The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie (36 page)

Daniel rubbed his ungloved hands together, breath fogging in the crisp winter air. This moment had been a long time coming.

“We put the gear in neutral,” Daniel said, reaching over the door to move the stick. “This little lever here makes the ignition ready to go, and this one keeps it from sparking too soon. Then we ease in on the throttle to give it some fuel—like that. Pull out the choke and hold on to it—cuts off air to the fuel mix, better for starting. Right? Now, don’t move.”

Daniel lifted the hand crank from the space behind the seats, into which Simon had also packed a large picnic basket and some blankets. Daniel moved to the front of the car and inserted the crank into the starting hole.

Remembering to keep his thumb cupped with his fingers—he’d seen men break their wrists starting engines like this—he pulled up hard on the crank. The engine coughed once, tried to catch, then died. Daniel cranked again. “A little more throttle!” he called. Violet nodded and reached for the lever.

On the fifth try, the engine roared to life.

Daniel snatched away the now loose crank, tossed it into the back, and returned to Violet’s side.

“More spark, that’s it. And ease off on the choke. Excellent. Listen to that!”

The engine was loud, a constant sound, but at the same time it purred like a big cat. Daniel grinned as he wiped grease from his hands. The beast was alive.

He’d tested the motorcar in Berkshire a few times with Simon, but he’d not let Violet into the vehicle, as much as Violet had protested, until he made certain it was safe. He and Simon had put the brakes and gears through intense workings, Daniel fine-tuning and fiddling until everything was perfect. He’d spent the last few days, since their arrival in Paris, testing everything again. This morning, he’d announced that it was time for Violet to have her driving lesson. They’d brought the car out here via horse-drawn van, then Simon had helped unload it and left them to it.

Daniel climbed into the passenger seat, liking that the car was narrow enough that he and Violet had to sit close, arms and shoulders touching. “Ease back the clutch,” he said to her. “Slide it into gear, give it some throttle . . . and off we go.”

The car jerked then moved forward in fits and starts as Violet strove to figure out the correct balance between clutch and throttle.

Daniel sat patiently beside her, remembering how hard he’d worked to master the art when he’d driven his first motorcar. That had been at Gottlieb Daimler’s factory, where he’d ended up ordering a car for himself. He’d gone from there to Mannheim to buy one of Benz’s creations as well.

He’d had both motorcars shipped to his London house, drove them about a little, to the delight of his friends and neighbors, and then stripped them down.

The motorcar he’d built for today held none of the parts of the others, because that would be cheating. Daniel had learned everything he could by studying those cars, plus what others were doing in Britain, France, and America, then he built his from the ground up, based on his own ideas.

The car jerked along a while longer, then suddenly they were rolling forward, gliding smoothly. Violet’s concentrated scowl turned to a big smile. “It’s going!”

“Of course it is. You’re making it go. Now, how about the next gear?”

Violet struggled to maneuver the lever into position as well as work the clutch and hold the tiller steady. “Maybe you should have made this a two-person machine,” she said loudly over the engine. “Like a boat. One person to hold the tiller and the other to row.”

Daniel let out a laugh. “Nay, driving alone is pure freedom. No horses, no coachmen, no grooms, no waiting on anyone else. Just you and the wind and the machine rumbling under you.”

“Until you run out of fuel,” Violet said. “Then you go nowhere.”

“You’re a pessimist, love. Don’t throw cold water.”

“I’m practical. How can I flee the police if the car won’t run? With a horse, I can just gallop away.”

“Until the horse drops dead. Let’s try the brakes now.”

Violet pumped the foot brake and the motorcar slowed. Daniel showed her how to gear down and brake some more, then pull the hand brake at the end. The car rolled more slowly until it stopped altogether.

Violet swung to Daniel, her eyes shining, smile wide. “I did it! I drove it.”

She looked so happy like this, free of everything but the excitement of what she was doing. Daniel wanted to kiss her, but he held himself back. Let her enjoy the moment.

“Aye, that you did,” Daniel said. “And ye did it well, just as I knew you would. Now, want to see how fast it will go?”

The look in her blue eyes said she did. “What do I do?”

“First we ready ourselves.” Daniel reached into the back again and pulled out the other things he’d had Simon pack. He handed a bundle to Violet.

She stared at it. “You really want me to wear these?”

Daniel pulled a leather helmet over his head and settled goggles on his eyes. Gloves went on next. “If ye don’t want bugs in your hair and dust in your eyes, yes.”

Violet watched him then laughed. “You look like a fly.” Her gaze dipped to his plaid-covered lap, and Daniel tightened. “A Scottish fly.”

“Enough making fun of me, woman. Put it on.”

Violet didn’t look like a fly in her gear. She looked adorable.

They hadn’t lain together since the night in Berkshire. Daniel had spent all the nights since reliving every moment of what they’d done. Every heated, erotic moment.

But Daniel had no intention of ruining what they’d begun by pushing her too hard. To that end, they had separate bedchambers in the Grande Hotel, filled their days working on the motorcar, and filled their nights showing Violet the splendors of Paris.

Daniel had Violet get the car moving forward again and guided her to the first gear, then to second. When they were moving along at a smooth pace, it was time for the top gear. “Ease in more on the throttle. More . . . more . . .
yes
.”

The motorcar sped up, then sped up some more. Violet fought the tiller—Daniel really needed to find a more efficient steering mechanism. The wheels skidded on the mud of the farm road, but Violet moved the tiller from side to side, naturally finding her way out of the spin.

The car kept moving. Fast and faster. Fields stark with winter rushed by on either side of them.

Violet flashed Daniel a triumphant look, then she laughed. Wind buffeted them, freezing and bracing.

“It’s like flying!” Violet shouted, and let out a whoop.

Violet embracing the world. A beautiful sight.

The road curved sharply to the right. Violet’s eyes widened as the bend zoomed up fast. Daniel had his hands with hers on the tiller as they pulled it around the bend, the wheels slipping and sliding under them.

The car went into a spin. Daniel was thrown back into his seat, but Violet set her face and hung on to the tiller, her tongue pushed between her teeth. She wrestled with the car, pulling and pushing the brakes and gears until the car came out of its wild skidding and moved in a straight line again.

Daniel thought she’d gear down and stop the car, but Violet gave him a look of wild glee and pushed the motorcar to go even faster. She leaned forward, the joy on her face wonderful to behold.

They were moving fast, faster than Daniel had thought the car would go. The best speed anyone in Europe or America was reaching at the moment was about fifteen to twenty miles per hour. Daniel and Violet had left twenty far behind. Forty was more like it. Or fifty.

Violet let out a wild noise. Every bit of fear in her was gone. She was free. And Daniel loved her.

Desire, liking, admiration, exasperation—all had rolled together to form purest, warmest love. He knew he needed this woman in his life. Always.

Violet threw back her head and laughed. Daniel laughed with her, and she looked over at him, a hot smile on her face.

The next bend made them stop laughing. Violet screamed, pumped the brakes, and worked the tiller. They hit a deep patch of mud, and the motorcar spun freely across the narrow road.

The back end of the car went all the way around, and kept going. Daniel saw the furrowed field coming at them before he grabbed Violet and dragged her down, throwing himself over her.

The back end of the car went up a bank, and the front end swung across loose dirt in a sickening wave. The rear wheels stuck fast, the engine stalled, coughed, and then died. The front wheels at last ceased their wild spinning and went still. A crow cawed as it sailed by them, and then all was silence.

Chapter 29

“Vi.” Daniel wrenched himself up, not liking how still Violet lay beneath him.

Violet blinked and stirred, and Daniel’s heart banged with relief. Her goggles were half off, and she pulled them from her face as Daniel hauled her up.

The car’s back end was mired in a furrow of rich black earth, the front end lifted a little off the ground. They were well and truly stuck.

Violet looked around, then her smile flashed. She let out another whoop and threw her arms around Daniel. “We were going so fast!”

Daniel grinned. “Not anymore.”

Violet didn’t appear to care. She pulled Daniel against her and tried to kiss him, but she banged into his goggles, and she laughed.

Daniel pulled off his goggles and dropped them behind the seat. He closed his arms around her, and their mouths met in a wild frenzy. Daniel was shaking, but not with cold.

The motorcar was a cramped space. But not so cramped Daniel couldn’t lay Violet down across the seat and keep kissing her. Her leather cap came off, her hair wild, and she kissed Daniel back with fervor.

Daniel reached down and slid Violet’s skirts upward. He expected her to break into panic, to push him away when he tugged at her drawers, his hardness heavy on her.

She didn’t. Violet kissed him, ran her hands up his back, pulled off his leather helmet to let it fall outside the car. She let him skim off her drawers, the lawn fluttering like a white flag.

In very little time, he was inside her, connected to her, as he’d been dreaming of for days. Violet’s eyes widened as he thrust, and again Daniel waited for her to dissolve into panic. But Violet lifted herself to him and pulled him close in frantic need.

It was awkward, rushed, crazy, freezing wind pouring over them. But the elation of the wild ride, the watery terror of the crash, the need they’d awakened in each other mixed and combusted.

Violet clung to Daniel as they rocked, he thrusting madly into her. The scent of newly turned earth, the scorched smell of the engine, and the scent of Violet and desire heightened the wild feeling of loving her.

Moments later, Violet’s face softened with the beautiful pleasure he’d taught her to enjoy. Daniel kept going, feeling himself start to release far, far too soon.

“Love. Love.” He scraped back her hair, his lips heavy on hers. He shuddered, burying himself as far as he could in her warmth, softness, scent.

“Love,” Daniel said one more time, his heart in the word. Violet touched his face as they both found the height of release, kissing, clutching, holding.

Daniel shuddered again as he wound down, their kisses softening into heat and languid joy. The frigid wind rushed around them, but the look in Violet’s eyes warmed him like a midsummer sun.

A farmer with a draft horse had to drag them out of the mud. How embarrassing. Violet stood by, her clothing restored, while Daniel chatted amiably with the farmer, drawing a smile from the dour-faced man. Charming the world as usual.

The car wouldn’t start again—mud in the fuel pump, Daniel said, and the driveshaft might be bent. The farmer had to pull them all the way back to where Simon waited with the cart to take the motorcar into Paris.

“Aye, well,” Daniel said, shrugging away the damage with his usual aplomb. “If I miss the Paris trial, I can have it fixed up for Nice. This sweetheart will do well on the hill-climb, I’m thinking.”

“I couldn’t stop it,” Violet said. She wondered in the next moment whether she meant the car or her grab at Daniel that had led to them making love.

That coupling had been rapid and raw. It should have frightened Violet into one of her attacks of hysterics, but it hadn’t.

Perhaps the amazing freedom of the speed she’d found, the crazed fear of the spin and crash, and Daniel’s body hard on top of hers had let loose a wildness inside her, pushing away fear.

The feeling of the car responding for her and her body connecting with it had been almost as heady as connecting with Daniel. She couldn’t stop her smiles at Daniel as they sat in the motorcar, now rolling behind the sturdy draft horse. Daniel’s dark amber eyes were warm as he smiled back. Violet wanted to wrap the day around her and keep it forever.

But that night Daniel said they needed to continue their hunt for Jacobi.

Daniel and whatever contacts he had in Paris hadn’t found Jacobi yet. Violet couldn’t be unhappy about that, because Jacobi could be dangerous—or at least, he had dangerous friends. Violet hadn’t quite understood that when she was younger, but looking back, she realized that Jacobi had known some rough men. Jacobi had gambled hard, but he and his friends had also fleeced plenty of people. She’d thought him amazingly clever until she’d understood better.

She also knew that Jacobi had an animal’s instincts and knew how to protect himself. If Daniel hadn’t found him yet, it meant Jacobi knew someone was looking for him and had gone to ground.

Daniel’s idea for flushing him out was simple—he let it be whispered in the right circles that Miss Violet Devereaux was now Mrs. Daniel Mackenzie. Jacobi would hear of this and perhaps seek them out. If not, Daniel had other ideas he’d try.

To back up the ruse, for the past few nights, and again tonight, Daniel had Violet dress in rich finery, then he took her out on the town.

I told you I’d show you life, and I will.

The life Daniel showed her was one Violet had only had glimpses of. Even their outing in Marseille paled in comparison. Now Violet put up her hair and bared her shoulders and walked among the wealthy and fashionable.

During her weeks in England, the four Mackenzie women had collaborated to covertly produce a full wardrobe for Violet. In London Violet had consented to be fitted for a few dresses with Beth’s modiste, which Violet had insisted on paying for. Ainsley had looked triumphant when she’d said that they’d used the measurements to have the modiste make Violet many more clothes—evening gowns, walking dresses, morning gowns, and sturdy, warm dresses for when they worked on the car.

Violet’s protests went unheeded. Isabella, Beth, and Eleanor joined in to persuade Violet to accept the clothes, and she had to give in gracefully. As much as Violet had to work to swallow her pride, she admitted that the ladies truly had been kind. She’d someday find a way to give them kindness in return.

The result of the Mackenzie ladies’ planning was stunning. When Violet walked down the staircase of the Grande Hotel that evening, heads turned, gentlemen and ladies alike staring at her in admiration.

The gown she’d chosen was close-fitting, hugging her breasts and waist, the neckline lower than any she’d ever worn. Violet’s shoulders were bare—the gown had no sleeves at all—and only thin, diamond-studded straps held the bodice in place.

The fabric was silk, in a deep, iridescent blue that changed hue as Violet moved. Long satin gloves covered her arms up over her elbows, and small diamonds, Daniel’s latest gift, glinted in her hair.

A maid came after Violet with a fur wrap that would protect her from the cold, but the ensemble was meant to bare as much of Violet as tastefully possible. She was a graceful statue, come to life.

Daniel met her at the bottom of the stairs. He was resplendent in black coat and pristine white dress shirt, but he wore the formal kilt of the Mackenzies. For evening, instead of boots he wore leg-hugging socks and low shoes. Though his kilt drew stares from all, Violet noticed the ladies appreciating his muscular legs as well.

Daniel held out his arm, and Violet slipped her hand through its crook. The maid draped the furs over Violet, and Daniel led her out.

They’d done this for three nights running, the staff of the hotel always scurrying to serve them. Daniel Mackenzie was a wealthy Scotsman, from a prominent family. The lady? She was an enigma, but it didn’t matter because she was Daniel Mackenzie’s wife.

Daniel led Violet along the carpet stretching from hotel doorway to the low-slung carriage that waited for Monsieur and Madame to step inside.

The coach was the most luxurious money could hire. The inside was polished wood trimmed with the curving floral designs of the new art styles. Kerosene lights lit the inside, velvet curtains shut out the night and the hoi polloi, and coal boxes warmed their feet.

Daniel sat next to Violet on the cushioned seat, no false preservation of propriety. He slid his arm across the back of the seat, behind her, enclosing Violet in his warmth.

“How long?” Violet asked nervously.

“I imagine he’ll emerge soon,” Daniel said. “And then you’ll be free.” He patted her silk-clad knee. “You’re good at playing roles. This one is no different.”

“It
is
different. This is real.”

“I won’t argue with you.” Daniel stretched out his long legs, which brushed hers through her thin skirt. “But you’re doing brilliantly.”

He leaned back and proceeded to enjoy the ride. Daniel enjoyed everything he did, from grubbing over his car in tattered clothes, to smoking with the foundry workers where he’d taken the car to be repaired, to rubbing elbows with Paris’s elite.

They went to Restaurant Drouant first. Daniel took a table in the most visible part of the restaurant and was as relaxed here as he was when they ate privately in their hotel parlor. He spoke in a friendly way with the waiters, who were happy to bring him the best from the kitchen and the wine cellar.

Violet watched Daniel as he flashed his smile, as warmth lit his eyes, none of it false. He was a generous man, and that generosity came from his heart. Daniel truly didn’t give a damn what others thought of him. He gave because he liked people, and not to gain praise or prestige.

I love him for it. I love him for everything he is.

At the moment Violet lived in a bubble of astonishing happiness. What would come after Paris, after finding Jacobi, she didn’t know. The future stretched out, unknown and frightening.

After dining, Daniel took her to the Moulin Rouge, to be seen, and then to secret casinos—he seemed to know many of those. In the carriage before they arrived at the first casino, Daniel took a velvet pouch from his pocket, removed an eye-widening diamond bracelet, and clasped it around Violet’s wrist.

Her jaw sagged. “Daniel . . . You can’t . . .”

Daniel tipped her face to his and gave her a rough kiss on her lips. “No, my sweet. You’re supposed to gush and coo and tell me how wonderful I am. That’s why gentlemen give baubles to beautiful ladies.”

Violet had to laugh. “No, it isn’t.”

“Aye, you’re right. We do it so they’ll rush to bed with us in hopes of getting more diamonds.”

“I’m sorry you’ve known so many mercenary women.” Violet touched the bracelet, marveling that this amazing man wanted to be with her. “They don’t deserve you.”

He shrugged. “I learned young not to engage my heart.”

“So did I.”

They regarded each other without speaking for a moment. The lonely boy Daniel had been shone out briefly, hidden again when he leaned to give her another kiss, this one slower, savoring.

The carriage pulled to a halt, much to Violet’s disappointment. “More excitement,” Daniel said, moving to the door. “The night is young . . . No, wait—it’s mostly over. But no matter.”