The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie (Berkley Sensation)
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Beth was soon lost in the rapture of the music. He liked to spend his nights at the theatre seeing everyone of importance and being seen with them. Oh, darling did you hear? Lady Marmaduke had three inches of lace on her dress instead of two. Can you imagine anything more vulgar? And her pleats were limp, my darling, absolutely limp.
Such important information. Beth reflected that they thought nothing of an outing to the theatre, but to a girl growing up in the East End, it was anything but ordinary. Beth loved music, and imbibed it any way she could, though she thought herself only a mediocre musician.
No matter, she could listen to others play and enjoy it just fine. Give him your hand, darling. His brother is the Duke of Kilmorgan, you know. Lord Ian was a big man, his body solid muscle, the hand that reached to hers huge in a kid leather glove. His shoulders were wide, his chest broad, and the dim light touched his dark hair with red.
His face was as hard as his body, but his eyes set Ian Mackenzie apart from every other person Beth had ever met.
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Not hazel, but amber like brandy, flecked with gold as though the sun danced on them. I told you she was the best-looking woman in London. He still held her hand, his grip firm, the pressure of his fingers just shy of painful. Instead he sat in stony silence.
Over and over the thumb moved, hot, quick patterns, the pressure pulsing heat through her limbs. She could feel his hard knee against her skirts, the firm pressure of his thumb on her hand, the weight of his not -stare. There would be drama aplenty. Should she pity the woman those eyes finally rested on?
Or envy her? Close to him, I think. Quite privileged. Sparks of gold flashed as Ian looked at her a bare instant. Before she could speak, Lord Ian leaned to her. The heat of his body touched her like a sharp wave, bringing with it the scent of shaving soap and male spice. Mather always covered himself with cologne.
His fingers slid beneath the opening of her glove above her elbow, and she felt the folded edge of paper scrape her bare arm. He sat up, his face smooth and expressionless. Mather turned to Ian with a comment about the singer, noticing nothing. Lord Ian abruptly rose. Without saying good night, Ian moved past the empty chairs and out of the box. She was very aware of the folded paper pressing the inside of her arm and the trickle of sweat forming under it.
Mather sat down next to Beth and blew out his breath. Poor chap lived in a private asylum most of his life, and he runs free now only because his brother the duke let him out again. The entire family is scandalous. Never speak to any of them without me, my dear, all right? Beth murmured something noncommittal. She had at least heard of the Mackenzie family, the hereditary Dukes of Kilmorgan, because old Mrs.
Barrington had adored gossip about the aristocracy. The Mackenzies had featured in many of the scandal sheets that Beth read out to Mrs. Barrington on rainy nights. Mather managed to stay still for five minutes, then rose again. I always told dear Mrs. Barrington how sweet and polite you were. The soprano began an aria, the notes filling every space of the opera house. Beth worked her fingers under the edge of her long glove and pulled out the piece of paper. She put her back squarely to the elderly ladies and quietly unfolded the note.
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. 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.
The soprano flung open her arms, building the last note of the aria to a wild crescendo, until it was lost in a burst of applause. Beth stared at the letter, the noise in the opera house smothering. Her breath poured back into her lungs, sharp and hot. Stock photo.
The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie (Mackenzies & McBrides #1)
Brand new: lowest price The lowest-priced brand-new, unused, unopened, undamaged item in its original packaging where packaging is applicable. Other notes. See details. See all 9 brand new listings. Buy It Now. Add to cart. About this product Product Information Most women heeded the warnings. One woman was tempted by them. It was whispered all through London Society that Ian Mackenzie was mad, that he'd spent his youth in an asylum, and that he was not to be trusted-especially with a lady. For the reputation of any woman caught in his presence was instantly ruined.
Yet Beth found herself inexorably drawn to the Scottish lord, whose hint of a brogue wrapped around her like, silk, and whose touch could pull her into a world of ecstasy. Despite his decadence and his intimidating intelligence, she could see that he needed help.