Violet’s first thought upon seeing him was that he wasn’t the old man she’d assumed he’d be. But, she supposed, when she’d been ten years old, a man in his thirties would already have seemed old to her. Now he was only about fifty or so, and while his hair had gray in it, he was far from decrepit.
Jacobi had never been tall, and Daniel topped him by a foot. His shoulders were slightly stooped, which made him look smaller, but his brown eyes under thick brows were keen and sharp. Violet had known those eyes to be full of interest in her and pride when she learned her lessons well.
They’d also filled with horrified guilt when he’d comforted her after the red-bearded man had gone. The guilt had still been there when he’d married her in the little church near his house, handing money to the priest and the few witnesses he’d pulled off the street.
Jacobi looked Daniel over. Violet saw Jacobi trying to read him as Violet had when she’d first met him, frowning when he found it difficult.
Jacobi’s gaze went from Daniel to Violet, taking in her costly gown, the furs around her shoulders, the diamonds in her hair, and especially the wide band of diamonds on her gloved wrist. He hid his brief flash of avarice under a wide, warm smile and stretched out his arms.
“Violet. My little flower. I could scarcely believe it when I heard you had returned to Paris, married, no less. My child, all grown up. Have you no hug for your Jacobi?”
Violet took a step back. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t.”
Jacobi lowered his arms, looking hurt. “I know. I know. I was bad to you. But that was a long time ago, when I was a foolish, foolish man. I didn’t understand what I was doing.”
“Mmph, so you say,” Daniel said. He kept to French. “But why don’t we come to the reason you summoned us here, eh? Which was not for a fond reunion. Tell me your terms.”
“Terms?” Violet blinked.
“Of the arrangement,” Daniel said. “Jacobi is blackmailing me. Didn’t I say?”
Daniel’s pride in Violet swelled. She’d had every right to refuse to walk in here, to beg to remain in the carriage, to not accompany Daniel into the house.
Instead she stood straight and gazed at Jacobi with the coldness of a queen. Good. Daniel wanted the man who’d ruined her to understand that Violet couldn’t be broken.
“He is blackmailing you?” she asked in imperious tones.
“Could you expect otherwise?” Daniel asked her.
“He married you under false pretenses, my dear,” Jacobi said. “Our marriage is still legal. I am not dead, as you can see, nor did I seek an annulment. You are still Madame Jacobi Ferrand; therefore, you can’t be Madame Daniel Mackenzie. I am, however, willing to keep quiet about our marriage for a reasonable fee from Mr. Mackenzie.”
Daniel shot him an amused look. “Or, you can cooperate with my solicitor and annul the marriage, and I’ll leave you in peace.”
Jacobi looked Daniel up and down one more time, again trying to assess him and again failing. The failing bothered him.
“Violet belongs to me,” Jacobi said.
“I belong to no one,” Violet said, outrage in her voice. “Least of all to you.”
Jacobi turned from Daniel and gave his full attention to Violet. “You are my wife. There are laws. I did bad things in the past to you, I know that, and believe me, I am sorry. I have always been sorry. But I was young and stupid, my little Violet. I owed money to a very bad man, lost it to him in his own gambling den. I was afraid, so afraid. And now—God has given me the chance to earn your forgiveness.”
He was good, Daniel decided. Jacobi spoke with true remorse, a catch in his voice, shame in his eyes. He’d mastered the technique.
“Is my forgiveness that important to you?” Violet asked him.
Jacobi lowered his eyes. “All these years, Violet, I’ve been haunted by my failure to you. I’ve wanted to make it up to you for so long. Of course your forgiveness is important. The most important thing in the world.”
Tears glistened on Violet’s lashes, but she held herself rigid. “Then I’ll never give it to you.”
Jacobi looked up, confused. “But . . .” He drew a breath. “Dear God, my Violet, when did you become so hard?” He flicked a glance at Daniel. “Did he teach you?”
“No, you did.” Violet moved to Jacobi, one slow step at a time. “You taught me everything I know. How to read people. How to manipulate them. How to know when the game is blown and it’s time to run. You taught me all that. And then you betrayed me. But it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise to me. Looking back, I see that you kept me beside you all those years as collateral, knowing that if you couldn’t pay your debts one day, you’d still have me, a young and unstained girl, as a bargaining chip. I didn’t understand this at the time, but some gentlemen will pay a fortune for a girl like that. You befriending me, teaching me—it was the same as someone investing in stocks and bonds.” Violet reached Jacobi and stopped. “So, look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t think of that the day you first saw me amazing children in the park with my card tricks.”
Jacobi looked straight at her. “I didn’t.”
“You’re a liar,” Violet said clearly. “You taught me how to do that too.”
Jacobi lost his hurt look. “And you were so very good at it. Did you lie to him too? He’s a very rich man from a very rich family. You must be fleecing him for all he’s worth.”
Daniel said nothing. He folded his arms across his chest and let Violet speak. “I told him all about you,” she said. “Everything you did. Everything I did.”
Jacobi nodded. “I taught you that too. Honesty is often the best way to take in a mark.”
“I told him what happened because I respect him,” Violet said. “I had no way of knowing whether he’d turn away from me in disgust, but he deserved to know.”
“I’m glad you did,” Jacobi said. “It made him look for me, which brought you back to me. Where you belong.” His voice softened to real affection, and he reached up to touch Violet’s cheek. “My little flower.”
Violet slapped him, the sound of the blow ringing. Jacobi’s eyes widened, and he pressed his hand to his face.
“Good for you, love,” Daniel said.
Violet leaned to Jacobi, her eyes hot, voice sharp. “I do not belong to you. I never did. I was afraid to come here tonight, because I was afraid I’d panic when I saw you. I was even afraid I might forgive you, because you’d tell me your remorse, and I’d feel horrible if I didn’t relent. I didn’t want either of those things to happen, so I didn’t want to see you. But he made me come.” Violet didn’t look at Daniel, didn’t point at him. “Because Daniel knew I needed to see you. I needed to see that you’re a pathetic, weak, friendless soul. That you’re base enough to lock a sixteen-year-old girl into a room with a man and walk away, knowing that man was going to rape her. Oh, you don’t like the word?” Violet leaned closer to Jacobi, who cringed away.
“He raped me, Jacobi. Yanked up my skirts, tore down my drawers, and entered me. It hurt—it hurt like nothing had ever hurt me before or has ever since. I vomited when it was over, and I dragged myself home, limping and bleeding. I couldn’t sleep for days, couldn’t eat, panicked at every noise in the night, and at the sound of every man’s voice. And you had the gall to apologize, to make me forgive you, to offer to marry me, because you couldn’t stand feeling remorseful. It would have been easier if you’d thrown me out and had done. But no, you kept me near, not letting me forget, making me believe I would be a bad person if I didn’t understand. You were still manipulating me, still playing me.” Violet stopped, her hands clenched, her eyes sparkling with rage. Daniel watched her force herself to stay calm. “Well, I never will forgive you. Never. You will have to live with your remorse and without me. I want the annulment or divorce, whatever it has to be.”
Jacobi still held his red cheek as he stared at
her. Daniel saw Jacobi realize he’d misjudged Violet. He’d always believed her weak and easily won. The fool.
Jacobi pointed at Daniel, who’d leaned against the edge of the table, settling in to watch Violet carve him up. “Your marriage to Mackenzie is not legal. You can hate me forever, but by law, you are bound to me.”
“Well, I am here to become unbound to you,” Violet snapped. “Then I will rush to bind myself in truth to Daniel, because he is a hundred times the man you are. A thousand. He knows me better than anyone else in the world, and I’m not afraid to trust him with that knowledge. He is generous, greathearted, understanding, kind—everything you are not. And I love him for it.”
Daniel’s heart thumped in thick, hard beats. He balled his fists, not wanting to disturb the tableau of Violet glaring at her old mentor, her back straight and eyes steely. She was beautiful.
“Do you mean that, sweet?” he asked.
Violet’s eyelids flickered, but she drew a strengthening breath. “I do mean it. I love you, Daniel.”
“Then the world is a beautiful place.” Daniel unfolded his arms and left the table to put a heavy hand on Jacobi’s shoulder. “You lose, Monsieur. I have brought a sheaf of papers with me, which will start the process of annulment. By the way, two of the men I have following me for protection are not pugilists, but solicitors, to see that everything is done nice and legal. One of them is French, an expert in French civil law, and one English, also well versed. The Englishman, however, is also very good at boxing and not above threatening to break fingers to get clients to sign things.” Daniel had borrowed that gentleman from Mr. Sutton, who believed in combining the might of paperwork with the might of fists. Daniel put his other hand on Violet’s shoulder, this touch much more gentle. “You might want to go, Vi. This could get messy.”
“No.” Violet was so rigid she might shatter. “Not until I’m finished with him.”
Daniel released Jacobi to face Violet. “You are finished with him, love. I just saw you dismiss him from your life and from your heart. Now leave the mopping up to me.”
Violet swallowed, still shaking. He saw anger, triumph, and outrage in her eyes, the hard emotions swirling. Daniel touched her cheek. “Do you trust me?”
Violet hesitated for a time, then she shot a glare at Jacobi and gave Daniel a nod. “Very well.”
“Good girl.” Daniel pressed a kiss to her lips. “Simon will take care of you, and I’ll be along soon.”
Violet didn’t bow her head. She let Daniel walk her to the door, new strength in her.
She’d faced down her past and a man who’d betrayed her, and had realized finally that the betrayal was not her fault. Jacobi was weak, and Violet was strong. She could turn from him now and walk into her future.
“Oh, and Violet,” Daniel said as she started out the door. He sent her the warmest smile he had, putting his whole heart into it. “I love you too.”
Violet’s answering look held a joy so fierce it made Daniel’s heart sing. Violet gave Daniel a brief kiss on the lips, full of fire and promise, and then she was gone.
Daniel knew the moment the door closed again that everything changed. Jacobi dropped his defeated pose and stood up straighter, which made him look taller and more robust. The air became charged, the real confrontation about to begin.
Jacobi met Daniel’s gaze. “You’re a fool, Mackenzie. I’ll never give her up.”
“I think you will,” Daniel said calmly.
The two solicitors had entered the room as Violet exited, the French solicitor carrying the satchel of legal papers Daniel had asked him to draw up. Daniel took the stack of papers from him and thumped them to the table. “Come here and sign these,” Daniel said to Jacobi, “and I might not relieve my temper on you.”
“Threats of violence. How English.”
“I’m Scots. We’re not violent without good reason, but when we are . . . watch out.”
Jacobi stood his ground. “If I don’t sign, what then? You’ll make her your mistress? Or go to jail for bigamy?”
Daniel shrugged and pulled out the chair in front of the table. “If you don’t sign, I will find another way. Solicitors are clever, and I know many.” Daniel strengthened his grip on the chair, gesturing Jacobi to it. “Or I could simply shoot you. That would end Violet’s marriage to you quickly.”
Jacobi’s face lost some color. “You’d do that?”
“I don’t like you, Monsieur Ferrand. Who knows what I’ll do?”
Jacobi looked from Daniel to the solicitors, who waited quietly as they’d been instructed. Jacobi lifted his head. “I won’t sign. You were a fool to come here, Mackenzie. Did you think I wouldn’t be ready for you?”
“No,” Daniel let go of the chair and tightened the glove over his right hand. “Of course you’d prepare for my visit. That’s why it took you so long to contact me.”
He advanced on Jacobi. Jacobi watched, uncertain, as Daniel stopped in front of him, still adjusting the glove.
“I had a mixed upbringing,” Daniel said. “My father didn’t pay as much attention to me as I wanted, but he did teach me good things. How to ride horses, how to take care of them, how not to suffer fools. My uncles had a big part in raising me too. From Uncle Mac, I learned how to appreciate a beautiful woman and how to make her the center of my world. Uncle Ian taught me about aiming for what I want and letting nothing—no person, no thought, no fear—stop me. He also taught me how to outthink opponents without letting on that they’re being outthought.” Daniel smiled a little. Ian had never come straight out and said any of this; Daniel had learned it from years of observing the man. “From Uncle Hart, I learned about ruthlessness. Hart also taught me about cultivating people to have on my side. Money isn’t enough. You need friends, people who believe in you. Loyal ones, so when you need them, they’re right behind you.”
“You Scots like to hear yourselves talk.”
“At least you’re no longer calling me English. Now, from my dear aunties and my stepmother I learned about love. Real love, not just using people to make yourself feel good. Which is how I know that you can bleat on about Violet being your girl, but you never loved her. You taught her things and were proud when she parroted you. You had no idea what handing her over to that man to pay your debts would do to her. I think that in your muzzy little brain, you thought she owed it to you, that she’d be happy to let another use her to help you.”
Jacobi’s face hardened. “She was . . . ungrateful.”
“I’m glad you said that. You’ve just made things so much easier. But I want to tell you about a few more people who raised me, while we have a moment. My dad and uncles have valets who are amazing. Trust the Mackenzies to pick up odd strays to work for them instead of going the usual route. Angelo, my dad’s man, can do anything with horses. He taught me all about gentleness and how to make a beast trust me. Hart’s man, Wilfred, once was an embezzler. He taught me all kinds of tricks about how paperwork and ledgers can be manipulated, and how to spot when someone is trying to do it to me. Uncle Hart liked him so much he made him his secretary, to make sure others weren’t trying to cheat him. Uncle Ian’s valet is a pickpocket, and trust me, I made him teach me everything he knew.”
Daniel held up the knife he’d just plucked from Jacobi’s coat pocket, and Jacobi’s eyes widened. “He taught you to be a criminal?” Jacobi asked with a sneer.
“Not a criminal. I never steal from the innocent, like you do. Let me tell you about one more man, my Uncle Mac’s valet, Bellamy. Know what he taught me?” Daniel tossed the knife into his left hand and balled up his right. He grinned. “Pugilism.”
He gave Jacobi a swift, tight, and very satisfying punch to the face. The man’s head rocked back, and blood streamed from his nose.
“Your mistake,” Jacobi said. “You’re paying for that.”
Daniel knew he would pay. Jacobi would n
ever have let Daniel in here to find him alone. Jacobi had prepared, as he’d stated.
Four men came through the door to the next room, four more from the hall. Bad odds, but nothing Daniel hadn’t faced before. Simon would have gotten Violet well away by now, which was the point of Daniel standing and talking at Jacobi for so long.
As his borrowed pugilist engaged Jacobi’s men, Daniel grabbed Jacobi and hauled him down to the table, shoving his face to the wood. “Give me the name of the man you let touch Violet. Now.”
Jacobi gasped, then he laughed a little, blood puddling on the tabletop. “I don’t remember.”
Another thump of his head, and Jacobi grunted. “I think you do,” Daniel said in a hard voice. “Want me to jog your memory again?”
“He’s no one you can best. Trust me.”
“You don’t know my friends. I don’t mean the ones I brought tonight.” Daniel slammed Jacobi’s head into the table once more. “A name.”
Jacobi groaned and whispered it. Daniel didn’t recognize it, but he knew plenty of people who likely would.
Two men hauled Daniel off Jacobi, and Jacobi sat upright, catching his breath and wiping blood from his face.
Daniel was ready to fight. He wrested himself free, then dove in, yelling. He blocked a blow, and punched, his fist connecting with a gut. An upward cut to another, then a third man grabbed him from behind. Daniel elbowed the man as he spun loose then threw a punch upward to the man’s jaw. Daniel still had the knife clenched in his left hand, ready.
This wasn’t stage fighting, where each opponent waited politely for the hero to be free to engage him. The men came at Daniel at once, four on him. Daniel fought off four pairs of fists, feet, knees, elbows, he making practiced jabs with his knife before a chance bang to his wrist made him drop it.
No matter. He’d finished making speeches to Jacobi, but if Daniel had gone on, he could have explained that he’d learned all kinds of fighting in addition to what Bellamy had taught him. Daniel had learned much in the backstreets of Paris and Rome, as well as in Greece and the dark cold of Russia. He’d learned fast knife fighting in Morocco and Alexandria. The London man from the Japans, who’d given him the tattoo, had shown him some even more interesting hand-to-hand fighting—Daniel had never been able to best him.
Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie Page 35