Highland Pleasures [6] The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

by Jennifer Ashley

  “There’s no question of me keeping him on a string.” Violet had to let Mary unlock and open the door to their rooms, because she knew she’d never manage keys tonight. “When we leave Marseille, I’ll likely never see him again.” And that would leave a large hole in her heart.

  “Then best you get as much money and as many jewels as you can from him now,” Mary said, ever practical. “And don’t trust the jewels to a bank. A gentleman can always make a bank give them back to him.”

  Mary’s expression was ingenuous. She saw no objection at all to Violet becoming Daniel’s mistress—a very sensible solution for women in need of money, to her mind.

  But Mary’s words continued to tarnish the brightness of the night. “Mr. Mackenzie won’t be giving me any jewels,” she said.

  Even as Violet spoke the words, she envisioned herself sitting at a dressing table with Daniel coming behind her, smiling his wicked smile, diamonds in his hands. He’d lay the necklace across her bosom, fasten the clasp with gentle fingers, and lean down and press a kiss to her neck.

  Violet craved it. Not the jewels, but the intimacy of it. Daniel choosing a gift with Violet in mind and warming her as he gave it to her.

  “Miss?”

  Violet jumped, finding herself back in their faded sitting room. She crossed to the window, but a glance outside showed her that Daniel and his coach had already gone. “I’m sorry, Mary. Now, why were you searching for me so desperately?”

  Mary looked worried. “It’s your mum. She’s had one of her premonitions.”

  “Oh dear.” Violet’s euphoria faded. Her mother often had dire visions of their future, which, unfortunately, sometimes came true. “Is she all right? Have you put her to bed?”

  “I did, but she went on something awful. Begged me to find you, said she wouldn’t settle until you were safe back here. It was a bad one tonight. She foresaw all kinds of dire horrors, especially for you. Fire, smoke, and death, all mixed up. She’s very afraid, miss.”

  “I see.” Violet sighed. She patted Mary’s shoulder, gave her the pouch of tips she’d earned from her fortune-teller’s bowl, squared her shoulders, and walked into her mother’s bedroom.

  Chapter 20

  Ainsley wanted to stop at a restaurant.

  “They won’t let us in this late,” Daniel said.

  “Nonsense. There’s the little one next to the cabaret—they serve people far into the night. Besides, they have the most marvelous torte you must try. Cake smooth as butter, with raspberry jam between the first two layers and luscious chocolate glaze dripping down the sides.”

  Daniel looked at her with fondness. Ainsley had been a friend from the moment he’d met her. “You do love your cake, Stepmama.”

  “So do you, Stepson. I remember when we made our way down the boulevards of Paris, trying cake at every patisserie in the city. Drove your father wild.”

  Daniel grinned, remembering Cameron growling like a bear as Daniel and Ainsley dragged him all over Paris for cake. Cameron had been falling in love with Ainsley at the time, though the man had done everything to avoid admitting it. Pushing those two together had been one of Daniel’s most onerous but enjoyable tasks.

  The torte, as Ainsley promised, was excellent. She spent the first half of the dessert in silent enjoyment of the confection. The little café was dim, the clientele noisy, but Daniel and Ainsley had procured a private table at the front window and were left relatively alone.

  Ainsley finally laid down her fork, drank a dollop of wine, and put her elbows on the small table.

  “Now, Daniel, tell me everything about this Violet.”

  Daniel forked up another mouthful of jam-smeared torte. “This is a change. You usually beg me not to mention anything to do with my women. You wish me to remain the innocent sixteen-year-old who ran away from school and was your coconspirator. I have to remind you, I wasn’t so innocent at sixteen. I’d already had two mistresses and plenty of briefer affairs.”

  “Of course I don’t want to know about that. I’m asking you about Violet. Why do I ask? Because you look at her in a different way than you do the others. Don’t tell me you don’t. I want the entire story.”

  Daniel set down his fork, which was a crime, because the torte was like bites of heaven. “No story. Her services as a medium were offered to me to pay a gambling debt. Then she tried to kill me, then I chased her to Marseille, then I took her ballooning and nearly killed her. So we’re even.”

  It was difficult to keep from laughing at the expression on Ainsley’s face, but Daniel did it. Going back to shoveling in more torte helped.

  “You see?” Ainsley said after a stunned pause. “I knew there was a story. Who is she? She’s very lovely, even under that theatrical powder. Not a Romany at all, I take it. She’s from London or I’m a Dutchman.”

  “You’re still plenty Scottish,” Daniel said. “South London, though I believe Vi had a French father. So she says. Or else she’s truly a Russian siren hiding in France to escape persecution—the impossibly beautiful Princess Ivanova, with her friend, the Countess Melikova, who can speak to anyone on the other side.” He said the last in dramatic tones.

  Ainsley’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “That’s who she is? I’ve seen the bills about town. Their show is even recommended by the hotel. Oh, we must see it.”

  “I have seen it. It’s complete and absolute flummery. They’re very good at it.”

  “Better and better. I’ll tell Cam. We’ll all go. I can’t wait.”

  “They have a performance tomorrow,” Daniel said. “Or, tonight, rather. I think it’s getting on for the wee small hours.”

  Ainsley ate another thoughtful bite. “What you haven’t told me is whether you plan to make an honest woman of her.”

  Daniel scraped the last bit of chocolate from his plate then pushed the plate and fork aside. “Why this sudden rush to shove me down the aisle? Are you that eager to make an honest man of me?”

  “I want to see you happy, is all. You flit about the world from country to country, car race to balloon race to horse race, city to city, woman to woman. As though you’re seeking something, but don’t know what.”

  “Enjoying myself. Sowing wild oats. Learning. I’ll set the next land-speed record for motorcars this year, see if I don’t.”

  “With Violet by your side?”

  Ainsley always did know what Daniel hid in his heart. Daniel the boy had fumed when his father had caught him at his many pranks or hauled him home every time he ran away, though Daniel realized now he’d wanted to be caught at those things. As much as Cameron raged, at least his father was paying Daniel some attention.

  When Ainsley, a slip of a young woman with fair hair and lovely gray eyes, had come into the lives of Daniel and Cameron, she’d discerned Daniel’s vices with a canny shrewdness. She’d known about his gambling, the dubious connections he’d cultivated, his affairs, his decadent friends. Daniel had given up much of this and settled down once Ainsley became his stepmother, to please her more than out of any fear she’d tell Cameron.

  Now Ainsley peered at him with her knowing look, telling him his own secrets.

  Of course Daniel planned to win the motorcar races with Violet by his side. No other woman Daniel had met had shown such interest in his projects and ambitions. Violet had looked at Daniel’s sketches and drawings and understood right away what he was trying to do, and even more importantly, why he wanted to.

  “She’s fearless,” Daniel said. “Bless her.”

  “So what will it be? Marriage? Or a torrid affair? And once you ruin her, what will you do?”

  Daniel curled his hands as he held on to his patience. “You make me sound like a seducer in a melodrama.”

  “You’re a Mackenzie,” Ainsley said. “And your father’s son. As Mac likes to say, Mackenzies break what they touch. Remember that.”
r />   She had a point. Daniel shrugged. “It’s up to her. Violet can have it as she likes.”

  Ainsley leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Daniel, it’s never up to us. Us ladies, I mean. Gentlemen do as they please, and women have to fight for every scrap. She’s been hurt before. I saw that in her. I for one don’t mind if she’s a stage actress or a fortune-teller, or whatever she is, as long as she makes you happy. I don’t think she’s after your wealth. I’ve met predatory women before—good heavens, your father was surrounded by them. Violet doesn’t have the look, at least not when she looks at you. As I said, I saw what was in her eyes.”

  Daniel waited until she’d run down. “Finished?”

  Ainsley contemplated her empty plate. “Yes, I think so.”

  “I’ll tell you a secret then. I believe the one who’ll end up with the hurting this time is me.”

  Ainsley looked up at him, her eyes softening in sympathy. “That bad, is it?”

  “Getting there,” Daniel said. He let Ainsley close her hand over his and squeeze it. “Definitely getting there.”

  “Poor Daniel. Well, you know you will have my help. At any time, for any reason. I owe you—you know what for—and I love you, Danny-boy.” Ainsley gave his hand another squeeze and released him. “Now, shall we try another cake? Or perhaps you could take me to the cabaret so I can watch the cancan.”

  “Cake,” Daniel said quickly. “Dad would thrash me good if I took you to the cabaret to look at naked women.”

  “Don’t be silly. I like the dancing. I can’t imagine how they’re able to kick their legs so high. And anyway, it’s not sordid. They wear drawers.”

  “In some cabarets, especially this late, they don’t always.”

  “Oh.” Ainsley looked thoughtful. “Yes. I can see where that would be a bit racy. Especially with the kicking.”

  “Cake,” Daniel said firmly, and he waved the waiter over before Ainsley could argue any more.

  Violet floated. She suspected the heat of the collected bodies in the theatre, smoke from the incense she’d wafted about, and lack of sleep caused some of it.

  The rest was remembered joy. Violet walked about the stage in numb oblivion, going through the motions of their performance, speaking entire sentences before she knew she’d said anything. She was grateful for her costume with the veil, which would hide the glazed look in her eyes and the idiotic euphoria on her face.

  Celine had kept them all awake until six this morning with her hysteria over her visions. Smoke, fire, grave danger. They needed to leave Marseille at once.

  Or perhaps not. The trouble with Celine’s visions was they were maddeningly vague. Celine wasn’t certain where the disaster would take place. If they fled Marseille, their fate might await them in Cannes, Monte Carlo, Italy, or on a boat back to England.

  Most of Celine’s premonitions didn’t come true, but every so often, one did—frequently enough to make Celine terrified of them. Privately Violet believed her mother in possession of a vivid imagination she didn’t bother to control. Disaster, large or small, came into everyone’s life at some time. It was inevitable. The world was a dangerous place, no matter how one tried to cushion oneself against it.

  On the other hand, it didn’t hurt to be careful. Violet assured Celine she would check that the boardinghouse and the theatre were as safe as possible. She and Mary finally got Celine to sleep, with the help of a little laudanum. Celine was much calmer when she woke, and they made their way to the theatre, which seemed solid enough.

  The house was full tonight. Celine came into her own when she performed, and the night wound on without incident.

  And Violet floated. Daniel had awakened something inside her she wanted to examine. It was new, wonderful, and somewhat bewildering.

  He’d promised to take her to the inn again. Daniel might remember, or he might not. It didn’t matter. Violet would have memories to savor, regardless.

  Halfway through the show, she saw Daniel slide into the back row, gallantly assisting his stepmother to a seat. Violet stilled, her attention instantly pulled to him.

  Perhaps this was the disaster her mother foretold—Violet falling deeply, irrevocably in love with Daniel. The heartbreak of it would bring her oceans of pain.

  Daniel waited until Ainsley had seated herself, he flashing his grin at the men and women in seats next to them. No doubt charming them all to pieces. Daniel’s father hadn’t come, she noted. Possibly staying behind to look after his young daughter. An unusual sort of man if so.

  Once Daniel sat down, he sent a smile and a nod at the stage. Straight at Violet.

  Sweet moments. Forever seared into her heart.

  “Violet,” her mother hissed behind her. “Ask the young man about his mother.”

  Young man? Daniel?

  No, Celine meant the man who stood in the fourth row, worry on his face, waiting for Violet to allow him to speak to Celine. Violet couldn’t remember a thing the man had just said.

  “Forgive me.” Violet turned back to him, pitching her voice low, soothing. “You want to know about your mother?”

  The performance went on. At its end, when Celine drooped, Violet emerged in front of the curtain. “I thank you all. The countess must rest now.”

  She didn’t do the dramatics of pretending someone called to her from backstage—some of the audience had returned from the previous performance, and Violet didn’t like to repeat. No one must believe this a staged show. It had to be natural, spontaneous, every time.

  Violet glanced across the house to see Daniel on his feet, applauding heartily. His stepmother stood next to him, also applauding and looking delighted. Ainsley was a foot or so shorter than Daniel, which emphasized Daniel’s height. Daniel shot an approving smile straight at her.

  Much as she wanted to stay out front gazing at Daniel, Violet knew she couldn’t. She swept the audience a graceful gesture—a princess would never bow to commoners—and retreated backstage.

  Even in her daze, Violet remembered to secure the take. She got her mother and Mary away out the stage door with the money, and returned to the dressing room alone to change to her plain shirtwaist and skirt.

  The last time she’d left this theatre, Daniel had been waiting for her. Violet’s heart beat faster as she made her way out. He might not be there tonight, since he’d come with his stepmother, but Violet couldn’t stop her anticipation.

  She stepped out the back door, preparing to close and lock it.

  A strong hand landed on her shoulder. Daniel’s gaze was all for Violet as he pushed her gently back inside. Once they were in the hallway, his arms went around her, and his mouth came down on hers.

  He kissed her for a long time, slowly, no frenzy tonight. But the kiss held heat and stole every bit of Violet’s breath.

  Daniel eased away and touched her lower lip. “Ready?”

  Violet swallowed. “Ready for what?” To take her to the country inn? This late? Or back to his wonderfully cluttered flat where he’d begun to awaken her? “Where is your stepmother?”

  “Returning virtuously to the hotel to her husband and child. You and I, on the other hand, are off to enjoy ourselves. Thoroughly.”

  Violet tried a smile. “Another balloon ride?”

  Daniel’s answering smile was hot. “Maybe. Then again, who knows what I’ll do?”

  Violet’s mouth went dry. “I have to lock up. Everyone’s gone.”

  Daniel was looking her up and down. “You are lovely, as usual, but we’ll be needing something a little more formal if I’m taking you out.”

  “Are you taking me out?”

  “I am. What about that beautiful gown you were wearing onstage? Still have it with you?”

  “It’s in my valise. But I don’t want anyone seeing me in it as Violet.”

  “Of course. You’re right. But this is a theatre
. Do you keep other costumes here? Ones you haven’t worn yet?”

  “I don’t but . . .” Violet swallowed, his excitement catching. “There is a costume room.”

  “Let’s have a look then.” Daniel gestured for her to lead the way.

  The next hour was filled with laughter. Daniel lit all the lamps in the costume room, and they went through the wardrobes. Most of the costumes were for fanciful dramas, comedies, or operettas, plus some very skimpy things Violet assumed were for the fairies in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  Daniel pulled out a confection of a gown called a robe à l’anglaise, from the eighteenth century, all puffs and lace, a narrow bodice, the wide skirt to be held out with panniers. “Very Marie Antoinette,” Daniel said, holding it up. “You’d look beautiful in it.”

  “I’d look ridiculous on the avenues of Marseille in it,” Violet said. “Oh, look at this one.”

  She lifted out a gown that had been made for a more modern play. The skirt was a dark blue satin, and the velvet bodice, cut low across the bosom, was beaded with shimmering onyx and stones that glittered like diamonds. Violet knew they weren’t real diamonds, theatres being notoriously short of cash, but the illusion was perfect.

  The bodice had small puffed sleeves made to be worn off the shoulder. The gown left the arms very bare, intended to be worn with gloves. Plenty of those in the cupboards.

  “Put that on,” Daniel said. “And we’ll go to the fanciest restaurant in town.”

  Violet gathered the satin and beaded velvet to her bosom. “Steal the gown? The theatre manager would go spare. And make me pay for it. If he didn’t cancel our contract. Both probably.”

  Daniel came to her, took the gown, and held it up against her. “I want to take you out. You can’t go in a prim shirtwaist. I want you to rival the fanciest women in Marseille, respectable or otherwise. Wear the dress, or we don’t go.”

  Violet strove to keep a teasing note in her voice, though the heat of Daniel through the dress made her thoughts incoherent. “Will we go elsewhere if I keep to my prim shirtwaist?”