Daniel had Violet get the car moving forward again and guided her to the first gear, then to second. When they were moving along at a smooth pace, it was time for the top gear. “Ease in more on the throttle. More . . . more . . . yes.”
The motorcar sped up, then sped up some more. Violet fought the tiller—Daniel really needed to find a more efficient steering mechanism. The wheels skidded on the mud of the farm road, but Violet moved the tiller from side to side, naturally finding her way out of the spin.
The car kept moving. Fast and faster. Fields stark with winter rushed by on either side of them.
Violet flashed Daniel a triumphant look, then she laughed. Wind buffeted them, freezing and bracing.
“It’s like flying!” Violet shouted, and let out a whoop.
Violet embracing the world. A beautiful sight.
The road curved sharply to the right. Violet’s eyes widened as the bend zoomed up fast. Daniel had his hands with hers on the tiller as they pulled it around the bend, the wheels slipping and sliding under them.
The car went into a spin. Daniel was thrown back into his seat, but Violet set her face and hung on to the tiller, her tongue pushed between her teeth. She wrestled with the car, pulling and pushing the brakes and gears until the car came out of its wild skidding and moved in a straight line again.
Daniel thought she’d gear down and stop the car, but Violet gave him a look of wild glee and pushed the motorcar to go even faster. She leaned forward, the joy on her face wonderful to behold.
They were moving fast, faster than Daniel had thought the car would go. The best speed anyone in Europe or America was reaching at the moment was about fifteen to twenty miles per hour. Daniel and Violet had left twenty far behind. Forty was more like it. Or fifty.
Violet let out a wild noise. Every bit of fear in her was gone. She was free. And Daniel loved her.
Desire, liking, admiration, exasperation—all had rolled together to form purest, warmest love. He knew he needed this woman in his life. Always.
Violet threw back her head and laughed. Daniel laughed with her, and she looked over at him, a hot smile on her face.
The next bend made them stop laughing. Violet screamed, pumped the brakes, and worked the tiller. They hit a deep patch of mud, and the motorcar spun freely across the narrow road.
The back end of the car went all the way around, and kept going. Daniel saw the furrowed field coming at them before he grabbed Violet and dragged her down, throwing himself over her.
The back end of the car went up a bank, and the front end swung across loose dirt in a sickening wave. The rear wheels stuck fast, the engine stalled, coughed, and then died. The front wheels at last ceased their wild spinning and went still. A crow cawed as it sailed by them, and then all was silence.
Chapter 29
“Vi.” Daniel wrenched himself up, not liking how still Violet lay beneath him.
Violet blinked and stirred, and Daniel’s heart banged with relief. Her goggles were half off, and she pulled them from her face as Daniel hauled her up.
The car’s back end was mired in a furrow of rich black earth, the front end lifted a little off the ground. They were well and truly stuck.
Violet looked around, then her smile flashed. She let out another whoop and threw her arms around Daniel. “We were going so fast!”
Daniel grinned. “Not anymore.”
Violet didn’t appear to care. She pulled Daniel against her and tried to kiss him, but she banged into his goggles, and she laughed.
Daniel pulled off his goggles and dropped them behind the seat. He closed his arms around her, and their mouths met in a wild frenzy. Daniel was shaking, but not with cold.
The motorcar was a cramped space. But not so cramped Daniel couldn’t lay Violet down across the seat and keep kissing her. Her leather cap came off, her hair wild, and she kissed Daniel back with fervor.
Daniel reached down and slid Violet’s skirts upward. He expected her to break into panic, to push him away when he tugged at her drawers, his hardness heavy on her.
She didn’t. Violet kissed him, ran her hands up his back, pulled off his leather helmet to let it fall outside the car. She let him skim off her drawers, the lawn fluttering like a white flag.
In very little time, he was inside her, connected to her, as he’d been dreaming of for days. Violet’s eyes widened as he thrust, and again Daniel waited for her to dissolve into panic. But Violet lifted herself to him and pulled him close in frantic need.
It was awkward, rushed, crazy, freezing wind pouring over them. But the elation of the wild ride, the watery terror of the crash, the need they’d awakened in each other mixed and combusted.
Violet clung to Daniel as they rocked, he thrusting madly into her. The scent of newly turned earth, the scorched smell of the engine, and the scent of Violet and desire heightened the wild feeling of loving her.
Moments later, Violet’s face softened with the beautiful pleasure he’d taught her to enjoy. Daniel kept going, feeling himself start to release far, far too soon.
“Love. Love.” He scraped back her hair, his lips heavy on hers. He shuddered, burying himself as far as he could in her warmth, softness, scent.
“Love,” Daniel said one more time, his heart in the word. Violet touched his face as they both found the height of release, kissing, clutching, holding.
Daniel shuddered again as he wound down, their kisses softening into heat and languid joy. The frigid wind rushed around them, but the look in Violet’s eyes warmed him like a midsummer sun.
A farmer with a draft horse had to drag them out of the mud. How embarrassing. Violet stood by, her clothing restored, while Daniel chatted amiably with the farmer, drawing a smile from the dour-faced man. Charming the world as usual.
The car wouldn’t start again—mud in the fuel pump, Daniel said, and the driveshaft might be bent. The farmer had to pull them all the way back to where Simon waited with the cart to take the motorcar into Paris.
“Aye, well,” Daniel said, shrugging away the damage with his usual aplomb. “If I miss the Paris trial, I can have it fixed up for Nice. This sweetheart will do well on the hill-climb, I’m thinking.”
“I couldn’t stop it,” Violet said. She wondered in the next moment whether she meant the car or her grab at Daniel that had led to them making love.
That coupling had been rapid and raw. It should have frightened Violet into one of her attacks of hysterics, but it hadn’t.
Perhaps the amazing freedom of the speed she’d found, the crazed fear of the spin and crash, and Daniel’s body hard on top of hers had let loose a wildness inside her, pushing away fear.
The feeling of the car responding for her and her body connecting with it had been almost as heady as connecting with Daniel. She couldn’t stop her smiles at Daniel as they sat in the motorcar, now rolling behind the sturdy draft horse. Daniel’s dark amber eyes were warm as he smiled back. Violet wanted to wrap the day around her and keep it forever.
But that night Daniel said they needed to continue their hunt for Jacobi.
Daniel and whatever contacts he had in Paris hadn’t found Jacobi yet. Violet couldn’t be unhappy about that, because Jacobi could be dangerous—or at least, he had dangerous friends. Violet hadn’t quite understood that when she was younger, but looking back, she realized that Jacobi had known some rough men. Jacobi had gambled hard, but he and his friends had also fleeced plenty of people. She’d thought him amazingly clever until she’d understood better.
She also knew that Jacobi had an animal’s instincts and knew how to protect himself. If Daniel hadn’t found him yet, it meant Jacobi knew someone was looking for him and had gone to ground.
Daniel’s idea for flushing him out was simple—he let it be whispered in the right circles that Miss Violet Devereaux was now Mrs. Daniel Mackenzie. Jacobi would hear of this and pe
rhaps seek them out. If not, Daniel had other ideas he’d try.
To back up the ruse, for the past few nights, and again tonight, Daniel had Violet dress in rich finery, then he took her out on the town.
I told you I’d show you life, and I will.
The life Daniel showed her was one Violet had only had glimpses of. Even their outing in Marseille paled in comparison. Now Violet put up her hair and bared her shoulders and walked among the wealthy and fashionable.
During her weeks in England, the four Mackenzie women had collaborated to covertly produce a full wardrobe for Violet. In London Violet had consented to be fitted for a few dresses with Beth’s modiste, which Violet had insisted on paying for. Ainsley had looked triumphant when she’d said that they’d used the measurements to have the modiste make Violet many more clothes—evening gowns, walking dresses, morning gowns, and sturdy, warm dresses for when they worked on the car.
Violet’s protests went unheeded. Isabella, Beth, and Eleanor joined in to persuade Violet to accept the clothes, and she had to give in gracefully. As much as Violet had to work to swallow her pride, she admitted that the ladies truly had been kind. She’d someday find a way to give them kindness in return.
The result of the Mackenzie ladies’ planning was stunning. When Violet walked down the staircase of the Grande Hotel that evening, heads turned, gentlemen and ladies alike staring at her in admiration.
The gown she’d chosen was close-fitting, hugging her breasts and waist, the neckline lower than any she’d ever worn. Violet’s shoulders were bare—the gown had no sleeves at all—and only thin, diamond-studded straps held the bodice in place.
The fabric was silk, in a deep, iridescent blue that changed hue as Violet moved. Long satin gloves covered her arms up over her elbows, and small diamonds, Daniel’s latest gift, glinted in her hair.
A maid came after Violet with a fur wrap that would protect her from the cold, but the ensemble was meant to bare as much of Violet as tastefully possible. She was a graceful statue, come to life.
Daniel met her at the bottom of the stairs. He was resplendent in black coat and pristine white dress shirt, but he wore the formal kilt of the Mackenzies. For evening, instead of boots he wore leg-hugging socks and low shoes. Though his kilt drew stares from all, Violet noticed the ladies appreciating his muscular legs as well.
Daniel held out his arm, and Violet slipped her hand through its crook. The maid draped the furs over Violet, and Daniel led her out.
They’d done this for three nights running, the staff of the hotel always scurrying to serve them. Daniel Mackenzie was a wealthy Scotsman, from a prominent family. The lady? She was an enigma, but it didn’t matter because she was Daniel Mackenzie’s wife.
Daniel led Violet along the carpet stretching from hotel doorway to the low-slung carriage that waited for Monsieur and Madame to step inside.
The coach was the most luxurious money could hire. The inside was polished wood trimmed with the curving floral designs of the new art styles. Kerosene lights lit the inside, velvet curtains shut out the night and the hoi polloi, and coal boxes warmed their feet.
Daniel sat next to Violet on the cushioned seat, no false preservation of propriety. He slid his arm across the back of the seat, behind her, enclosing Violet in his warmth.
“How long?” Violet asked nervously.
“I imagine he’ll emerge soon,” Daniel said. “And then you’ll be free.” He patted her silk-clad knee. “You’re good at playing roles. This one is no different.”
“It is different. This is real.”
“I won’t argue with you.” Daniel stretched out his long legs, which brushed hers through her thin skirt. “But you’re doing brilliantly.”
He leaned back and proceeded to enjoy the ride. Daniel enjoyed everything he did, from grubbing over his car in tattered clothes, to smoking with the foundry workers where he’d taken the car to be repaired, to rubbing elbows with Paris’s elite.
They went to Restaurant Drouant first. Daniel took a table in the most visible part of the restaurant and was as relaxed here as he was when they ate privately in their hotel parlor. He spoke in a friendly way with the waiters, who were happy to bring him the best from the kitchen and the wine cellar.
Violet watched Daniel as he flashed his smile, as warmth lit his eyes, none of it false. He was a generous man, and that generosity came from his heart. Daniel truly didn’t give a damn what others thought of him. He gave because he liked people, and not to gain praise or prestige.
I love him for it. I love him for everything he is.
At the moment Violet lived in a bubble of astonishing happiness. What would come after Paris, after finding Jacobi, she didn’t know. The future stretched out, unknown and frightening.
After dining, Daniel took her to the Moulin Rouge, to be seen, and then to secret casinos—he seemed to know many of those. In the carriage before they arrived at the first casino, Daniel took a velvet pouch from his pocket, removed an eye-widening diamond bracelet, and clasped it around Violet’s wrist.
Her jaw sagged. “Daniel . . . You can’t . . .”
Daniel tipped her face to his and gave her a rough kiss on her lips. “No, my sweet. You’re supposed to gush and coo and tell me how wonderful I am. That’s why gentlemen give baubles to beautiful ladies.”
Violet had to laugh. “No, it isn’t.”
“Aye, you’re right. We do it so they’ll rush to bed with us in hopes of getting more diamonds.”
“I’m sorry you’ve known so many mercenary women.” Violet touched the bracelet, marveling that this amazing man wanted to be with her. “They don’t deserve you.”
He shrugged. “I learned young not to engage my heart.”
“So did I.”
They regarded each other without speaking for a moment. The lonely boy Daniel had been shone out briefly, hidden again when he leaned to give her another kiss, this one slower, savoring.
The carriage pulled to a halt, much to Violet’s disappointment. “More excitement,” Daniel said, moving to the door. “The night is young . . . No, wait—it’s mostly over. But no matter.”
“You exhaust me,” Violet said.
“You’re loving every second of it.”
Violet smiled, his energy contagious. “I am.”
It was heady to be so carefree and unworried, to do whatever she wished. Daniel didn’t insist on dictating where they’d go or what they’d do. He knew everyplace and everyone in town, so he presented Violet with a variety of choices, and they both chose what they thought they’d like best.
The casual friendliness of it warmed her. She and Daniel talked easily, sharing opinions, agreeing or disagreeing, putting their heads together to discuss things and laugh about them. They moved from ultra-extravagant operas to risqué cabaret shows without a blink. They drank champagne, brandy, and thick red wine. At the illegal casinos tucked away in covert houses, Daniel put stacks of money on roulette, hazard, and cards, losing without a qualm, but mostly he won.
“My uncle Ian taught me how to figure odds,” Daniel said. “He’s never, ever wrong, which can get frustrating. Never, for instance, engage him in billiards. You’ll lose before you even approach the table. But I learned much from him as a youth, and now I’ve added my own experience.”
Daniel had a mathematical mind that rivaled his uncle’s. He could figure a string of numbers without writing a thing down, look at an equation then use it to make a piece of machinery work better, and calculate gambling odds on the fly. Daniel often praised his uncles and father for their cleverness, but Daniel had obviously inherited their nimbleness of mind.
Violet enjoyed being one of the glittering ladies who sat with their gentlemen while they played cards. Tonight Violet saw that two ladies at their table were subtly signaling what their gentlemen had in their hands to a third man who was quietly doing very well
off them. Violet kept her indignation in check and tried not to smile when Daniel won most of the hands anyway.
Their ongoing subterfuge paid off at the end of the night. As Daniel and Violet emerged into the cold dawn from the last casino, a man in a long coat and battered hat stepped in front of Daniel and blocked their way.
“You’re to come with me,” he said. “Or face the consequences.”
Several other men stepped out of the shadows. Violet didn’t recognize them, but she recognized the type—hired bone-breakers.
Simon, who’d been quietly following them all night, materialized a little way up the street. Daniel made the little signal that told him to keep back.
“Dramatic,” Daniel said. “But about bloody time. Shall we?”
Chapter 30
Violet’s heart wouldn’t slow. All the way from the sixth arrondissement to the eighteenth, she tried to take long breaths, to quiet the banging in her chest that was making her sick. Daniel, blast him, only leaned back in the seat, watching out the window as they went. He had Violet’s hand in his, though, not letting go.
Jacobi’s henchmen rode with the coach, though Daniel hadn’t allowed them inside. No one was to threaten Violet, touch her, or even come near her. If any did that, all agreements were off.
They went to an area of Montmartre Violet had not frequented before. The narrow house they stopped before was respectable looking enough, the street clean, the houses quiet.
They went through a front door and into a cold staircase hall lit with kerosene lamps. Up a flight of stairs and into a room in the back of the house, which was warm and well furnished.
Violet’s legs were shaking so much as they climbed the stairs that she feared she’d fall. Daniel slid his arm around her waist, lending his strength.
But Violet drew away from him and made herself walk on her own into the room, to face the man who’d risen from a chair in front of a paper-strewn table. Her mentor, and her husband, Jacobi Ferrand.
Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie Page 34