The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

Violet stopped, skirts swinging. A man in a bowler hat pushed past them, growling a little. “Stop playing with me, Mr. Mackenzie. You came here to find me so you could drag me to the magistrates.”

Daniel made a show of looking around them. “Do you see me dragging you anywhere? We’re walking calmly through a reasonably thin crowd, and I’m escorting you home.”

“And once you get me there, and your hands on my machines—then you will send for the magistrates. You think me a fraud, an imposter. And I assaulted you . . .”

“Your crimes, they keep increasing, don’t they? If I’d wanted the magistrates on you, lass, I’d have contacted my uncle the police inspector, who would have contacted his colleagues in the French police, who would have had you and your mum arrested and locked away long before I arrived. Then I would have strolled in, rifled through your gadgets, and taken what I wanted.”

Violet’s widening eyes started to fill with fear again. “Then I don’t understand. If you didn’t find me to arrest me, why did you come?”

“To see you again.” To feast my eyes on you. Daniel tucked the lock of hair on her cheek behind her ear. His gloved hands didn’t let him contact her skin directly, but the heat of her came through the thin leather. “To look at you.” To dream about having you. “And to ask you why the devil you hit me over the head.”

“I told you. You frightened me.”

“There’s much more to it than that, I wager. You’re not a lass who frightens easily. You stood up to Mortimer and his mates and were disgusted by the lot of them. Me, the one gent that night who would never have harmed you, you looked at in terror before you reached out for the nearest weapon. I’m going to find out why.” Daniel traced her cheek one more time then pulled her back into walking. “You might as well trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“That’s obvious. But you’re going to learn to trust me.”

Daniel felt Violet’s trembling, and he also felt her draw herself up, trying to master herself. “You are arrogant,” she said.

“That’s true, but is that the best you can do? I’ve been called far worse than that.”

“All right, then you are an insufferable, full-of-yourself, aristocratic prig.”

She kept her eyes straight ahead, a flush on her cheek making him want to kiss it. He settled for laughing again. “Not bad. But still not the best you can do. You, Mademoiselle, are a deceitful, cunning minx and a very talented liar. I heard you pinpoint every person’s greatest desires in that concert hall. You made them tell you everything you needed to know.”

Her flush deepened. “It’s part of the show.”

“It’s a rare skill, and one you exploit to amazing lengths. I’d love to know how you do it.”

Violet glanced up at him, the wariness back in her eyes. She might be deceitful, but she wasn’t sly. She was deceitful out of necessity, not enjoyment.

Daniel wanted to find out all about her, and not only because he was curious. Since the age of fifteen and his first tumble with a lass, Daniel hadn’t been short of female company. Women were his for the taking, whenever he reached out his hand. His uncle Mac laughed that Daniel was carrying on the Mackenzie family tradition. Women wanted the Mackenzie men—that was easy. In matters of the heart, however, the Mackenzies fought long and hard battles.

So Daniel was beginning to understand. Violet was different from his previous lovers, and not only because she was a few years older than Daniel or any more or less respectable than his usual sort of woman. Violet Bastien—or whatever her name was—was different because she was Violet.

Since he’d seen her standing in the dining room of her London house, girding herself to face Mortimer and his friends, Daniel had wanted her. Even now, he wanted to carry her off to his hotel, peel back her plain and sensible clothes, and discover the lush woman beneath. He wanted her in his bed, to scent her ready for him, to taste her skin and mouth, to feel her around him.

Daniel craved her, and he would have her before he left France.

The boardinghouse they reached was clean, neatly painted, and respectable. Lights glowed in the upstairs rooms as well as in the downstairs parlors. “Thank you,” Violet said, stopping. “I’ll go in alone.”

“Right you are.” Daniel released her and tipped his hat. “Good night, Miss Bastien. I’ll keep calling you that until I learn another name.”

Violet gave him a nod, her face softening. “Good night, Mr. Mackenzie. I truly am glad you are well.”

“Glad because I won’t come down upon you with the full extent of the law? You’re lucky I’ve got so much kindness in my heart.”

Violet’s glare returned with his teasing. “I am glad, for your sake. But you may think what you like. Good night.”

She spun away and made for the door to the boardinghouse, her head high. Her skirts swayed enticingly across her hips, her upright stride a joy to watch.

Violet didn’t look back at Daniel as she opened the door to the boardinghouse with a little jerk and walked inside.

She was good. She was very, very good. Daniel smiled at the closed door, tipped his hat again, and walked on down the street as though satisfied.

When he came to a narrow passage between houses on the opposite side of the street, he stepped into the shadows, drew out a cigarette, lit it, fixed his gaze on the boardinghouse, and waited.

Ten minutes, he gave her. Enough time for Daniel to make it to a main thoroughfare and hire a carriage to take him to his hotel.

After ten minutes had gone by, Daniel dropped the spent cigarette and ground it out under his boot heel. At the same time, Violet walked out of the boardinghouse again. She looked up and down the street, scanning every shadow, before she started walking back the way they’d come.

Clever lass.

Too bad for her that Daniel knew this city so well. As a boy, he’d managed more than once to follow his father to the Riviera, despite Cameron’s efforts to leave his son behind. Daniel had learned how to coerce others to get him to the Continent, and when he was a little older, to buy his own tickets and come himself. He’d spent many an evening surreptitiously following his father around Marseille, hurt because his dad would rather take up with fancy women than sightsee with his son. Therefore, Daniel knew exactly how to weave through the streets to reach the main avenue before Violet did. Again, he ducked into a doorway and waited.

She turned onto the street, walking briskly, determination in her stride. When Violet reached the doorway where Daniel hid, he stepped out in front of her.

“Now then, Mademoiselle,” he said, grinning at her. “How about we walk to where you really live?” 

Chapter 9

He’d drive her mad. Violet’s heart thudded as she stared at Daniel, with his captivating smile, his warm eyes, and his uncanny ability to predict her every move.

Never let anyone know all about you, Jacobi had stressed.A person who knows your secrets has a powerful hold over you. If you never let yourself be known, you will always be free.

Daniel was so tall. He stood, unmoving, not about to let her walk around him. Or he might, then catch her with his strong arm and pull her back again.

Violet wet her dry lips. “Why must you know? Surely it makes no difference whether I stay in this boardinghouse or that boardinghouse . . .”

“It makes a difference to you,” Daniel said. “Your key will work only in the right door, for one. And you’d keep all your things in one place, wouldn’t you? Unless you have a network of rooms all over the city. That is handy, I admit. I often keep several places at once for stashing things.”