Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

by Jennifer Ashley

“No. Dress. Now. Don’t worry. We’ll bring it back.”

  His eyes held his usual glint of mischief, but also something deeper that she couldn’t decipher.

  Violet knew she should go sedately back to her boardinghouse, count the take, settle her mother, and look through the requests for private consultations. She should not steal a gown from the theatre’s costume room and go out on the town on Daniel’s arm like a common courtesan.

  But Daniel had made clear he didn’t want to spend his evening with a young woman in sensible clothing. If Violet refused him and went home, like the good, respectable daughter she worked hard to be, she’d spend her evening as she usually did, alone, tired, looking after everyone but herself.

  Being the good girl could be so very lonely.

  Violet turned away with the dress and went resolutely behind the changing screen. She threw off her skirt and shirtwaist, putting on the costume over her corset and underthings.

  “I need a lady’s maid to do up the back,” she said, holding the bodice around herself as she emerged.

  “At your service.” Daniel turned Violet around and expertly fastened every button up the bodice. He did it swiftly and competently, which told Violet he was used to helping women dress.

  Violet remembered the beautiful courtesans she’d seen him with and swallowed a sudden burn of jealousy. Don’t think of it, she told herself. I’m with Daniel tonight.

  She found gloves, but Daniel wouldn’t let her wear her own shoes. Lace-up boots didn’t go with the shimmer of the satin gown, he said.

  They searched until they found a pair of high-heeled slippers that fit Violet. Violet suspected they went with the Marie Antoinette gown, but it didn’t matter. They were silver satin, fit, and looked perfect. A velvet cloak to keep her warm completed the ensemble.

  Daniel helped Violet bundle her own clothes into her valise, took the key from her to lock the theatre door, then walked her down the alley to the waiting carriage at the end.

  The vehicle was another sumptuous conveyance, with lacquered inlay and soft cushions. The driver greeted Daniel with friendly courtesy.

  Daniel took Violet to the most fashionable restaurant in town, a giant dining room with a soaring ceiling punctuated with multitiered golden chandeliers. Smart waiters in black glided about the room, crowded at this hour. Violet’s gown received many admiring glances, the onyx beading shimmering as she moved.

  Daniel ordered a feast. He gave Violet champagne, bubbly and sweet, delicate salads, roasted squab in a smooth sauce, tiny fish in an aspic. Elegant food for elegant people.

  After the meal, Daniel ordered up hothouse strawberries, which were served alongside a bowl of sweet cream. Daniel plucked up a strawberry, dipped it into the cream, and tilted his head back to bring the confection to his mouth. He closed his lips over the strawberry, tongue coming out to lick the cream.

  Suggestive, sinful. He swallowed the strawberry, looked over at Violet, and laughed.

  “You look shocked.” Daniel dipped another strawberry into the cream. “Don’t you know I’m a wicked man? Here, have one.”

  He held the strawberry out to Violet, its peak plump with soft cream. Violet leaned forward and closed her mouth around it. Daniel didn’t let go, waiting until she’d taken a bite.

  Violet flushed as she came up, noting the people around her staring at their wonton display. Some looks were disapproving, but some were indulgent, the latter from couples watching as though remembering their courtship days.

  Daniel fed Violet another strawberry. She bit down on the bright berry, contrasted with the smooth cream, the combination delightful.

  Feeling bolder, Violet finished her strawberry, picked up another, slid it though the cream, and fed it to Daniel. Daniel closed his eyes as he bit down, cream dotting his lips.

  He’d talked about desire—Deep down, belly-clenching, blood-heating pleasure. Violet was feeling it now, in the middle of a restaurant, in the middle of a crowd, with she and Daniel doing nothing more than feeding each other strawberries. When they finished the bowl, laughing together, they washed the berries down with more of the heady champagne.

  If this is what it is to be bad, I never want to be good again.

  Daniel also engaged Violet in conversation. Real conversation, as though they were friends. He told her about some of his travels and asked Violet about hers. Violet and her mother had performed in many cities, mainly on the Continent—France, the Italian states, Bavaria, Prussia, the Netherlands. Daniel, on the other hand, had traveled more extensively—from Russia through the Austrian Empire, to the Ottoman Empire, including Greece, Egypt, and Constantinople, and to other parts of the Middle East.

  “I climbed aboard a dhow and sailed away to Smyrna, Acre, Jaffa,” he said. “If it had an exotic name, I went. I found the Tigris and Babylon and the heart of the Persian Empire. I learned that such places are much more romantic when read about as a small boy under the covers than when picking scorpions out of my boots, but it didn’t stop me.”

  How wonderful to have the money and leisure to simply go where you wanted. No fetching hot water bottles and soothing away worries, no standing in front of people who had terrible hope in their eyes, waiting to talk with those they could not let go. No chilly boardinghouses and worrying about the rent, no keeping an eye on theatre managers so they didn’t cheat you.

  But one needed money for freedom. If Violet had the money Daniel did, she’d make sure her mother had a host of servants to look after her, then Violet would run away and see the world. She knew the journey would be that much better if Daniel took it with her.

  When they finished the champagne, Daniel took Violet to see a play, a comedy that was ridiculous and a bit risqué. Violet laughed as hard as the rest of the audience as the hero bounced onto the stage holding a golf club so that it appeared to stick out of his trousers. The heroine made requisite quips about his rigid club, both hero and heroine oblivious to the innuendo. Silliness, but the audience, well lubricated with wine, champagne, and brandy, found it hilarious.

  Next, a cabaret. Violet watched the dancers in fascination—she loved dancing of any kind—while Daniel sat back in their little private booth, his feet up, a black cigarette dangling from his fingers. The show had more than dancing ladies—there were acrobats, men and women dancing together, and two men who told jokes, very funny indeed. Violet laughed and clapped and drank more champagne. During the last act, which was more dancing, Violet leaned back next to Daniel and shared a cigarette with him.

  Daniel watched her take a pull, then he removed the cigarette from her mouth, leaned to her, and bit her lower lip. Violet tried to complete the kiss, but he sat back again, a half smile on his face, and resumed the cigarette.

  Violet shivered, her body as hot as it had ever been.

  So this was wickedness. Everyone who’d seen that exchange must suppose Violet was Daniel’s mistress, or his courtesan for the night. Violet supposed she was. And she could feel no shame.

  Or fear. Daniel was making it no secret he wanted to be her lover. The dressing up, the restaurant, the conversation, the cabaret acts, and the champagne were all to relax her. Daniel leaning to take her lip between his teeth had been the most natural thing in the world. Violet felt no panic, only a frisson of pleasure.

  She closed her hand around Daniel’s. He sent her a sideways look, eyes warm. He lifted her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it. His gaze was all for her, not the nearly naked women on the stage.

  The final curtain went down. “Time to go,” Daniel said.

  He led her out ahead of the crowd, signaled to his hired coachman, and handed her into their conveyance.

  “Where to now?” Violet leaned against the cushions and closed her eyes, her sleepless night and the laughter tonight making her pliant and warm.

  “Hotel.”

  She opened her eyes in surprise. “With your
father, stepmother, and sister?” Not that she wouldn’t mind meeting them all. She liked Daniel’s stepmother, whom Violet thought she could be friends with. Perhaps. She’d never had a woman friend before, so she wasn’t sure how one went about it. “Isn’t it a bit late for a visit?”

  “Not that hotel. This afternoon I took rooms in another. I’d rather take you there than back to my dusty flat, with my work strewn about. I’m sorry about that, but last night I didn’t have another choice.”

  “I liked seeing your work.” Violet found his ideas fascinating. “How many rooms did you hire in this city?”

  “A few. I often do that. Never know when I might feel like sleeping somewhere different. Or lying low for a few days.”

  Violet reflected again how wealth allowed a man to do anything he wanted.

  The hotel was small but elegant, and what Violet supposed was meant by discreet. The doorman and footmen didn’t blink when Daniel handed out Violet and led her inside.

  Daniel had a suite, of course, on the first floor, up a long flight of carpeted stairs. A parlor paneled in light polished wood with periwinkle blue and cream upholstery fronted a bedroom, entered through double doors.

  Violet looked into the bedroom as Daniel closed the door to the suite. The bed was wide, a carved four-poster bedstead hung with velvet curtains. It looked comfortable, a nest for the rich. Perhaps she’d find out how comfortable it was tonight.

  The thought made her throat close, the dratted panic welling up just when she wanted it to go away forever. That was the trouble—the panic could rise at unexpected times, catching Violet unguarded. Her fear of the fear was almost as bad as the panic itself.

  She found Daniel’s hands on her waist, he turning her away from the doorway. “We’ll stay out here, if you like.” His look said he’d seen Violet stiffen, seen the relaxation start to drain away. “But someday, I’ll show you that a bed is a fine place, and not just for sleeping.”

  Her stiffness started to ease with Daniel’s arms around her. Violet thought of the kiss in the hall at the theatre, which had been intense but brought no panic.

  She nodded, and Daniel kissed the tip of her nose. “Good,” he said.

  Daniel left the bedroom doors open but led her back to the sofas in the sitting room. These weren’t the stiff horsehair sofas found in so many boardinghouses Violet had inhabited. They were long and elegant, with plush cushions, made for comfort. A tea table stood between them, waiting to serve.

  “I can order up another feast,” Daniel said. “Or more champagne.”

  Violet put her hand to her belly, the beads cool on her fingers. “Goodness, I think I’ve eaten my fill. And if I drink more champagne, I might fall asleep. Or become very silly.”

  “Champagne is supposed to make you silly. It’s a silly drink. Whiskey has much more body. You’ll like the Mackenzie malt. Rich, deep, a nice mouthful.” Daniel traced her cheek. “Tell you what, love, I’ll order up pudding—or as they call it here, dessert. More strawberries.” Again his eyes held both a mischievous gleam and watchfulness.

  Violet nodded. “I think I’d like that.”

  Daniel winked, turned away, rang for a footman, and walked outside the room to meet him and give the order.

  In a short time, another footman wheeled in a cart with a carafe of clear water and goblets, a bowl of cut strawberries, and another silver bowl kept warm over a tiny flame. Daniel handed the man a tip—Violet caught a glimpse of a large wad of banknotes—and the footman withdrew.

  “I hope that isn’t cream,” Violet said, sitting down to dish out the strawberries. “Over a flame like that, it will be curdled.”

  “Better.” Daniel sat down next to her. “Something the French excel at, leaving us poor Scots in the dust. The entire British Isles, in fact.” He lifted the silver dish’s cover. “Chocolate.”

  Chapter 21

  Daniel enjoyed watching Violet’s apprehensive look dissolve. He watched her become the real Violet—not the persona on the stage, or the harried drudge to her mother, or the woman broken by her past. She was simply Violet, who was interested in his machines, laughed at inane farces, and was unfolding in her first experience of desire.

  The elegant dress brought out the blue of her eyes and the rich darkness of her hair. Violet should always be dressed in beautiful frocks and have nothing more to worry about than what opera she’d watch or how many kisses she’d let her lover steal. Her beauty should have been the stuff of legend, not hidden away in hired houses or behind costumes.

  Daniel poured out the water. He took a sip as did Violet, enjoying the clean taste after the overly sweet champagne.

  “Like this.” Daniel speared a cut strawberry with one of the tiny forks on the tray, dipped the strawberry into the bowl of glistening, warm chocolate, and lifted the result to Violet’s lips.

  Violet leaned forward and tentatively bit down on the berry, then she closed her eyes in rapture. “Oh,” she said after she’d swallowed. “Oh my.”

  “I don’t know how the French and the Swiss can make chocolate that’s smooth as silk and tasty enough to drown in, but I won’t worry,” Daniel said. “I’ll just eat it and be happy.”

  Violet licked a drop of chocolate from her lower lip. “I’ve never been able to afford chocolate like this. It’s heavenly.”

  “Aye, who wants a heaven with streets paved in gold? I’d rather have rivers of chocolate. And whiskey. An even better combination. Coupled with the taste of a good cigar.”

  “You’re decadent.”

  “I’ve taught myself about the finer things. Uncle Mac taught me plenty too. He’s quite the hedonist.”

  Violet looked interested, as she always did when Daniel talked about his family. “Are your other uncles hedonists too?”

  “Not so much hedonists as intensely focused. Dad’s focus is horses. Ian—mathematics, Beth, and his children—not in that order. With Hart it’s—well, making the world jump to do whatever he wants it to. Uncle Hart was very much the sensualist, though, in his younger days. Had his own private house with women to cater to his every pleasure. I do mean every pleasure. Now that he’s with Eleanor, he’s given up the house, but he hasn’t stopped being a sensualist. At least, in deep privacy, with Eleanor—which he thinks is so secret. The way she blushes, though, I know their time together becomes plenty interesting.”

  Violet looked surprised. “But he’s a duke.”

  Daniel laughed. “And they should all be stuffed shirts? Uncle Hart is a master of pleasure. He could be the ultimate hedonist if he chose. I tried to get him to tell me some of his secrets, but he sent me off, so I had to learn them myself.”

  He speared another strawberry, dipped it in chocolate, and let the chocolate run in a ribbon back into the bowl.

  Violet’s gaze went to the dripping chocolate, her lips parting as Daniel lifted the fork to her. The room was already warm, and Violet leaning forward in pursuit of the strawberry made Daniel break into a sweat. God help me.

  Violet closed her mouth around the strawberry, her eyes drifting shut. She finished the strawberry, a drop of chocolate falling to her chin. “I’ll get chocolate all over this frock if I continue.”

  She reached for a napkin, but Daniel leaned forward and licked her chin clean. “I can think of a way to remedy that.” He let his smile grow as hedonistic as Mac’s ever did. “Take off the gown.”

  Violet started. Her gloved hand went to the décolletage, over which her plump bosom swelled.

  For a moment, Daniel thought she would refuse—and well she should—then she breathed a laugh. “Perhaps I had too much champagne, but I think it a good idea.”

  Daniel hid his relief. “I think so too. For me as much as for you.”

  Without giving her time to change her mind, Daniel shrugged off his frock coat, then his waistcoat. With the room so heated by the large coal stove, it was a rel
ief to take off the outer layers.

  “I’ll need help with the buttons again,” Violet said, her look shy.

  No trouble. Daniel’s breathing was unsteady as Violet turned and presented her back to him. Daniel slid next to her on the sofa and undid the buttons, one by one.

  Her bare back came into view above the corset. Daniel ran his hand across her skin. Soft, smooth. He kissed it.

  Violet had stripped off the gloves, and now pushed down the front of the gown as she stood up. With great care, she slid out of the skirt and bodice and laid the gown on the other sofa, along with the gloves.

  She sat down again in her corset and petticoats, her shoulders and arms bare, and looked at Daniel. “You might get your shirt dirty as well.”

  “Aye.” Daniel unfastened his collar and the shirt, pulling them off, then got out of his undershirt as well. He liked the way Violet’s gaze flicked to his chest then to the tattoo on his arm.

  Violet’s look was still shy, but she forked up a strawberry, covered it in chocolate, and offered it to Daniel. Daniel licked the thread of chocolate that spilled down from it, then drew the berry into his mouth. He smiled at Violet as he chewed, tasting sweet, bright strawberry and smooth, rich chocolate.

  “My turn.” Daniel prepared another strawberry, but he held it away as Violet reached for it with her mouth. He let the chocolate snake across her collarbone before he tucked the strawberry between her lips.

  As she feasted on the strawberry, Daniel leaned down and licked her collarbone clean.

  Chocolate and Violet. A wonderful combination. He felt the swallow in her throat, and kissed it.

  When he looked up at her, she was smiling, her eyes relaxed. She’d plucked up another strawberry with her fork while he’d savored her, and now she loaded it with chocolate. She held the fork over Daniel and let chocolate swirl deliberately over his bare shoulders.

  The chocolate was warm and tickled. “Oh yes?” Daniel asked when Violet sat back and ate the strawberry herself. “And what are you going to do about that?” He pointed at the wavy line of chocolate.