He came to pour himself a cup of the coffee, which put him close to Violet. His coat still held the cold of outside, but the wool of his kilt smelled warm. The heat of him slid through Violet’s blanket and made her draw herself closer.
“The innkeeper’s wife brought a nightshirt for you,” Violet said, clutching her cup. “It’s laid out on the bed.”
Daniel shucked his coat and hung it on a hook, caught up the nightshirt, and sat down in the other chair, resting the nightshirt on his lap. “Kind of her.”
“They’re being very kind, I’ve noticed.” Violet kept to English, knowing anything overheard in French would be all over this village and the next by the following morning, presumably by carrier pigeon. “They like you, and perhaps sense your aristocratic connections.”
Daniel grinned. “They sense my jingling pockets. Remember this country’s history—these folks’ great-great-grandparents rose up and threw the French aristocrats out on their bums a hundred years ago. Forty years ago, they sent the last emperor rushing for the safety of England. They’re not awed by my proximity to a title. If they like me, it’s because they know the benefit of a paying guest.”
Violet wasn’t so certain. Daniel did carry a certain weight of authority she noticed aristocrats had in any country, the knowledge that lesser beings would get out of the way for them. It wasn’t an arrogance with Daniel—he just knew.
Daniel took a last sip of coffee and set down his cup. “Now then, the night is cold, the villagers go to bed with the sun, and I’m beat. Why don’t you get into the bed and cover up while I slip into my sleeping togs? I’m not modest, but you might be.”
The thought of Daniel peeling off his clothes while she lay in bed made Violet nearly swallow her tongue. He would be too near as he slid off his waistcoat and the shirt she’d earlier seen dampened with sweat against his well-honed arms. He’d bare all his skin, which would likely be as liquid tanned as his face and arms.
Violet masked her sharp intake of breath by fumbling her way out of the chair and clattering down her coffee cup. She kept the blanket around her until she reached the bed, then she tossed it on top before climbing the steps to the high bed. She found the covers warmed with wrapped bricks that had been slid to the bottom of the bed.
“Where will you sleep?” Violet asked Daniel. She settled under the quilts, trying not to look his way. “There isn’t a sofa, and the floor looks hard. There aren’t many covers up here to spare either.”
Daniel laughed. “I’m sleeping in that bed with you, lass. I’m exhausted, and the floor, as you say, is far too hard. I’m an aristocrat, remember? I like things soft.”
Chapter 12
Violet peered over the top of the covers in alarm. Daniel was just settling the nightshirt across his broad shoulders, the garment too small for him. It bared his forearms and the flowing tattoo, then fell to just above his knees. His legs were as tight and strong as the rest of him, his bare toes pressing the board floor.
“That bed’s big enough to float a battleship,” he said, not bothering to hide his near nudity. “We’d never find each other if we wanted to.”
He didn’t give her time to argue. Daniel climbed up the other side of the bed and slid under the covers while Violet stared at him, the quilt clutched to her chest.
Daniel laughed at her as he lay down. “Go to sleep, Vi. You’ll need your rest for tomorrow.”
He punched the pillow into shape, then flopped the covers over him, a man settling down for a winter’s nap. The rushlight on the other side of the room, which hadn’t emitted much glow in the first place, burned out with a sharp smell. The only light now was from the fire, which was licking at fragrant wood to warm the small room.
Violet lay down again, remaining on her side, facing him. Daniel reposed on his back, one arm behind his head, the other holding the covers to his chest. He closed his eyes, the lines of his face brushed with firelight.
She watched him awhile longer but he never moved. Confusing. Daniel had brought her here, posed as her husband, and insisted they share the bed, but now drifted to sleep as though they were trusted friends. Casual, comfortable, in the same way he shortened her name. No drama, no fear. Just Daniel’s warmth between Violet and the rest of the world.
She liked it. Violet had never felt safe and protected, not since she’d learned the truth of life.
Up here in their aerie, in this bed of cozy warmth, Daniel belonged to her. For a little while, Violet could pretend she was Daniel’s, that he loved and cherished her, that today was only a small part of a long life of happiness. Tomorrow, they would return to reality, but for tonight, he was hers, and she his.
A fine dream. One Violet would hold tightly to herself against the hour she’d have to let it go.
If Daniel got through the night with his sanity intact, it would be an astonishing thing. To have the most beautiful woman on earth in his bed, three feet away from him, and not touch her, was going to kill him.
The courtesans at the very expensive houses Daniel visited to keep his needs at bay would laugh if they knew he kept an arm’s length between himself and Violet. He’d set up the tale that they were man and wife not only to keep the villagers from treating Violet poorly, but also so that no one in this house would think it odd if they heard him easing his passion with her.
But when he’d seen her look at him worriedly over the covers, he remembered her profound terror when she’d struck out at him in the London house. Daniel had scared her senseless. Not for anything he’d done, he’d come to understand, but because Violet had been hurt by someone else. She’d reacted to Daniel because he’d put her in mind of that incident.
Daniel wished he knew what had happened, and who’d dared to frighten and touch her. He’d coax the story out of her when she was ready, and then Daniel would visit that gentleman and explain a few things.
For now he lay quietly next to Violet, scenting her, feeling her warmth, and did nothing. His cock was so hard he could lift the covers with it. He wanted to squeeze himself and relieve the pressure, but he knew that if Violet woke to Daniel stroking himself off beside her, she’d be as terrified as she’d been in London, and likely even more disgusted. Plenty of weapons for her to use on him in this room.
Besides, he didn’t want to hurt her. He liked the way Violet had looked at him today, as though everything he did pleased her. He wanted to spin that out as long as he could.
She’d been amazing up in the balloon. Violet had been afraid, but also excited. He remembered how she’d screamed and then laughed when the balloon did something unexpected, how she’d called him the most bloody incorrigible madman she’d ever had the misfortune to meet. But she’d followed Daniel’s orders to the letter, no arguing, no falling in a weeping fit, no demands that Daniel take her to safety immediately. She was no wilting violet, his Violet.
Daniel couldn’t stop his chuckle, which shook the bed.
“Are you all right?” Violet rose beside him like a goddess, her dark hair tumbling, her blue eyes picking up the fire’s glow. Her nightgown gaped a little at her neck, showing him the softness of woman inside.
Daniel wanted to push her back down into the bed, bury himself in her, and never come out.
“No,” he said, shoving the covers away. “No, I’m not.” Daniel scrambled out of bed, feet missing the steps, so he thumped to the floor. “I need another walk. To settle my . . .” He trailed off as he grabbed his kilt and coat, heading for the door. “Go to sleep. I’ll be back.”
Daniel shut the door on her bewildered expression, dressed in the hall, and pulled on his boots on the stairs. He walked on down and out of the inn into wind and freezing rain, but it was a long time before his cock went down again.
Violet woke to sunshine, a fine winter day, and Daniel draped over her.
He was asleep, one large leg shoved between hers, Violet spooned back against his chest. He held her securely with one arm, his breath in her hair steady and even.
Viole
t didn’t move. If she woke him, Daniel might yank himself away, leave the bed again, perhaps go for another walk. Violet had fallen asleep long before he’d returned.
If he stayed curled around her, she could keep pretending Daniel was hers. The memory needed to last her a long time.
A door slammed somewhere below. Daniel moved behind her, his breath quickening. Violet braced herself for him to roll away and leave her cold, but he didn’t. She turned her head the slightest bit, and found his amber gaze fixed on her.
Daniel’s eyes were the strangest shade of hazel brown, touched with a golden hue, like the depths of strong whiskey. His rumpled hair was dark, burned with bits of red where the sunlight through the shutters touched it. His face had a hardness that would increase with age, and given the number of times he smiled, lines would soon brush the corners of his eyes. He was a strong man, virile, young, beautiful.
Daniel slid his hand from her waist to the open neck of her nightgown. Buttons held the garment closed in front, and Daniel slowly, without much movement, slid the buttons open.
One, two, three . . . He glided his hand inside the nightgown until he reached the warmth of her breast.
Daniel closed his eyes as he cupped Violet’s breast in his work-worn palm. Her breath came faster, which pushed her breast right into his hand.
He was gentle, so gentle. No pinching, squeezing, hurting. Daniel caressed her breast with soft pressure, lifting the weight of it, smoothing his thumb over the areola.
He turned his face to hers and kissed her lips. It was a half kiss, landing on the side of her mouth, but the warmth in it, and the desire, were obvious. A point between Violet’s legs burned.
Daniel very slowly rolled her onto her back, his body now half covering hers. The weight of him was like the finest, warmest pillow, not trapping her but pressing her down into the layers of quilts that cushioned the hard mattress. He drew the placket of her nightdress apart, eyes flicking down to admire the breasts he caressed.
The next kiss he gave her was like breath itself. Then Daniel licked inside her mouth, slow, tender, sensual.
Violet’s lips opened under his, the slow kiss becoming thorough, loving. Daniel braced himself with one hand on the mattress, while the other smoothed her breast, closing her nipple between his fingers. Their mouths came together again as they tasted each other, learning, a tender moment of discovery.
A heavy rap on the door was followed by the door banging open and the innkeeper’s wife striding in with another full tray. “Good morning, Madame and Monsieur. A little petit-déjeuner for you. Nice and warm after the storm.”
Daniel casually rolled away from Violet and sat up, moving the quilt to cover her open nightgown. “Madame, you are too kind.”
Violet remained in place, her heart hammering at her sudden sense of loss. She felt Daniel’s heat dissipate from around her and knew she’d never be warm again.
Simon and Monsieur Dupuis arrived in a large cart by midmorning. Daniel left Violet to ready herself while he led the two men and some villagers back to the woods to wrest the basket from the trees and load it onto the cart.
The morning was fine and crisp, the sunshine bright, but that couldn’t make up for the fact that Daniel had to leave his warm nest with Violet and return to everyday life.
He’d been right that the villagers had already made off with every bit of silk from the balloon. Daniel promised Dupuis more than the price of it, and Dupuis was satisfied. Daniel always paid his debts.
Dupuis was much more interested in Daniel’s experiments with his onboard combustion engine and the wind machine. Dupuis offered to take the wind machine in trade for the ruined envelope, but Daniel said no. The machine belonged to Violet.
The wind machine was relatively undamaged, though whether it still worked would have to be seen. Daniel wrapped it up and stowed it in the wooden box Simon had brought, then rode back with them and the basket on the cart to the inn.
Violet looked surprised that Daniel had returned for her. He caught her sitting at the table in their bedroom, counting out coins for a third-class ticket on the local train and inquiring from the innkeeper’s wife what time it left the station.
Lord, what had people done to her? When Daniel made Violet his permanent lover, she’d understand that she would be treated better than the false Princess Ivanova ever could have been. Violet would have every luxury, and she’d have them for as long as she could put up with Daniel, and even beyond that.
Daniel steered Violet firmly downstairs to the cart and helped her onto the back of it, taking his place beside her. He said nothing about Violet’s assumption he’d leave her to find her own way back to town, and Violet offered no explanation.
The drive would be long—twenty miles they’d flown in the balloon from point to point, but traveling back on the road would take much time. They had to go a long way south, Dupuis said, before finding a bridge that crossed the gorge.
Daniel loved how comfortable he felt with Violet. They held hands and dangled their feet off the back of the cart, the large basket cushioning their backs, as Simon drove them onward. Violet pointed out things she’d seen from the air, marveling on how fine it had been to have the same view as birds.
“Next time, the flight will be a little more controlled,” Daniel said. “Yesterday’s experiment gave me more ideas for a steering mechanism. I’ll take you up in Scotland, at Kilmorgan estate—there’s no place so beautiful as northern Scotland. In the summer, I mean. I wasn’t joking about the snowstorms.”
Violet gave him a startled look, again surprised at any indication he’d want to be with her in the future.
Daniel started to grow angry. Violet wasn’t afraid of him anymore, but she still didn’t trust him either. Daniel had the feeling that winning Violet’s trust would be one of the most difficult things he ever did.
To calm himself, Daniel switched the conversation to the motorcar he was building, one he determined would break land-speed records for years to come. He liked how Violet’s eyes lighted with interest when he talked about mass-to-speed ratios and pumps to cool the powerful engine. Another point in her favor—the debutantes currently pursuing Daniel with matrimonial intent would stare at him with unconcealed boredom whenever he mentioned the words crankshaft or straight four. Violet not only understood what he meant, but asked questions that sparked more ideas.
They reached Dupuis’ farm by late afternoon. Violet and even Simon looked tired, but to Daniel the drive ended far too soon. Dupuis offered them a bed for the night, but Violet was adamant she return to Marseille and her mother. Daniel thanked Dupuis, accepted the basket of dinner Dupuis’ housekeeper fixed for them, and drove Violet and Simon back to the train station.
Simon joined Violet and Daniel in the first-class train compartment, all three eating hungrily of the crusty bread, cheese, meat, and wine Dupuis had given them. Then Violet, worn out from their adventures, fell asleep against Daniel’s shoulder.
Simon snored on the seat opposite, but Daniel was wide awake. He looked down at Violet’s dark hair snaking across his coat, her flushed cheek, her dusky red lips parted in sleep. Her hand, limp, rested on the seat, very near Daniel’s thigh.
Yes, she could stay with him as long as she wanted. He’d take care of her. Daniel didn’t like casual, brief affairs, having seen his father carry out too many of those. Lord Cameron had taken a string of mistresses in rapid succession throughout Daniel’s childhood—his women would come into Daniel’s life and then vanish, often before Daniel had time to learn their names.
Daniel came to understand, as he grew older, that Cameron had been vastly lonely. He’d used the affairs to try to fill the hollow place Daniel’s mother had brutally carved into him. Cameron hadn’t trusted women, so he’d pushed them away before he could form any sort of attachment to them.
What Daniel had learned from his father’s actions was that short affairs led to emptiness and impermanence. He’d made a vow long ago not to let that be his life.
What he had with Violet he wanted to last a long, long time.
For now, having the soft weight of Violet’s head on his shoulder was fine. She was giving him the tiniest touch of trust, lying here with him, surrendering to sleep.
Daniel hated to wake her as the train slid into Marseille, but Violet blinked as they came to a halt. She looked a bit embarrassed to have fallen asleep on him, but otherwise made no fuss.
They disembarked, and Daniel hired a cab to take them the short way to Violet’s boardinghouse.
He told Simon and the cab to wait while he walked Violet to her door, the box with her machine under his arm. Night had fallen, and with it came cold. Lights warmed the windows of the boardinghouse, but the street was dark.
It seemed wrong to say good-bye to her at the front door of the prim house and leave her. Daniel should be taking Violet to his hotel, moving them to a sumptuous suite, keeping her there with him. He wanted again to stretch his body alongside hers and slide his hand into her nightdress as he’d done this morning. He remembered the satin-silk of her skin, the warm weight of her breast, the firm point of her nipple rising against the brush of his fingers. Daniel would ease her with his touch then teach her what other magic they could find together.
But slowly. Violet was skittish. He had to woo her.
“Good night, then,” Daniel said to her. He took Violet’s hand in a friendly handshake then remained holding it, not letting go. “I’d say that was a fine day out.”
Violet made no move to withdraw her hand. “One day changed to two. My mother will scold.”
“Tell her you were with a reckless man, but he took care of you just fine.” And I’ll take care of you longer, if you’ll let me.
“She won’t believe me. Or you. Good night, Mr. Mackenzie.” Violet leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
A friendly kiss, or it should have been. Her lips lingered on his skin, and Daniel turned his head in the dark to lightly kiss her mouth.
The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie hp-6 Page 13
