Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

by Jennifer Ashley

  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.

  Violet 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 V
iolet 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.

  Her lips were warm despite the cold, and soft, sweet. Daniel wanted to take the kiss deeper, to taste her again.

  He drew back as someone passed along the street, and Violet slipped her hand from his. “Good night,” she said.

  “Wait. Your wind machine.” Daniel took the box from under his arm, and leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Good night.”

  Violet took the box. “Good night.”

  Daniel grinned, not moving. “Good night.”

  Violet shifted the box to one hand, braced it against her hip, and reached for the door handle. “Good night.”

  Daniel stepped down from the doorstep to the street. “Good night.”

  She smiled over her shoulder. “Good night.”

  Violet opened the door, and Daniel tipped his hat. “Sleep well.”

  “And you.”

  “Good night, then.”

  “Good night.”

  Simon was watching with interest, leaning on the cab’s back wheel and smoking a cigarette. He grinned as Daniel turned around one last time and waved to Violet.

  “Good night,” Daniel called.

  “Good night,” Violet returned and finally disappeared inside.

  Daniel heaved a sigh, dragged a cigarette from his pocket, and accepted Simon’s offer of a light. The driver looked down at them impatiently, but Daniel leaned on the coach wheel beside Simon and waited.

  Simon guffawed. “If you hurry home and go to sleep, sir, you can see her again in the morning.”

  “Cheek,” Daniel said, drawing in smoke. “Am I that bloody obvious?”

  “You look as my youngest brother did when he was first wooing his woman. Didn’t like to take his eyes off her for nothing.”

  “No?” Daniel gazed up at the window in which he’d seen Violet before. “What happened to him then?”

  “Married her. And they lived happily ever after. Well, as happily as they can in a small flat with four children and a dog.”

  “Sounds idyllic.”

  “They think so. There’s the light you’re watching for.”

  A curtain went back in the upper window, a faint glow of a kerosene lamp behind it. Violet’s silhouette appeared, she looking down into the street. Daniel raised his hand, and Violet returned the wave, hers graceful.

  She didn’t turn from the window. Violet watched Daniel, and Daniel watched her.

  “Is this going to go on all night?” Simon asked. “If so, I’ll step to a wine shop. I don’t much understand the pubs in this country, but I’m learning to like the jug wine.”

  “Get into the damned coach,” Daniel said. He knew he was making a complete fool of himself, but he couldn’t stop.

  He took off his hat, blew Violet a dramatic kiss, jumped onto the step of the coach, and told the driver to go. Simon tossed down his cigarette and flung himself inside through the other door as the carriage pulled away.

  Daniel remained on the step, waving with his hat as the coach rumbled down the street. Violet shook her head and let the curtain fall, but Daniel knew she was laughing at him. He clung to the side of the carriage all the way around the corner and into the next street.

  If Daniel was going to make a fool of himself, he might as well do it all the way.

  Violet had no idea why, the next day, she put on the best dress she owned and made a fuss over her hair. Daniel wouldn’t come. Their adventure was over, finished.

  Not that Violet was finished with it. She’d lain awake most of the night, reliving the memory of Daniel lying behind her in the bed, his arm around her. She felt again the moment he’d rolled her over and parted her nightdress, then kissed her with such caring thoroughness. She remembered every touch, every heartbeat, every breath.

  Violet dozed off as morning came, and she awoke to a tray of croissants, coffee, and a bite of cheese, but no Daniel. She donned a peach-colored broadcloth dress, the fabric so fine it felt like satin. The bodice had lace and braid appliqué, the sleeves modestly puffed, the skirt graceful. She couldn’t help but picture a warm look of approval in Daniel’s eyes when he saw her in it.

  But he didn’t come at midmorning, nor at luncheon. As the afternoon wore on, Violet made herself stop pacing, sit down, and have tea.

  Outside, the short winter afternoon was ending. Celine finally came out of her bedroom, where she’d been resting all day.

  “Ah, Violet, darling, there you are.” She was dressed in her black bombazine, the brocade turban in her hand. “It’s almost time for our appointment. I’m glad to see you’ve dressed well for it. We’re going to be late.”

  Chapter 13

  “Appointment?” Violet’s ha
nd jerked, and the tea in her cup nearly landed on her lovely peach skirt. “What appointment?”

  Celine stared at her. “You’ve forgotten? You never forget appointments. But I see now why Mary had to rouse me. She didn’t forget. Monsieur Lanier, a banker, very rich. We’re going to his house to give his wife a bit of table-turning, remember? He’s not a believer, and neither is his mother, but Monsieur Lanier indulges his wife. At least, that’s what Mary says. She learned everything about him while you were gallivanting in the country, leaving your poor mother all alone in a strange city.”

  “Oh,” Violet said. “That banker.” Monsieur Lanier had sent a letter to the concert hall, which Mary had collected the morning Daniel had whisked Violet away. Mary trotted every day to the concert hall for their mail, which was the address on the cards she gave out to the audience. They never told anyone where they truly lived.

  Monsieur Lanier had asked for a private consultation in his letter, offering to pay well for it. Violet would have dealt with answering the letter and setting the appointment, but Daniel had arrived, and she’d gone.

  “You agreed to go to his home?” Violet asked. “You know we should set up the consultation at a place of our choosing, especially if unbelievers attend.”

  “Don’t be silly. Mary says the Laniers have a comfortable house, and it is easier to turn unbelievers if they see incontrovertible evidence of the truth in their very own homes. Besides, Mary says their cook makes excellent cakes, and the house has good heating.” For someone so attached to the spiritual, Celine loved her bodily comforts.

  Violet sighed and quickly drained her teacup. “Blast. This means I have to wear those dratted veils.”

  Celine gave her a triumphant smile. “If I have to wear the turban, you have to wear the veils. The next place we go, we’ll be Romany again and dress in easy skirts and scarves. Much more manageable.”