Free The Untamed Mackenzie by Jennifer Ashley

else had been using it and recently departed.
    Eleanor saw his assessment. “You’ve missed Hart. He’s off to tell the House of Lords what to do. He so enjoys it.”
    Hart Mackenzie at one time had departed the House of Lords in a quest to become prime minister. He’d backed away from that for Eleanor, for his family, for his life. But he still enjoyed politics, and according to the newspapers, was a force to be reckoned with.
    Fellows waited for both ladies to sit down again before he took his seat. His mother had taught Fellows that much—no, had shouted manners into him. No one was going to say her son had the manners of gutter trash, she’d declare. He was going to rise above himself, he was. Didn’t he have a duke’s blood in his veins?
    “Now, then,” Eleanor said. She poured coffee from a pot, handed the cup to Louisa, who had been sitting in stiff silence, and indicated she should take it to Fellows.
    Louisa had to rise to do it, and Fellows sprang to his feet. They met halfway across the carpet, Louisa holding out the cup and saucer, Fellows reaching for it politely.
    The look Louisa gave him was anything but polite. She was enraged, her eyes smoldering with it. She was angry at Eleanor, and she was angry at Fellows.
    Fellows closed his hands around the cup. Louisa quickly let it go, making certain their fingers didn’t touch. She turned from him and sought the sofa before Fellows had the chance to say a word.
    “You’ve come to tell us about the investigation,” Eleanor said once Louisa had resumed her seat.
    Fellows sank to the chair again, balancing the coffee. He hadn’t come here for that, but he didn’t argue. “My sergeant and I have interviewed everyone who was at the garden party, some of them twice. I looked over Hargate’s flat in Piccadilly, but found nothing to suggest he’d angered someone enough for them to poison him. I will speak again to those who were closest to the tea tent. Unfortunately, no one saw anything. They were too busy talking, drinking, and wagering on the upcoming croquet match.”
    “That sounds typical,” Eleanor said. “High society takes its croquet seriously.”
    Fellows thought he heard Louisa make a small noise in her throat, but he couldn’t be certain. “No one claims to have seen anything, at least not what they’d say to the police. But the person Louisa glimpsed made certain to escape on the side of the tent facing the empty meadow, so we’re not surprised no one saw him.”
    He said the lie without a flinch. Louisa didn’t flinch either but focused rigidly on her teacup.
    “What about the poison?” Eleanor went on. “How was it administered? In the tea?” She waved her own teacup fearlessly.
    “Traces of prussic acid were found on the broken pieces of teacup the bishop held. None in Louisa’s.” That had been a great relief. Even if she’d drunk from her cup, Louisa would have been safe.
    On the other hand, the fact that she’d by chance chosen the innocent cup woke Fellows up at night cold with fear. What was to say the poison hadn’t been meant for Louisa in truth? Perhaps Hargate had poisoned the cup himself then drunk the wrong one by accident. Or had there been no target—only a madman waiting to see which guest dropped dead?
    Either way, Louisa had survived a close call. Fellows, who hadn’t prayed since he’d been a boy and forced to church on occasion, had sent up true thanks to God for that.
    “No poison in the teapot, then?” Eleanor asked.
    “None. In the bishop’s teacup only.” Fellows took a sip of coffee, which was rich and full, the best in the world. Of course it was. “Lady Louisa, since you are here, I’d like you to tell me—think carefully—why you picked up that particular cup to hand to the bishop.”
    Louisa lifted her shoulders in a faint shrug. “It was the easiest to reach.” Her voice was tight, as though she hadn’t used it for some time and hoped she wouldn’t have to. “A clean one, placed