, please,” she said. “I am no longer Mrs. Ackerley and have become, to our mutual astonishment, your sister.” Hart froze. Ian raised his brows at him, then turned around and led Beth from the room. As they walked out, surrounded by the waiting dogs, Beth slanted a worried glance up at Ian, but Ian wore the broadest smile she’d ever seen.

“They are both quite lovely. One is a white bowl with a blue flush and interlinked flowers. The other is red flowers and thinner porcelain. The wash and fineness of the porcelain indicate it might be Imperial Ware. Have I got that right?” “Exactly right,” Ian said. “I found a book in Paris,” she said with a cheeky smile. Ian looked at her and forgot everything else in the room. He was aware of Hart’s stare but only peripherally, as though an insect buzzed on the edges of his hearing.

“I assure you, Your Grace, I’ve never hunted a fortune in my life.” “Don’t mock me. I’ll annul the marriage. I can do that, and you will leave. It never will have happened.” Beth summoned the courage to look straight into Hart’s golden eyes. “Can you not consider that perhaps I fell in love with him?” Deeply, dramatically, foolishly in love. “No.” “Why not?”

Hart drew a breath but didn’t speak. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I see,” Beth said softly. “You believe he’s mad, and you don’t think any woman could love that.” “Ian is mad. The commission of lunacy proved it. I was there. I saw.” “Then why not leave him in the asylum if you think he’s insane?” “Because I know what they did to him.” In the gentle twilight the powerful Duke of Kilmorgan looked suddenly haunted. “I saw what the damn quacks did. If he hadn’t been mad when he went in, the place would have driven him so.”

“The ice baths,” Beth said. “The electric shocks.” “Even worse than that. Dear God, when he was twelve years old they had him bend bare-assed over his bed every night so they could strap him. To keep his dreams quiet, they said. My father did nothing. I couldn’t do anything; I didn’t have the power. The day my father fell off his horse and broke his damned neck, I went to the asylum and took Ian out.” Beth flin...

“Ian couldn’t even speak. He wouldn’t look up when we talked to him or answer questions put to him. It was as though his body was with us but his mind was far away.” “I’ve seen him do that.” “He did it for three months. Then one day when we were eating breakfast, Ian looked up and asked Curry whether there was any t...

“I imagine you have snakes, though,” she said, her tongue tripping. “This is the countryside, after all. And field mice and other creatures. I must confess I’m not used to the country. My mother was country born, but I lived in London from an early age and strayed outside the metropolis only when Mrs. Barrington saw fit to go to Brighton and pretend she liked the sea.” Ian half closed his eyes, taking on the expression he did when he’d stopped hearing her. She knew he wasn’t listening, but a week from now he’d be able to come back to a particular phrase and drill her on it. She closed her mouth with effort. Hart looked at her as though he’d fetch a lunacy commission up here on the morrow to grill her.

He climbed up with her, not bothering to pull back the bedclothes. When she started to speak, he silenced her with a deep kiss. He pushed her legs apart and entered her, finding her plenty wet for him. Beth lifted her hips and met him thrust for thrust, already used to what felt best to her. He rode her quickly, then slowly, his arms braced on either side of her. He kissed her with swollen lips, put love bites on her neck, licked her sweating skin. Once his initial frenzy was over, he became gentler, more playful. He draped her long hair over his body, stroking it, fisting it, kissing it. He kissed her and loved her in utter silence.

When Beth woke, she found the covers pulled around her and Ian still with her. Before she could ask about breakfast, his smile turned predatory. He pressed her back into the pillows and made love to her again, swift and hard, until she was breathless with it. “We should get up now,” she whispered when he lay still again, on top of her, idly kissing her neck.

The filly jerked her head back in irritation. “What are you laughing at?” Daniel asked, frowning. “Oh, you mean you were in bed. Good on you, Ian. I’ll have a little cousin soon, will I?” “Unmitigated brat,” Cameron growled in good humor. “You don’t say such things to a lady.” “But laughing at them is all right?” Daniel countered. “You see what I mean?” Cameron said to Beth. “He has a foul, impertinent mouth, and it’s all my fault. Ignore him. Have you taken her riding, Ian? Got a good horse for her?”

Without further ado, Cameron led the horse off at a very slow walk. Beth immediately slid off the horse’s right side, but Ian caught her and pushed her back up into the saddle. He was smiling broadly. Laughing at his poor wife.

Someone thumped down next to her. “You all right, Auntie Beth? Want a drink or something?” She wanted to laugh hysterically at “Auntie Beth,” but she held herself together. “Yes, thank you, Daniel, a drink would be lovely.”

“Guv,” Curry yelled. “Stop, for the love of God.” Ian sighted, squeezed the trigger. His arm bucked, and he straightened it, shooting again. Heavy hands grabbed his shoulder. Hart’s voice, roaring in rage. Ian shook him off and kept firing. Fire, hand over pistol, grab second pistol, aim, fire. “Ian.” Beth’s warm tone floated to him, and her cool hand rested on his. The world came rushing back. It was dimmer now, twilight having taken the place of bright afternoon. The undergardener sobbed at his side, dropping the empty pistol and pressing his hands to his face. Ian’s arms ached. He slowly unclenched the pistol that Curry eased out of his hand and found his palms blistered and raw. Beth touched his face. “Ian.” He loved how she said his name. She spoke the syllables gently, her voice always soft, caressing. Hart loomed up behind her, but Ian dissolved into Beth. He slid his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck.

“When he comes back and finds you gone, ’oo will he strangle?” Curry bleated. “Me, that’s ’oo.”

The ride to the railway station proved uneventful. As the coachman lifted out the valises, Cameron’s son, Daniel, suddenly rolled off the backboard, where he’d been crouching. “Take me with you,” he blurted. Beth hadn’t yet made up her mind about Daniel. He was definitely a Mackenzie, with his brown-red hair and golden eyes, but the shape of his face was different.

Cameron came after Ian, but Ian was faster. He was down the stairs and out the door before Cameron could catch up, and he made straight for Hart’s carriage. He yanked open the door to see Katie asleep on one of the plush benches. She was alone. Ian shook her. “Where is Beth?” Katie blinked at him. “I dunno. I thought she was with you.” Ian’s heart hammered. He slammed the door and strode to the coachman leaning on the wall near the horse’s heads, chewing a plug of tobacco. “Where is she?” Ian’s voice rang out, and the horses jerked back.

“Blood,” Cameron said quietly. “And a smear here, on the gate.” Ian’s heart pounded so rapidly he was nearly sick. As Fellows came out to see what was going on, Ian caught the inspector by the collar and shoved his face at the stains. “Bloody hell, your lordship,” Fellows bleated. “Find her,” Ian said. He jerked Fellows upright. “You’re a detective. Detect something.” Cameron opened the gate and stepped into the alley. “Ian’s right, Fellows. Do your damn job.” Hart put a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “Ian.” Ian twisted away, unable to bear his touch. If Beth was dead . . .

minutiae,

bawdy

“You are beautiful,” Ian said. He held her loosely, but she knew his arms could close like a vise if she tried to rise and walk away. The door opened again, and she heard Fellows’s intake of breath. “Really, this is unseemly.” Fellows had his hands behind his back, clenching his hat. Mac stood nearby, arms folded, as though he didn’t want to let Fellows out of his sight. “I beg your pardon, Inspector, but my husband refused to let me rise and greet you like a good hostess ought to.” “Yes, well.” Fellows stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room, averting his eyes. “Are you better, my lady? I was sorry to hear you were so ill.”

His face was red, a vein beating behind his tight collar. Mac only raised his brows, and Ian ignored him completely, nuzzling Beth’s hair. Beth squirmed out of Ian’s arms and landed on her feet.

“We should have all of it. Your houses, your carriages, your damned Kilmorgan Castle. She worked her fingers raw to keep me fed while you licked gold plates.” “No gold plates in our nursery,” Cameron interrupted in a mild voice. “There was a china mug I was fond of, but it was chipped.” “You know what I mean,” Fellows snarled.

“You wouldn’t want it,” Cameron put in. “More trouble than it’s worth. And for God’s sake, don’t murder Hart or I’m next.” Fellows clenched his hands. He moved his gaze around the room, taking in the fifteen-foot-high ceiling, the portraits of Mackenzies, and Mac’s painting of the five Mackenzie dogs. Mac had painted them so lifelike that Ian expected them to come loping out of the painting and start drooling on Mac’s boots. “I am not one of you,” Fellows began. “You are,” Ian said. Beth smelled so good, her hair snaking over her shoulders in dark brown waves, making patterns on her gold dressing gown. “You don’t want to be, because that means you’re just as mad as the rest of us.”

Everyone in the room stared at Ian, including Beth. Their scrutiny made him uncomfortable, so he buried his face in Beth’s hair. After a silence, Mac said, “Proof we should always listen to the wisdom of Ian.”

Ian lifted his head again. “Because she’s right. Our father is dead and gone. He caused us all misery, and we shouldn’t keep letting him do it. Beth and I will have another marriage ceremony at my house in Scotland in a few weeks. We will all gather there and be finished with our father from that time on.” Beth looked at him with shining eyes. “Do you understand how much I love you, Ian Mackenzie?” Ian had no idea why this was relevant, and he didn’t answer. Everyone else started talking at once. Ian ignored them, anchoring himself with Beth. He wanted so much to leave her alone, to not hurt her, but the warmth and scent of her drove out everything else. He needed her.

“Bloody hell,” Fellows said. “You’re all madmen.” “And you’re one of us,” Hart said grimly. “Be careful what you wish for.” Cameron rumbled his big laugh. “Get the man a drink. He looks like he’s about to swoon.” “You’ll have a Scots accent before you know it,” Mac said. “The ladies like it, Fellows.” “God, no.” Daniel chuckled. “Ye mean ‘Och, noe.’ ” Mac and Cameron dissolved into raucous laughter. “I think we should celebrate,” Daniel shouted. “With lots of whiskey. Don’t you think so, Dad?”

Ian slid his fingers between her legs, swirling the moisture he found there. “Love me?” “I do. I love you, Ian.” He withdrew his fingers, sparkling wet, and licked one clean. “The best thing I’ve ever tasted.” “Better than single-malt whiskey from the Mackenzie distillery?” “I’d rather drink you than whiskey.” “And you a Scotsman? You must be in love.” “Stop.” Beth clamped her lips shut, and they trembled. Ian lowered his head and licked between her legs. He savored that, eyes closed, then began to work on her studiously. The train moved back and forth in a steady rhythm, but the room seemed to spin. “Ian, please.” He rose on his hands and knees again, his rigid stem hanging heavily. “Spread for me.”

“I need to tell you something, Ian.” Ian blinked. His gaze tried to slide away, but he pulled it determinedly back. “Hmm?” “I didn’t want to say until I was absolutely certain, but I’ve seen a doctor now.” She drew a breath. “Ian, you’re going to be a father.” Ian kept staring at her, his gaze unmoving. He blinked again, then lightly rubbed his temple. “What did you say?”