The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

your cake, Stepmama.”

“So do you, Stepson. I remember when we made our way down the boulevards of Paris, trying cake at every patisserie in the city. Drove your father wild.”

Daniel grinned, remembering Cameron growling like a bear as Daniel and Ainsley dragged him all over Paris for cake. Cameron had been falling in love with Ainsley at the time, though the man had done everything to avoid admitting it. Pushing those two together had been one of Daniel’s most onerous but enjoyable tasks.

The torte, as Ainsley promised, was excellent. She spent the first half of the dessert in silent enjoyment of the confection. The little cafe was dim, the clientele noisy, but Daniel and Ainsley had procured a private table at the front window and were left relatively alone.

Ainsley finally laid down her fork, drank a dollop of wine, and put her elbows on the small table.

“Now, Daniel, tell me everything about this Violet.”

Daniel forked up another mouthful of jam-smeared torte. “This is a change. You usually beg me not to mention anything to do with my women. You wish me to remain the innocent sixteen-year-old who ran away from school and was your coconspirator. I have to remind you, I wasn’t so innocent at sixteen. I’d already had two mistresses and plenty of briefer affairs.”

“Of course I don’t want to know about that. I’m asking you about Violet. Why do I ask? Because you look at her in a different way than you do the others. Don’t tell me you don’t. I want the entire story.”

Daniel set down his fork, which was a crime, because the torte was like bites of heaven. “No story. Her services as a medium were offered to me to pay a gambling debt. Then she tried to kill me, then I chased her to Marseille, then I took her ballooning and nearly killed her. So we’re even.”

It was difficult to keep from laughing at the expression on Ainsley’s face, but Daniel did it. Going back to shoveling in more torte helped.

“You see?” Ainsley said after a stunned pause. “I knew there was a story. Who is she? She’s very lovely, even under that theatrical powder. Not a Romany at all, I take it. She’s from London or I’m a Dutchman.”

“You’re still plenty Scottish,” Daniel said. “South London, though I believe Vi had a French father. So she says. Or else she’s truly a Russian siren hiding in France to escape persecution—the impossibly beautiful Princess Ivanova, with her friend, the Countess Melikova, who can speak to anyone on the other side.” He said the last in dramatic tones.

Ainsley’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “That’s who she is? I’ve seen the bills about town. Their show is even recommended by the hotel. Oh, we must see it.”

“I have seen it. It’s complete and absolute flummery. They’re very good at it.”

“Better and better. I’ll tell Cam. We’ll all go. I can’t wait.”

“They have a performance tomorrow,” Daniel said. “Or, tonight, rather. I think it’s getting on for the wee small hours.”

Ainsley ate another thoughtful bite. “What you haven’t told me is whether you plan to make an honest woman of her.”

Daniel scraped the last bit of chocolate from his plate then pushed the plate and fork aside. “Why this sudden rush to shove me down the aisle? Are you that eager to make an honest man of me?”

“I want to see you happy, is all. You flit about the world from country to country, car race to balloon race to horse race, city to city, woman to woman. As though you’re seeking something, but don’t know what.”

“Enjoying myself. Sowing wild oats. Learning. I’ll set the next land-speed record for motorcars this year, see if I don’t.”

“With Violet by your side?”

Ainsley always did know what Daniel hid in his heart. Daniel the boy had fumed when his father had caught him at his many pranks or hauled him home every time he ran away, though Daniel realized now he’d wanted to be caught at those things. As much as Cameron raged, at least his father was paying Daniel some attention.

When Ainsley, a slip of a young woman with fair hair and lovely gray eyes, had come into the lives of Daniel and Cameron, she’d discerned Daniel’s vices with a canny shrewdness. She’d known about his gambling, the dubious connections he’d cultivated, his affairs, his decadent friends. Daniel had given up much of this and settled down once Ainsley became his stepmother, to please her more than out of any fear she’d tell Cameron.

Now Ainsley peered at him with her knowing look, telling him his own secrets.

Of course Daniel planned to win the motorcar races with Violet by his side. No other woman Daniel had met had shown such interest in his projects and ambitions. Violet had looked at Daniel’s sketches and drawings and understood right away what he was trying to do, and even more importantly, why he wanted to.

“She’s fearless,” Daniel said. “Bless her.”

“So what will it be? Marriage? Or a torrid affair? And once you ruin her, what will you do?”

Daniel curled his hands as he held on to his patience. “You make me sound like a seducer in a melodrama.”

“You’re a Mackenzie,” Ainsley said. “And your father’s son. As Mac likes to say, Mackenzies break what they touch. Remember that.”

She had a point. Daniel shrugged. “It’s up to her. Violet can have it as she likes.”

Ainsley leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Daniel, it’s never up to us. Us ladies, I mean. Gentlemen do as they please, and women have to fight for every scrap. She’s been hurt before. I saw that in her. I for one don’t mind if she’s a stage actress or a fortune-teller, or whatever she is, as long as she makes you happy. I don’t think she’s after your wealth. I’ve met predatory women before—good heavens, your father was surrounded by them. Violet doesn’t have the look, at least not when she looks at you. As I said, I saw what was in her eyes.”

Daniel waited until she’d run down. “Finished?”

Ainsley contemplated her empty plate. “Yes, I think so.”

“I’ll tell you a secret then. I believe the one who’ll end up with the hurting this time is me.”

Ainsley looked up at him, her eyes softening in sympathy. “That bad, is it?”

“Getting there,” Daniel said. He let Ainsley close her hand over his and squeeze it. “Definitely getting there.”

“Poor Daniel. Well, you know you will have my help. At any time, for any reason. I owe you—you know what for—and I love you, Danny-boy.” Ainsley gave his hand another squeeze and released him. “Now, shall we try another cake? Or perhaps you could take me to the cabaret so I can watch the cancan.”

“Cake,” Daniel said quickly. “Dad would thrash me good if I took you to the cabaret to look at naked women.”

“Don’t be silly. I like the dancing. I can’t imagine how they’re able to kick their legs so high. And anyway, it’s not sordid. They wear drawers.”

“In some cabarets, especially this late, they don’t always.”

“Oh.” Ainsley looked thoughtful. “Yes. I can see where that would be a bit racy. Especially with the kicking.”

“Cake,” Daniel said firmly, and he waved the waiter over before Ainsley could argue any more.

Violet floated. She suspected the heat of the collected bodies in the theatre, smoke from the incense she’d wafted about, and lack of sleep caused some of it.

The rest was remembered joy. Violet walked about the stage in numb oblivion, going through the motions of their performance, speaking entire sentences before she knew she’d said anything. She was grateful for her costume with the veil, which would hide the glazed look in her eyes and the idiotic euphoria on her face.

Celine had kept them all awake until six this morning with her hysteria over her visions. Smoke, fire, grave danger. They needed to leave Marseille at once.

Or perhaps not. The trouble with Celine’s visions was they were maddeningly vague. Celine wasn’t certain where the disaster would take place. If they fled Marseille, their fate might await them in Cannes, Monte Carlo, Italy, or on a boat back to England.

Most of Celine’s premonitions didn’t come true, but every so often, one did—frequently enough to make