Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

by Jennifer Ashley

  Violet hesitated a moment, not looking at him, then she very slowly leaned to him. She stilled for a long time, her breath brushing his skin, before she completed the move and touched her tongue to the chocolate.

  Daniel smothered a groan. He let his hand come up to the back of her neck, his body tightening as Violet licked across his shoulder.

  With any other woman, Daniel would end the playing at once, lay her down on the carpet, get rid of the rest of their clothes, and consummate what they’d started.

  But no other woman was Violet. The story she’d told him last night had made Daniel furious but also made him understand how fragile she was. He didn’t want to frighten her away, destroying what little trust he’d already gained from her. But proceeding slowly was fine. If it took Daniel the rest of his life to seduce her, so be it.

  Violet raised her head, chocolate on her mouth. Daniel kissed it off, slowly imbibing the sweet chocolate from her plump, warm lips.

  “My turn,” he said.

  Daniel took his time drawing a curlicue design across her chest, giving her a slow smile as he let the chocolate dip between her breasts. He fed Violet the strawberry before he gently lowered her to the sofa and started savoring her.

  Violet’s hand came up to land on his shoulder, fingers tight. Then her fingers relaxed, as though she’d thought to stop him then determined to enjoy what he did. Daniel slowly kissed her breast, sucking a little to rid it of chocolate, leaving a tiny mark behind, his mark.

  Beautiful, sweet Violet. He’d never met anyone like her. He was falling in love with her, and he didn’t even know her last name.

  Daniel raised his head and kissed her mouth. He tasted the strawberries on her tongue, the dark tang of chocolate. The kiss was unhurried, exploring.

  Violet was sensuality itself, in her white linen corset against the blue of the sofa, her breasts rising over the corset, her hair coming down, her blue eyes dark in the dimly lit room.

  “She walks in beauty, like the night,” Daniel said.

  “We’re not walking, we’re lying on the sofa.” Violet’s smile spoke of a night of drinking champagne. “And we are being very naughty.”

  “Oh, are we?” Daniel traced her lips, which bore a faint ring of chocolate. “I think we could be even naughtier.”

  “So do I.”

  Violet’s smile was inviting, but Daniel saw the flicker of fear return to her eyes. She’d built a wall to keep her panic at bay, and he saw the worry in her that the wall would crumble at the slightest touch.

  “Violet.” Daniel rested his crossed arms on her breasts. “When you’re not afraid of me—truly not afraid—you tell me. All right?”

  Violet drew a sharp breath, but she nodded.

  Daniel touched her cheek. “Remember what I told you? You need slow goodness, not to rush. You and me, we have all the time in the world.”

  He saw her skeptical little frown and pressed his finger to her lips, stilling her answer. “Even if you don’t believe me, I believe me,” he said. “You and I will tear apart this town. In the meantime . . .” Daniel sat up again and reached for the bowl of chocolate. “I plan to get you very messy.” He took the spoon from the bowl and let a huge dollop of chocolate fall on her chest.

  Violet squealed, then laughed. She put her hand into the bowl, scooped up chocolate onto her fingers, and smeared it across his pectorals.

  Daniel’s eyes widened. “Och, if that’s the way you want to play it . . .” He grabbed the chocolate bowl, discarded the spoon, and started smearing chocolate on her with his hands.

  They tumbled from the couch the short distance to the rug, then they were touching, licking the chocolate from each other’s bodies. Daniel reached up and brought the chocolate down to them. He swept it across her lips then kissed her again, slowly, sweetly. Chocolate and Violet all mixed up.

  She looked surprised when he put the chocolate right on her tongue, then softened as Daniel took it from her in a long kiss. He suckled her tongue, and Violet wrapped her arms around him to kiss him back. Violet was laughing and beautiful, and Daniel determined to slide his mouth over every bit of her exposed skin.

  They continued to play until the chocolate was gone, and the night of champagne and sleeplessness began to catch up to Violet. In the early morning, Daniel carried her to the bedroom, she limp in his arms and showing no protest. He laid her on his bed, covered her up, and came down next to her, prepared to enjoy another hour of sleep with this wonderful woman.

  Violet woke to sunshine and to Daniel sprawled next to her, his bare chest and arms stained with chocolate.

  She smiled as he drew a breath in a long, soft snore. Another night of touching, kissing, enjoying, and Violet had not felt any fear.

  But it was morning now, and her mother would be waking, wondering where Violet was. Violet needed to go home, to again become the dutiful daughter, the one who decided how they would all hold together.

  As though he knew she watched him, Daniel cracked open his eyes. He looked at her a moment then he groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Damned champagne. Pure whiskey doesn’t leave me with this head.”

  “Wait. Don’t sit up.”

  Violet scooted to the head of the bed, knelt back, and rested Daniel’s head on her knees. She began massaging his temples in a light, circular motion.

  “Mmm,” he rumbled. “That’s nice.”

  Daniel was nice, with the covers around his waist, his chest touched with chocolate. His short hair was sleek under her fingertips, warm with sleep.

  “I do this for my mother,” Violet said. “She’s susceptible to headaches and says I make them go away.”

  “I see why.” Daniel hummed again.

  “I have to go home.” Violet couldn’t keep the note of sorrow out of her voice.

  Daniel tangled his fingers through one of her hands and brought it to his lips. “One day, love, you won’t have to. You’ll send the world to hell and stay with me.” He kissed her fingers again, slow, sensual. “That will be a fine day.”

  Yes, it would be. But for now, Violet had her mother, her obligations, and the wretched reality of life.

  Daniel rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ll see you again soon. Later today, in fact. I’ll arrange everything.”

  He must mean going back to the country inn. Violet knew that if she went there with Daniel, she’d surrender to him.

  But first, she’d tell him everything, every dark detail about herself—what had happened afterward with Jacobi, the other reasons Jacobi had convinced her to stay, and why she’d found the courage to finally flee him. Daniel might loathe her and turn her away, but he deserved to know.

  What she’d experienced with Daniel so far had been playful and lovely. Daniel, a wealthy and pleasure-seeking man, might want nothing more than play. In that case, nothing mattered. He made the rules of the game, not Violet.

  But she could not move forward until she told him. It mattered to her.

  If Daniel still wanted her after that, she’d surrender her body, never mind her fears. But she’d let it be his choice.

  Violet leaned down and kissed him. The kiss turned long, passionate, filled with need.

  Daniel was the one who broke away. He threaded his fingers through her hair and gave her a look that was so tender her heart ached. “Go do what you need to, Vi. And wait for me to come.”

  She nodded. It took a while for both of them to leave the bed; more touching and kissing slowing them. Violet dressed with Daniel’s assistance, but the lump in her throat was so hard she couldn’t swallow the coffee the hotel staff had left outside the suite’s door.

  “Violet, darling, where on earth have you been?” Celine put another two lumps of sugar into her tea and stirred it noisily as Violet slipped into the sitting room at the boardinghouse. “I have two people wanting private séances today, and we mu
st be ready.” Celine’s tone softened as she looked Violet over. “Where did you get that lovely dress? You look very fetching in it, my dear.”

  Violet looked down at herself, aware that she still wore the borrowed costume and slippers. She’d have to sneak them back into the theatre sometime today. But she’d been loath to stuff the beaded dress into her valise at the hotel and resume the shirtwaist and skirt. Daniel had picked out this ensemble, and she wanted to wrap the wonderful evening around her as long as she could.

  Violet poured herself the strong tea the boardinghouse provided and took a sip. It was disagreeable, especially after the excellent food she’d tasted last night, not to mention the chocolate. But the champagne had rather given her a headache.

  Mary answered a soft knock on the door. One of the boardinghouse’s maids put her head around it.

  “Mademoiselle, a man has come to see you,” the maid said to Violet. “I put him in the parlor downstairs. He is waiting there.”

  Daniel? Violet thought excitedly. So soon? But when Daniel decided to do something, Violet had noted, he did not wait to do it. She’d have to explain that her mother had appointments today and would need Violet after all, but Daniel would no doubt have contingencies for that.

  Violet thanked the maid and said she’d be down at once. She went to her room to smooth her hair and wash the remnants of chocolate from her face before she descended to the ground floor. Drawing a long breath, she opened the door of the parlor.

  And found herself looking at Monsieur Lanier, the banker who’d hired them a couple of nights ago. With him stood two men in the uniforms of the French police.

  Violet halted, frozen.

  “Yes, that is the one,” Monsieur Lanier said. “Told me she was a princess from Russia. Then she and her friend tried to rob me.”

  The policemen looked stern. “Mademoiselle, we will have to take you for questioning,” one said.

  Violet stared at them for another stunned moment, then she turned and ran.

  It wasn’t panic that made her run, or a sense of guilt. The agreement was that if the police in whatever town they were in came after them, Violet, the swiftest runner, would lead them on a merry chase. This would give Mary time to gather what she could and take Celine to safety. Violet would meet up with them later at the designated rendezvous.

  Violet picked up her skirts and ran down the street, the old-fashioned high-heeled slippers clicking on the cobbles. The police came right behind her, swift on their feet.

  The boardinghouse maid really should have mentioned the visitor’s name and that he’d brought the police, Violet thought in irritation. Probably the policemen had told her not to. The landlady, who didn’t much like them, must have agreed. Blast and bother.

  Violet had no money with her, but she knew how to be resourceful. She’d slip away from the policemen and find some way to get herself to the meeting point.

  This meant she’d have to leave Daniel behind. Violet had never regretted departing any town, even the lovely ones, but now her heart swelled with pain. She didn’t dare send Daniel word, even a good-bye. She and her mother must disappear again.

  The beautiful time she’d had with Daniel, her awakening, was over.

  He’d searched for Violet the last time she’d vanished. Would he this time? Or would Daniel have lost interest in chasing her?

  She knew where his family lived in London. She’d made it her business to know. Violet could write to him and explain, sending the letter to Ainsley. After she got her mother to safety. Daniel might not answer, might not look for her, might not even bother to read the letter. But she had to try.

  Violet swerved into a narrow, arched passage between houses, trying to be light on her feet in the foul-smelling muck. She’d gone halfway along it before she realized the policemen were no longer following her. The entrance to the passage remained empty, the only sound the echo of her shoes and her labored breathing.

  Violet let her satin skirts drop, never mind the muck. Damn it. If the policemen had given up on Violet so soon, they’d gone back to find Violet’s mother.

  Celine couldn’t be arrested. She’d take ill if she went to jail, unable to bear the cold, the foul airs. She was too delicate for such things. And Mary—Mary had been arrested for stealing clothes once upon a time in London, released only because the magistrate said he didn’t have enough evidence for a trial. Mary had stolen to feed herself and her child, who had died all the same of some pestilence that had raged through the poorer parts of London.

  Mary was much more resilient than Celine, but if the police discovered her past arrest, they might ship her back to London. A magistrate might not be so lenient for a second offense, and who knew what influence Monsieur Lanier, a rich and respectable banker, would have.

  Violet jogged back through the passage to the morning streets. Those on early errands stared at her in her beaded velvet and satin as she ran past. She reached the boardinghouse again, yanked open the door, and dashed inside and up the stairs.

  The police were clustered, with Monsieur Lanier and the landlady, at the door to their private rooms. The landlady’s keys clinked as she prepared to unlock the door.

  Violet rushed forward. “No!”

  The landlady, ignoring her, unlocked and threw open the door.

  The sitting room was empty. Celine and Mary were gone, the breakfast things scattered, the tea cooling, the remnants of an omelet congealing.

  Violet exhaled in relief. Mary had gotten Celine away. Her mother would be safe.

  Violet, on the other hand, was seized, her hands shoved together in front of her, iron cuffs clapped around her wrists.

  The cold of the cuffs stirred Violet’s panic. Pushed aside for too long, it rose like a monster—Trapped, trapped, can’t run.

  The panic made her fight. She kicked and bit, screams escaping her mouth before she could stop them. Her terror was complete when she felt a hand go down the front of her bodice—she was certain the two policemen and Monsieur Lanier were about to share her between them. And no one would help her.

  The policeman jerked his hand from her bodice. “Nothing. She didn’t hide the money there.”

  Violet, her breath ragged, managed a glare at them all. “My solicitor will have something to say about this.” She tried for imperious tones, but her voice came out weak and scratchy.

  “You see? She’s not Russian at all,” Monsieur Lanier said. “A pure fraud. Probably from the gutters of Paris.”

  He wasn’t far from wrong. Violet lifted her head, pressed her mouth shut, fought down her panic, and didn’t struggle anymore. As the police marched her down the stairs, the two spinster sisters and other tenants popped out of doorways to watch as Violet was taken into custody.

  The policemen took Violet to a barred police van. A crowd had gathered around it, the populace eager to see who was being rounded up this morning. A few men laughed as one of the policemen shoved Violet into the cart and slammed the door. The driver clucked to the horses, and Violet was taken down the streets of Marseille to the nearest jail at a slow walk.

  Chapter 22

  At least they didn’t put Violet into a cell. Small blessings. She rested her shackled hands on the wooden table in the tiny room they’d brought her to. They’d given her a sip or two of coffee then left her to stew for several hours. Her panic had receded, leaving her exhausted and worried.

  Violet looked up as a man in a plain suit walked inside, laid a stack of papers he’d been carrying on the table, and sat down opposite her. The man didn’t look at her but started leafing through the papers.

  “Now then,” he said in smooth French, but with a hint of Marseille dialect. He spread two of the sheets in front of him. “You are Princess Ivanova . . . with no surname.” He looked up at Violet and gave her a sardonic smile. “Or should I call you Your Highness?”

  “It makes little di
fference what you call me,” Violet said in freezing tones. “Monsieur . . . ?”

  “Bellec. I am a detective.”

  “I see.” Violet could think of a number of haughty responses—I am certain your mother is very proud—but she decided it was best to play this quiet, cold, and superior.

  “I’ll give you that you use Princess Ivanova as your stage name,” Bellec said. “But I need your real one. The landlady thinks it’s Perrault, but that’s not true, is it?”

  “Why have you arrested me?” Upstart, Violet’s tone said. “I have done nothing wrong.”

  “If you’d done nothing wrong, why did you run from the policemen?”

  Violet maintained her frigid pose. “They frightened me. In Russia policemen often harassed me and the countess. We were not loved there. I feared these policemen were the same.”

  He chuckled. “You play the part well, Mademoiselle. Or is it Madame? And where are you from in Russia? Saint Petersburg? Moscow? Easy for me to telegraph to the police there and find out, you know.”

  Violet bathed him in silent scorn. She could only hope that her time here, keeping this detective guessing, would give her mother and Mary a chance to get out of the city. The agreement was that if they were forced to separate and run, they would meet at a certain hotel in Lucerne, and from there decide what to do. Celine should have enough for the train with her, and so should Mary. Only Violet had empty pockets, since she’d foolishly left her money in her room in her eagerness to rush to the parlor.

  If Violet could get away from the police, perhaps she could find Daniel and beg for his help. Or she could hide in his little apartment until she could leave Marseille. The apartment was old, the lock on the door likely easy to pick.

  “I demand to know why I was brought here,” she said, keeping up her part.

  “Because you’re a fraud, Mademoiselle,” Detective Bellec said in an easy manner. “At least, that is what you are accused of. You went to the home of Monsieur Lanier to give him a show and took his money. Then, when he didn’t give you enough, you tried to steal it. Interestingly, he is more upset about your fraud. Monsieur Lanier said you employed a number of tricks—spirit knocking, moving the table, making the walls glow . . .”