shutters had been closed against the night, making the window seat a cozy nook.
Violet picked up a sketch from the table. “What is all this for?”
“A motorcar,” Daniel said.
Violet studied the drawing. A low-slung vehicle, looking a bit like a phaeton, had been rendered in great detail. Four wheels hugged the ground, coach lights hung alongside the doors, and the seats looked as luxurious as that of the coach they’d just ridden in. Variations on this vehicle occupied other drawings.
“That’s only the chassis,” Daniel said. “What I’m trying to do is build a more efficient engine, not just a more powerful one. Daimler’s are very good, of course, but he’s more interested in industrial machinery—motorcars are more of a sideline for him. His engines will propel his horseless carriages at about fifteen or twenty miles per hour on a flat surface—provided there’s no mud. I want to make my engine ten times as powerful, and design the carriage to be able to run even on bad roads. I want more gears to give power on hills or hard terrain, and wheels better than carriage wheels with a strip of rubber on them. I’m trying pneumatic tires—with air between the wheel and the rubber.” He moved another sheet. “I’m working on a motorbike as well, something more innovative than just putting a motor on a bicycle. Kind of like a cross between a bicycle and a car.”
Violet studied the drawings with interest. “I thought you were a balloonist.”
He shrugged. “My career as an aeronaut is a passing hobby. My real concern is designing engines to make vehicles go where I want at my command. Needs much work, as you saw, firsthand. Here’s the motorbike.”
Daniel came next to her to push papers out of the way. The drawing he pulled out showed different angles of what looked like a bicycle with large tires and a large box for the engine where the pedals should be.
“Haven’t got the design quite right, yet. The engine box can’t be too big, or the rider won’t be able to keep the thing upright. But not too small, or there won’t be enough power to make it faster than a regular bicycle. But bicycles can run across fields and through mud where even horses have difficulty.”
Daniel’s animation as he spoke about his designs made him different from the Daniel she’d observed with his friends on the street or at tonight’s ball. Both places he’d been full of lazy smiles and cultured charm, speaking with the same ease to courtesans as he did the comtesse.
Now his gaze held intensity, his focus all for the inventions he loved. His body hummed with his excitement, the heat of him next to her cutting through the cold in the room.
Violet liked him best like this, his hair rumpled, his eyes warm as he focused on his passions. Daniel was letting Violet into his world. The energy he exuded as he talked her through the drawings rendered every gentleman she’d met at the ball tonight languid and dull.
Then he stopped. “Damn, listen to me.” Daniel dropped the drawings to the table. “I bring a beautiful woman back to my rooms, and I talk about engines.”
“I like engines.” Violet did. Everything about the balloon and these motorcars and motor-bicycle fascinated her.
“I know you do. That’s why I adore you, lass. Hang on a minute.”
Daniel made a path to the fireplace in the corner, shoveled a bit of coal into it, and lit it with a few matches. After a moment, fire began to flicker around the coals, on their way to bringing warmth to the room.
“Better.” Daniel wiped his hands on a rag that was already stained with coal dust and tossed it down. “I’ll show you what I’ve done on the bike and the motorcar when we get back to London. For now . . .”
He peeled the greatcoat from her shoulders and ran his hands up Violet’s arms. In spite of him forsaking his gloves when they’d entered, his hands were already warm, dragging heat into her skin.
Violet still shook, her heart alternately squeezing in cold pulses or pounding hot.
She wanted this. She wasn’t a shrinking virgin, was she? Daniel was amazing, handsome, funny, kind. He’d brought her here to be his lover for the night, in this place of his heart, tucked away where no one would find them.
Why not take what he offered, even if only once?
But she sensed the terror lurking inside her, coiled like a waiting snake.
Daniel wasn’t the monster. Violet’s past was.
Daniel continued to caress her, his hands coming up to clasp her shoulders. His first kiss would be gentle, she already knew that. And then he’d touch her and slowly open her.
The slowness might kill her. Too much time for the fear to take over, to dictate what happened.
Violet could think of only one thing to do. She shoved his hands from her shoulders, slammed her arms around him, closed her fingers in his hair, and yanked him down to frantically kiss his lips.
Chapter 16
The force of Violet’s kiss, the small pain of her tug on Daniel’s hair, made everything go foggy for him. Her mouth was hard on his, her tongue scraping inside him. Daniel opened his lips for her and tasted her desperation.
Violet’s hands scrabbled to open his frock coat, his waistcoat. She pulled on the buttons of Daniel’s shirt until a few ripped away, then she grabbed the waistband of his kilt.
Daniel broke the kiss and caught her seeking hands as one snaked down to cup him through the plaid wool. Violet’s eyes held need, but also fear, the same fear she’d shown in London the moment before she’d reached for the deadly vase.
“Love,” Daniel said. “Slow down a little. Let me savor you.”
“I can’t.” Violet yanked her hands out of his grip and seized his shoulders, dragging him against her. “I can’t go slowly. I can’t.” She kissed his lips, his chin, the rough stubble of whiskers. “Please, Daniel.”
Daniel gently but firmly held her back. Violet looked up at him with wild blue eyes in a face pale behind the dark powder.
“Lass, I’m hungry for you too. Believe me, I am. But I’m not going to fall on ye and devour you. Much as I’d like to. I want to get to know you.” His grip softened, and he drew one finger across her cheek. “I want to know all of you, Vi, my sweet South London Sassenach.”
“I can’t.” Violet grabbed his shirt, jerking it apart, the remaining buttons tinkling to the floor. “I need to do this.
“Violet.” Daniel’s voice went stern. He seized her wrists to still her wild clawing. “Stop this.”
“I can’t. Why should a man be able to rip into a woman . . .” She trailed off as the fear welled up, spilling tears from her eyes. “I can’t.” Her sobs came up, heaves that shook her chest. “I can’t. It’s not fair.”
“Vi.”
Violet jerked out of his grasp, spun away, and ended up sitting on the window seat. She clasped her arms over her belly and rocked back and forth.
“I can’t have you,” she said. “I can’t . . . have . . .
The room undulated under Violet’s feet, the window seat like a rock in a rushing tide. Her breath was coming too fast, but she could find no air. Violet heard the sobs in her throat and knew she was going to pieces, but she couldn’t stop it.
The scent of whiskey brushed her nose, and something cool and metallic touched her lips. Burning liquid poured into her mouth.
Violet gasped, started to cough, then swallowed hard. The whiskey slid down like a river of fire. The next gasp let in air, and Violet could breathe again.
Daniel sat down next to her on the window seat, his hard thigh against hers. He kept the flask at her mouth, waiting until she drank a little more before he took the flask away.
Violet coughed again, pressing her fingers to her wet lips. She had no idea where her handkerchief had got to.
Daniel’s strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, his warm hand rubbed her arm. “There now,” he said, voice low and soothing. “It’s all right.”
Jacobi used to hold her thus, when she was ten years old and scared. He’d given her comfort—and then
