What’s more, he’d seen her. The duke stopped next to her and peered sternly down at her through the gloom. “Are you lost, Miss Devereaux?”
Chapter 28
Hart’s golden eyes were shadowed in the dark but still pinned her fast.
“No. I was just . . .” Violet gestured with her flameless candle. “The privy.”
“There’s a water closet at the end of the guest wing. In the opposite direction.”
“Ah. It’s a large house . . .”
Hart laid his hand on her shoulder, turned her, and marched her the rest of the way up the half flight of stairs to her wing. He led her straight to her bedroom and opened the door. How he knew which was hers when this was the first she’d seen of him here, Violet had no idea.
Hart walked her all the way inside. He took the chamber stick from her hand and matches from his pocket and lit the candle.
Violet’s fears came pouring back. Hart was a duke, one of the most powerful in Britain. He could do anything he liked. Violet was clad only in her nightgown, not even a dressing gown to cover her, and it must be fairly obvious what she’d been doing.
Hart set down the chamber stick. The candle flame wavered in the draft from the open door, which he didn’t close.
The draft also brought a scent to Violet that she recognized from being with Daniel. That, paired with Hart’s mussed hair and his lack of greatcoat though he’d been outside, drew her conclusion.
Her heart burned. Did the duchess know he’d been dallying with a woman? The anger at him for betraying his remarkable wife made Violet’s head come up.
“Was there something you wanted, Your Grace?” she asked in icy tones.
“You were with my nephew.”
“Perhaps.”
“No perhaps about it. You’re his lover.”
Violet gave him a haughty look, perfected from her performances. “Daniel is a grown man, and I am a grown woman.”
Hart looked Violet straight in the eye. Ian did that when he had something important to say. Hart did it to unnerve people and keep them unnerved. “I know all about you, Miss Devereaux. Your father was the last son of a poor French family who were excellent at getting something for nothing. Thieves and confidence men, every single one of them, and you with your séances and table turnings are carrying on the tradition. I’m going to ask you bluntly, what are your designs on Daniel?”
Violet’s heart hurt again. “No designs at all. I’m helping with his motorcar, and that will be the end of it. No doubt I will remain in France while Daniel returns here. My mother will join me there. I thank you for looking after her while she resides in London. I take it she is still there?”
Hart ignored the question. “You plan to end your association with my very wealthy nephew? Who recently came into all the money in trust for him?”
Violet kept her head high. “I am not interested in Daniel’s money, regardless of what you think.”
The duke’s gaze roved her, but not in lechery. He was assessing her the same way she assessed him.
“I know Daniel is trying to get you out of an unwanted marriage,” he said. “I don’t mind him doing so. A woman shouldn’t be trapped. But after that, you walk away.”
Violet’s anger caught in her throat. “I intend to. Daniel owes me nothing.”
“No,” Hart said in a hard voice. “He doesn’t.”
Violet knew Daniel could send her away whenever he wished. She’d always understood that. Whatever control he’d let her have in the bed tonight was illusion. If Daniel wanted Violet to stay with him, that would be his choice. But Violet leaving could be hers.
Now that Hart stood before her and told her to go, however, Violet knew what the pain of it would be. Daniel called her strong, but she knew she wasn’t strong enough to leave Daniel behind for his own good.
“You might ask Daniel what he wants,” Violet said, voice losing its steadiness.
“Daniel is young, he’s wealthy, he’s generous. Any woman would like to get her claws into him.”
Violet remembered young Lady Victoria, who’d clung to Daniel’s arm while she all but demanded Violet predict that Daniel would marry her. Lady Victoria had slavered over Daniel’s wealth, powerful family, and handsomeness, and hadn’t cared one whit for the man himself.
That Hart could equate Violet with the steely little debutante hurt. “I’ve told you I’d go. But it’s Daniel’s choice too, isn’t it?”
“He’s from a family that makes notoriously bad choices. Including me. I’ve made hellaciously awful ones. If I can save Danny from them, I will. I’m sure you need money, Miss Devereaux. Name a sum and go. A clean break. That’s best.”
“You insult me.”
“I’m realistic, and so are you.”
“I don’t want your money.” Violet stopped. The desperate voice inside her told her to reach out and take what he offered. When her association with Daniel was over, she’d need money. She’d concluded that Daniel was right that she should face Jacobi and finish with him, and then the rest of her life was hers. But life was hard.
“You do want it,” Hart said. “I won’t name a sum. I’ll simply give it to you—after you’ve walked away from Daniel.”
“A bargain you could easily forget.” Violet met Hart’s gaze with a pride to rival his. “I’ll make a different bargain. You let the decision for me to leave be mine and Daniel’s, on our terms. In return I won’t let on to your wife that you were with a woman tonight. Or maybe I will, if you don’t leave me in peace. The duchess is a kind soul, and she doesn’t deserve to be betrayed by one such as you.”
To Violet’s surprise, the duke took on a look of pure astonishment. “With a woman . . . ?”
“I’m not a fool, Your Grace.” Violet assessed him again. “You were outside, in the grass, with a woman, drinking brandy—to keep warm no doubt. I do hope you won’t catch cold.”
Hart stared at her, his shock palpable. “Miss Devereaux, you are laboring—”
“Leave her be, Hart.”
The voice that rumbled through the open door to Violet’s room didn’t come from Daniel. It came from Ian Mackenzie.
Ian walked into the room, his gaze going not to the two people standing in the middle of it, but to the flame of the candle on the dresser.
“Goodness,” Violet said shakily. “Does no one in this house stay in bed?”
Hart turned to face his brother. Hart was still angry, Violet could see, but when he looked at Ian, his face softened. There was love there, a powerful love that Violet had rarely seen.
“Well?” Hart said, his voice rough with impatience.
Instead of answering Hart, Ian moved his gaze from the candle flame and fixed it on Violet, or at least on Violet’s shoulder. She saw him start to look back at the candle once or twice but then firm his resolve not to turn his head.
“When you are in Paris, you must look after Daniel,” Ian said to Violet.
Violet blinked. “Me look after him?”
“Danny is like me,” Ian said, ignoring her response. “He will go after what he wants and let nothing stand in his way. But I have learned to be careful. Daniel, though, will do anything, even sacrifice himself, to win.”
Ian’s gaze didn’t move from Violet’s shoulder. One of his hands was curled to a fist, the other half clenched. Ian too was fully dressed, but no scent of outdoors came from him. He’d been on his way out, not on his way in.
“You’re not just talking about Daniel’s motorcar race, are you?” Violet asked.
Ian didn’t change expression, but he switched his gaze fully to Violet’s eyes. “Don’t let him.”
Hart broke in. “Ian . . .”
Hart might have been a dust mote for all Ian paid attention to him. “Don’t let him,” he said to Violet.
The intensity of Ian’s gaze was unnervi
ng. Violet wondered how he could exude more power with that look than Hart could with all his harsh commands.
“I won’t,” Violet said to Ian.
“Promise me.”
“Yes, I promise.”
Ian looked at Violet for a few more heartbeats, then he broke the gaze, studied the candle flame for a count of three, then made to leave the room. He turned halfway back when he reached the doorway.
“Hart was not with another woman,” he said to Violet. “He was with Eleanor. They like to meet in unusual places and try unusual things.” A look of amusement, a flicker only, passed through Ian’s eyes. “Beds are more comfortable.”
Hart, the great Duke of Kilmorgan, flushed dark red. “Yes, thank you, Ian.”
Ian shared another amused look with Violet, turned for the door, utterly ignored his brother, and walked out of the room.
Hart watched him go, again with the look of intense affection. “Ian has difficulty not saying exactly what he feels,” he said.
“So do you,” Violet countered.
“Touché. But Ian’s not wrong about one thing—Daniel is reckless, and he’s headstrong. I don’t want to have to tell Cameron that Danny crashed his motorcar at this time trial of his or bled to death in a knife fight with your husband. You seem to be a very careful young woman. If you insist on staying with Daniel, you had better take care of him. If something happens to him, I will hold you to blame.”
Violet let out her breath in a huff. “I’ve just promised Ian I’d look out for him. But I don’t know why either of you believe I can control every move he makes. Daniel does as he pleases.”
“Do your best. If you want to prove you are good for Daniel, then make sure he comes to no harm.”
Violet had not lost her fear of the duke, but overbearing men always put her back up. “Is that a threat, Your Grace?”
“It’s a fact. Good night.” The duke gave her a proper bow and at last departed, closing the door behind him.
He left Violet in a jumble of feelings—anger, outrage, wonder.
The fact that both Ian and Hart had stopped by to explain to her that Daniel needed looking after betrayed their worry about him. Cameron never said a word, but Violet had seen the same concern in him too. In Mac as well, as careless as he pretended to be.
Daniel was a beloved son, the Mackenzie men were telling her. And Violet needed to make certain he came to no harm.
Violet wasn’t sure she could. She couldn’t imagine that she had any power over Daniel, that he needed her the way she’d come to need him.
Even while she stood in the middle of her bedroom, worrying about what the duke and Ian had told her, the physical memory of joining with Daniel lingered. She still felt the absolute joy of lying in Daniel’s arms while he made her feel like the most cherished woman in the world.
Her life had changed tonight. She knew that the Violet going forward would be nothing like the Violet she was leaving behind.
“Here we go,” Daniel said to Violet. He leaned over the door to the driver’s seat where Violet sat waiting, taking a moment to gaze upon his creation as well as the delectable woman inside it.
The motorcar, in all its glory, sat on a long, straight, empty farm road outside Paris, ready for a test run and Violet’s first time driving it. The body, painted a sunny yellow, was long, low, and narrow, the wheels with their pneumatic rubber casings riding high around the chassis.
The gear chains and driveshaft were secure beneath the car, protected from breakage by a welded metal casing. At the very front of the car was the pump he and Violet had come up with, based on Violet’s wind machine, to cool the monster engine. A high-backed bench stretched across the inside for driver and passenger, the padded, tooled leather giving the machine a touch of luxury. Beautiful Violet sitting upright on the seat made the whole thing perfect.
Daniel rubbed his ungloved hands together, breath fogging in the crisp winter air. This moment had been a long time coming.
“We put the gear in neutral,” Daniel said, reaching over the door to move the stick. “This little lever here makes the ignition ready to go, and this one keeps it from sparking too soon. Then we ease in on the throttle to give it some fuel—like that. Pull out the choke and hold on to it—cuts off air to the fuel mix, better for starting. Right? Now, don’t move.”
Daniel lifted the hand crank from the space behind the seats, into which Simon had also packed a large picnic basket and some blankets. Daniel moved to the front of the car and inserted the crank into the starting hole.
Remembering to keep his thumb cupped with his fingers—he’d seen men break their wrists starting engines like this—he pulled up hard on the crank. The engine coughed once, tried to catch, then died. Daniel cranked again. “A little more throttle!” he called. Violet nodded and reached for the lever.
On the fifth try, the engine roared to life.
Daniel snatched away the now loose crank, tossed it into the back, and returned to Violet’s side.
“More spark, that’s it. And ease off on the choke. Excellent. Listen to that!”
The engine was loud, a constant sound, but at the same time it purred like a big cat. Daniel grinned as he wiped grease from his hands. The beast was alive.
He’d tested the motorcar in Berkshire a few times with Simon, but he’d not let Violet into the vehicle, as much as Violet had protested, until he made certain it was safe. He and Simon had put the brakes and gears through intense workings, Daniel fine-tuning and fiddling until everything was perfect. He’d spent the last few days, since their arrival in Paris, testing everything again. This morning, he’d announced that it was time for Violet to have her driving lesson. They’d brought the car out here via horse-drawn van, then Simon had helped unload it and left them to it.
Daniel climbed into the passenger seat, liking that the car was narrow enough that he and Violet had to sit close, arms and shoulders touching. “Ease back the clutch,” he said to her. “Slide it into gear, give it some throttle . . . and off we go.”
The car jerked then moved forward in fits and starts as Violet strove to figure out the correct balance between clutch and throttle.
Daniel sat patiently beside her, remembering how hard he’d worked to master the art when he’d driven his first motorcar. That had been at Gottlieb Daimler’s factory, where he’d ended up ordering a car for himself. He’d gone from there to Mannheim to buy one of Benz’s creations as well.
He’d had both motorcars shipped to his London house, drove them about a little, to the delight of his friends and neighbors, and then stripped them down.
The motorcar he’d built for today held none of the parts of the others, because that would be cheating. Daniel had learned everything he could by studying those cars, plus what others were doing in Britain, France, and America, then he built his from the ground up, based on his own ideas.
The car jerked along a while longer, then suddenly they were rolling forward, gliding smoothly. Violet’s concentrated scowl turned to a big smile. “It’s going!”
“Of course it is. You’re making it go. Now, how about the next gear?”
Violet struggled to maneuver the lever into position as well as work the clutch and hold the tiller steady. “Maybe you should have made this a two-person machine,” she said loudly over the engine. “Like a boat. One person to hold the tiller and the other to row.”
Daniel let out a laugh. “Nay, driving alone is pure freedom. No horses, no coachmen, no grooms, no waiting on anyone else. Just you and the wind and the machine rumbling under you.”
“Until you run out of fuel,” Violet said. “Then you go nowhere.”
“You’re a pessimist, love. Don’t throw cold water.”
“I’m practical. How can I flee the police if the car won’t run? With a horse, I can just gallop away.”
“Until the horse drops dead.
Let’s try the brakes now.”
Violet pumped the foot brake and the motorcar slowed. Daniel showed her how to gear down and brake some more, then pull the hand brake at the end. The car rolled more slowly until it stopped altogether.
Violet swung to Daniel, her eyes shining, smile wide. “I did it! I drove it.”
She looked so happy like this, free of everything but the excitement of what she was doing. Daniel wanted to kiss her, but he held himself back. Let her enjoy the moment.
“Aye, that you did,” Daniel said. “And ye did it well, just as I knew you would. Now, want to see how fast it will go?”
The look in her blue eyes said she did. “What do I do?”
“First we ready ourselves.” Daniel reached into the back again and pulled out the other things he’d had Simon pack. He handed a bundle to Violet.
She stared at it. “You really want me to wear these?”
Daniel pulled a leather helmet over his head and settled goggles on his eyes. Gloves went on next. “If ye don’t want bugs in your hair and dust in your eyes, yes.”
Violet watched him then laughed. “You look like a fly.” Her gaze dipped to his plaid-covered lap, and Daniel tightened. “A Scottish fly.”
“Enough making fun of me, woman. Put it on.”
Violet didn’t look like a fly in her gear. She looked adorable.
They hadn’t lain together since the night in Berkshire. Daniel had spent all the nights since reliving every moment of what they’d done. Every heated, erotic moment.
But Daniel had no intention of ruining what they’d begun by pushing her too hard. To that end, they had separate bedchambers in the Grande Hotel, filled their days working on the motorcar, and filled their nights showing Violet the splendors of Paris.
Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie Page 33