The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

made. Priceless paintings from around the world hung on the walls.

Sutton, a thin, spare man with graying hair and eyes that saw too much, was happy to receive five thousand for Mortimer’s debt and tear up the note.

“Thank you,” Sutton said, his voice as dry as Mortimer’s solicitor’s. “I dislike Fenton Mortimer and was tired of dealing with him. Serves me right for giving him the money in the first place. And you say you’ve stolen the man I sent after him?”

Daniel shrugged, pretending he didn’t notice the other bone-breakers Sutton had stationed around the room. “I need a man, and I like one who’s good with his fists. I lead an adventurous life.”

“You will if you entice good servants out from under the noses of men like me.” Sutton’s cold eyes pinned Daniel. “But I’ll surrender him with good grace, since you’ve paid Mortimer’s debt. Some advice, Mr. Mackenzie. Don’t be so hasty to do good services for men like Mortimer. They’ll come back for more.”

“Not in this case,” Daniel said. “And as I said, I had my reasons.”

“To do with a woman, no doubt,” Sutton said, his voice even drier. “I see it in your eyes. An even more foolish motivation, Mr. Mackenzie. But you come from a family of fools. They were formidable until they went soft.”

“But they’re happy, Mr. Sutton. My uncles are so much easier to live with now that they’re family men.”

“If you say so. Go after your woman, Mr. Mackenzie. And if you ever need a favor— not about a woman—feel free to come to me. I prefer to deal with honorable men.”

Daniel agreed to keep it in mind, but he made no promises. Sutton was the kind of man to twist a favor into lifelong servitude. Even Uncle Hart wasn’t as cold-blooded as Edward Sutton.

Daniel entered his carriage again, but when the coachman asked where he wanted to go, Daniel had to debate. What now?

If he wanted to find Violette, Daniel had resources at hand. Hart Mackenzie, the Duke of Kilmorgan, had a network to rival that of the best police force in Europe. But Hart, as head of the Mackenzie family, would demand to know why Daniel wanted to find the Bastiens, would want every detail, and wouldn’t help until he was satisfied with Daniel’s explanation. Or he’d refuse point-blank. Even if Hart did help, his assistance always came with a price. If Sutton was a cunning man, Hart Mackenzie was the very devil. Who knew what he’d ask from Daniel in return?

Then there was Chief Inspector Fellows, another uncle, who was as tenacious in pursuit of his prey as any of the Mackenzies. Fellows could uncover Violette Bastien’s whereabouts faster than Hart if he wanted to.

The trouble was, Fellows was a stickler for the law. The Bastiens were frauds, they’d absconded without paying rent after tearing up the house, not to mention Violette swatting Daniel over the head and leaving him in the street. Fellows would find Violette all right, then arrest her and her mother and turn them over to the magistrates.

No, Fellows must be kept clear of Daniel’s problems. Daniel’s uncle Mac would ask as many questions as Hart, and Cameron, Daniel’s father, would as well. Cameron would be livid to learn anyone had hurt Daniel, and not be sympathetic to Mademoiselle Violette’s plight.

The only member of the family who could be discretion itself was Ian—Ian never talked to anyone about anything if he could help it.

The trick with Uncle Ian was persuading him to be interested. Once Ian found a puzzle intriguing, nothing and no one could stop him solving it. On the other hand, if Ian decided he had no interest in the problem, it would cease to exist for him, and no amount of persuasion would convince him otherwise.

A risk, but one Daniel would take. He shouted to the coachman to drive him to Belgrave Square. 

Chapter 6

The handsome house in which Daniel’s uncle Ian, aunt Beth, and their three young children lived belonged to Beth. She’d inherited it in a trust from a woman for whom she’d been a companion, and the trust did not obligate her to hand the deed over to her husband.

Not that Ian cared one way or another—the man had little use for sumptuous houses or piles of money. Uncle Ian could fish for a week in the wilds of Scotland, sleeping on the ground rolled in his kilt. He’d be as content living in a hovel with his wife and wee ones as he was in this monstrosity of elegance.

“Afternoon, Ames,” Daniel said to the stolid, middle-aged butler, who had replaced the butler Beth had inherited when she’d finally persuaded the elderly man to retire. “My uncle about?”

“Yes, sir. In the lower study, sir. I believe he’s practicing . . . mathematics.”

The butler intoned this as though relating that Ian was busy casting magic spells. But then, when Ian went at his maths problems, he might as well be doing magic for all anyone else understood. While Daniel used his love of mathematics to build things and tinker with the real world, Ian descended into a world of theory where only the sharpest minds could follow.

Disturbing Ian while he was working an equation . . . That was tricky.

Fortunately, Daniel had secret weapons at his disposal. He thanked Ames and went, not to the study, but up the stairs to the nursery.

He walked into the sunny room at the top of the house to find three children in the middle of lessons with their rather prudish governess, Miss Barnett. Hart had tried to engage Miss Barnett, one of the most sought-after governesses in England, for his own children, but the lady had preferred the quiet of Ian’s house to the constant whirl of Hart’s. Hart had gone into one of his ducal furies, but Ian, of course, had won the battle. Ian generally did.

Ian and Beth had three children: Jamie, the oldest, going on nine; Belle, between the ages of seven and eight; and Megan, about to turn six. They each had dark hair highlighted with red and fine blue eyes. They all were spoiled rotten by their father.

Ian was proud that his children had not turned out like him, with his strange focuses and difficulties. His children were normal, he’d boast. Beth argued with him about his definition of normal, but Ian was so pleased with his children that he won all those arguments too.

The governess was not happy that Daniel walked in without announcement or permission, but his three cousins were.

“Danny!” Megan hopped from her seat and ran at him, throwing her arms around his legs. “We haven’t seen you in ages. Will you take me riding in your motorcar?”

“Me too,” Jamie said. “I have to go if Megan does.”

“When it’s finished.” Daniel lifted Megan, reflecting that the youngest of Ian’s daughters grew every time he turned around. Beth would have something to say about Daniel taking her children out in the machine he was building, but he’d leave that discussion for later. “Now then, lad and lasses, how about a visit to your father?”

“Mr. Mackenzie,” Miss Barnett broke in. “I really cannot have you interrupting lessons. Master Jamie will be entering school soon.”

“And then he’ll have more lessons than he can take.” Daniel winked at Jamie. “Trust me, lad. Live while ye can.” He turned his most winsome smile on Miss Barnett, along with the innocent look that had served him well when he’d been Jamie’s age. “Surely you could spare them an hour to take tea to their poor papa?”

Miss Barnett’s eyes narrowed, the lady not fooled. “Half an hour,” she said. “And only because it is nearly time for their morning walk. They may give up part of that to visit with their father.”

“Hooray!” Jamie wasted no time slapping his book closed and running out of the room.

Megan held on to Daniel as he carried her out, pleased to get away with a little truancy. Belle was the only one who looked unhappy, closing her books and stacking them with reluctance.

“Miss Barnett is right,” Belle said as she caught up to them on the landing. “One should keep to a timetable, if one is to learn as much as one can and succeed in school.”

“One should, should one?” Jamie said. “Ye sound like a bloody schoolmarm. I don’t need to go off to school anyway. I’m going to be a jockey. Uncle Cameron says I have