The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

their nimbleness of mind.

Violet enjoyed being one of the glittering ladies who sat with their gentlemen while they played cards. Tonight Violet saw that two ladies at their table were subtly signaling what their gentlemen had in their hands to a third man who was quietly doing very well off them. Violet kept her indignation in check and tried not to smile when Daniel won most of the hands anyway.

Their ongoing subterfuge paid off at the end of the night. As Daniel and Violet emerged into the cold dawn from the last casino, a man in a long coat and battered hat stepped in front of Daniel and blocked their way.

“You’re to come with me,” he said. “Or face the consequences.”

Several other men stepped out of the shadows. Violet didn’t recognize them, but she recognized the type— hired bone-breakers.

Simon, who’d been quietly following them all night, materialized a little way up the street. Daniel made the little signal that told him to keep back.

“Dramatic,” Daniel said. “But about bloody time. Shall we?”

Chapter 30

Violet’s heart wouldn’t slow. All the way from the sixth arrondissement to the eighteenth, she tried to take long breaths, to quiet the banging in her chest that was making her sick. Daniel, blast him, only leaned back in the seat, watching out the window as they went. He had Violet’s hand in his, though, not letting go.

Jacobi’s henchmen rode with the coach, though Daniel hadn’t allowed them inside. No one was to threaten Violet, touch her, or even come near her. If any did that, all agreements were off.

They went to an area of Montmartre Violet had not frequented before. The narrow house they stopped before was respectable looking enough, the street clean, the houses quiet.

They went through a front door and into a cold staircase hall lit with kerosene lamps. Up a flight of stairs and into a room in the back of the house, which was warm and well furnished.

Violet’s legs were shaking so much as they climbed the stairs that she feared she’d fall. Daniel slid his arm around her waist, lending his strength.

But Violet drew away from him and made herself walk on her own into the room, to face the man who’d risen from a chair in front of a paper-strewn table. Her mentor, and her husband, Jacobi Ferrand.

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