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his heart pound. But they weren’t tears of sorrow, they were tears of rage and embarrassment. “I don’t want to tell you,” she said. “It had nothing to do with his death.”
    “You can’t know that. It might have everything to do with it.”
    Louisa had opened her mouth to argue, but she stopped. She turned away again, still massaging her temples, moving to the window. The light silhouetted her, her gown gently swaying as she walked.
    The vulnerability in her stance nearly undid him. Fellows wanted to go to her, slide his arms around her from behind, kiss her hair when she leaned back to him. He wanted to caress her, as though she belonged to him, and say,
It’s all right, love. I’ll take care of everything. You don’t worry about any of it. I’m here.
    If Fellows touched her, he wouldn’t let go. He’d draw her into his arms again, crush her up to him, let their mouths meet. He’d taste her, drink her, and let the rest of the world go to hell. He’d take her away with him, anywhere, to be safe, alone with him. Never letting go.
    When Louisa turned back to him, her face was blotchy red, the tears wiped away, but one still damp on her cheek.
    “You’re a policeman,” Louisa said. “From what Mac and the others have told me, you’re very good at it. A detective first, they’ve said. Like a bloodhound on the scent.”
    Fellows dragged in a breath, pulling his thoughts back from burying himself in Louisa and never coming out. “Flattering.”
    Ian Mackenzie had once lumped Fellows’ dedication in with the Mackenzie family’s madness, saying Fellows’ focus on catching criminals was as intense as Cameron’s brilliance with horses, Mac’s with painting, or Ian’s with numbers and total recall.
    “If I tell you, the good policeman, everything, it will end up in a report on a desk, will it not? The foolishness of Lady Louisa Scranton in black and white, for all to see. Shall I then find it splashed across every newspaper and scandal sheet in London?” Louisa gave a half-hysterical laugh. “Why not? They played out my sister’s marriage and near-divorce there. They’ll quite enjoy themselves over me.”
    Fellows held up his empty hands. “My notebook is over there. Whatever you say to me, in this room, will go no further. I’ll write it into no report. What you tell me will be between you and me, I promise you. You’ll have to take me at
my
word.”
    “And why would you, the good policeman, not write down every syllable I say?”
    Because I’d do anything for you, Louisa.
    “Because I’m not always the good policeman,” Fellows said. “Never mind what the Mackenzies tell you about me—sometimes I’m just a man.”
    Just a man who remembered every brush of her lips, every touch, their impulsive kisses, the stolen moments.
I shouldn’t have done that,
she’d whispered after the first time.
But I’ve been wanting to kiss you.
Fellows’ world had changed that day and hadn’t righted itself yet.
    “I want to trust you,” Louisa said.
    “I want to trust
you
.”
    Louisa looked away, head turned, but not bowed. She was courageous, elegant, beautiful. Fellows wanted her with the intensity of a small sun. Somewhere not this overly large sitting room where she could walk so far away from him, somewhere he could close her in his arms, lay her head on his shoulder, and simply be with her.
    “Very well, I’ll tell you,” Louisa said. She looked back at Fellows, her green eyes luminous with unshed tears. “Mrs. Leigh-Waters encouraged me to go alone to the tea tent with the Bishop of Hargate, because she knew he would propose to me there.”

Chapter Five
    Isabella’s maid had laced Louisa’s stays too tightly. She could not draw a proper breath, couldn’t keep her voice from sounding scratched.
    She hated the way Inspector Fellows was looking at her—
Chief
Inspector now; he’d won his long sought-after promotion. His hazel eyes were steady but behind them were questions,