The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie (35 page)

“Never. I never would.”

For some reason Violet knew if she let go of his wrists, she’d fall indeed, down into a black well of nothing. She’d never get free. She needed to hang on to Daniel, to not let him go.

Daniel gave her a slow smile, his eyes golden embers in the firelight. Violet kissed him, and then she couldn’t stop kissing him. Exciting, fierce kisses, nothing slow about them.

At the same time, Violet waited for the grating pain, the intense hurt that had robbed her of everything she was. It didn’t come. There was only Daniel inside her, his mouth on hers, his body moving as his hips began to work.

The sudden friction broke something open inside her. Violet threw back her head, wanting to scream. She bent back down, tears streaming from her eyes, and kissed Daniel. He lifted his hips again, thrusting.

A little faster, a little harder. Perspiration gleamed on his skin. Violet’s tears kept falling—she couldn’t make them stop.

This was a new beginning, Violet reborn, phoenix-like, in the fires of passion. The feelings inside her were novel and raw, burning her from the inside out.

Daniel rose a little on his elbows, continuing his thrusts. Violet couldn’t make herself let go of him, but Daniel didn’t seem to mind. His eyes half closed as he watched her, their gleam of gold like summer sunshine.

His lips parted as he pushed upward into her, thrusting hard, loving her. It was a moment of terrible beauty, Violet loosening and letting go, fear and ecstasy coalescing.

She heard herself cry his name. The silent, sleeping house might awake, and Violet didn’t care. She kissed Daniel again, her tears dropping to his lips, then she whispered his name instead.

Daniel’s eyes opened all the way. “Violet,” he said clearly. “Oh, Christ.”

He said it like a prayer, and then his eyes lost focus and a groan escaped his lips.

Daniel at last moved his wrists out of Violet’s grip, proving he could have at any time. He caught her against him, his hands hard on her back, pulling her down to him.

Not imprisoning her. Loving her.

The last of Violet’s tears trickled away as the ecstasy Daniel had introduced her to struck. She felt nothing but Daniel inside her, his arms around her, his breath on her face, his lips on hers.

Madness. Beautiful madness, where nothing mattered, and all was heat and wild freedom. Daniel opened the prison door for her, and Violet ran for the light.

Daniel caressed Violet’s bare back as she lay limply on top of him, he still inside her.

His world had just changed. No dream could ever be as good as waking up to see Violet, the most beautiful woman in the world, standing over him, haloed by the firelight. An angel, one who looked down at him with dusky blue eyes and declared she wanted to be his lover.

Daniel knew what it had cost her to come to him. She’d barely been able to move or to speak, and yet she’d come.

He ran his hand through the silken weight of her hair. Violet holding him down had seemed to give her some comfort, as though reassuring herself that she could have control.

Daniel hadn’t minded. Violet pinning him in place while she’d lowered herself onto him had been the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced. Maybe one night he’d suggest she tie him down—Daniel tethered to the headboard, unable to stop Violet doing anything she wanted to him.

He let out a little groan of pleasure, and Violet raised her head.

“I thought you’d fallen asleep,” she said.

“No, just basking.” Daniel threaded his fingers through her hair. “Don’t want to sleep and miss this.”

“I ought to have known you weren’t asleep. You snore something awful.”

“Huh. The dogs don’t seem to mind.”

Violet’s smile was shy. “I don’t mind either.”

“Then my greatest dream has come true. A lovely woman who wants to share my bed doesn’t care if I snore.”

“I didn’t say
that
.” Her laughter shook him.

Daniel brushed her hair back, studying the dark blue of her eyes as her laughter wound down. Her warm breasts were fine cushions against his chest. “You all right, love?”

Violet knew what he meant. “I think so.”

“But you aren’t sure.”

“Not really. I’m still scared. But better.”

“Good.” Daniel moved his hand to the back of her neck to pull her to him.

Violet resisted. “I ought to go.”

“No, you ought to stay.” His pull turned to a caress. “And we should do that again.”

“If I stay too long, someone might catch me sneaking back to my room . . .”

“And they’ll think it about bloody time.” Daniel touched the end of her nose. “My very scandalous family isn’t easily shocked.”

Violet looked uncertain. Daniel kept caressing, and eventually, she came down to him, her body relaxing into his. “Let’s not go to Paris. I like it better here.”

“Not go to Paris? Don’t be daft. I need to show off my motorcar and win that race. You know it’s an amazing machine. Thanks to your help.”

“You know what I mean. You keep telling me I’m strong, Daniel, but I’m not. I’m afraid. I don’t know what seeing Jacobi again will do to me.”

Daniel ran his hands up her arms. “I know what
not
seeing him will do to you. You’ll never be shut of him in your mind if you don’t face him again.”

Plus Daniel wanted to ask Jacobi a few things. He’d pry out of him the name of the red-bearded man and pay said man a visit.

For that, Daniel would go alone. He wasn’t sure what would happen to Violet if she encountered her actual attacker, plus he didn’t want Violet to see what Daniel would do to him.

“My reason tells me you are right,” Violet said. The dim light and fear chiseled her face into sharpness. “But I’m having difficulty convincing myself.”

Daniel traced her cheek. “Vi, I keep telling you that you’re one of the strongest women I know. I’m going to teach you to believe it.” He traced her cheek. “
And
I’ll teach you to drive the motorcar.”

Violet’s eyes widened. “Me? Drive your precious motorcar?”

“Why not? You understand how it works, and you’ve helped me put most of it together. Think how green with envy the other lads will be, when I sail in with the fastest motor ever made with the most beautiful woman in the world at the tiller.”

“You’re very convinced no one else has come up with a design like yours.”

“Very convinced.” Daniel also knew he’d turned Violet’s focus from her fears again. “I’m going to win this year. With you by my side.”

Her eyes took on a tinge of excitement, she also forcing her thoughts from horrors of the past. “Do you really think we’ll win?”

“I do.” Daniel slid one hand behind her and tugged her back down to him. “But not, I’m thinking, right this moment.”

This moment was not for the future, it was for finishing the best night of his life. Later they’d face what they needed to face, do what needed to be done. Now was the time to pull Violet close and continue what they’d begun.

Violet softened as she came to him, and Daniel proceeded to savor her all over again.

The house was still dark, the clocks striking five, when Violet crept back to her bedchamber. Daniel had seemed to think it perfectly fine if she were caught in his bed when the servants came in to stir up the fire and open the curtains, but Violet told him firmly that she would go. His kiss good night was long and lingering, but finally, he let her depart.

Violet had resumed her slippers and lit her candle again, not at all surprised to find Venus still lying outside Daniel’s door. The dog snorted as she came awake, climbed to her feet, and yawned. She readily followed Violet down the short flight of stairs to the main landing and up again to the other wing. The house looked exactly the same as when Violet had moved through it a few hours ago, but Violet had profoundly changed.

An icy draft blew up the stairs when Violet was halfway up, as though someone had opened the front door below. The wind extinguished her candle and swirled her nightdress around her ankles.

Violet stopped, freezing in place. Perhaps whoever it was wouldn’t see her and would walk on through the house, leaving Violet alone in the darkness.

Venus, on the other hand, stared down the stairs and wagged her tail, her body wriggling in joy. A heavy tread sounded on the stairs. Violet didn’t move, but she sensed the person come toward her, closer and closer. Before he reached her, Violet realized with some dismay, that he was Daniel’s uncle, Hart Mackenzie, the Duke of Kilmorgan.

What’s more, he’d seen her. The duke stopped next to her and peered sternly down at her through the gloom. “Are you lost, Miss Devereaux?”

Chapter 28

Hart’s golden eyes were shadowed in the dark but still pinned her fast.

“No. I was just . . .” Violet gestured with her flameless candle. “The privy.”

“There’s a water closet at the end of the guest wing. In the opposite direction.”

“Ah. It’s a large house . . .”

Hart laid his hand on her shoulder, turned her, and marched her the rest of the way up the half flight of stairs to her wing. He led her straight to her bedroom and opened the door. How he knew which was hers when this was the first she’d seen of him here, Violet had no idea.

Hart walked her all the way inside. He took the chamber stick from her hand and matches from his pocket and lit the candle.

Violet’s fears came pouring back. Hart was a duke, one of the most powerful in Britain. He could do anything he liked. Violet was clad only in her nightgown, not even a dressing gown to cover her, and it must be fairly obvious what she’d been doing.

Hart set down the chamber stick. The candle flame wavered in the draft from the open door, which he didn’t close.

The draft also brought a scent to Violet that she recognized from being with Daniel. That, paired with Hart’s mussed hair and his lack of greatcoat though he’d been outside, drew her conclusion.

Her heart burned. Did the duchess know he’d been dallying with a woman? The anger at him for betraying his remarkable wife made Violet’s head come up.

“Was there something you wanted, Your Grace?” she asked in icy tones.

“You were with my nephew.”

“Perhaps.”

“No perhaps about it. You’re his lover.”

Violet gave him a haughty look, perfected from her performances. “Daniel is a grown man, and I am a grown woman.”

Hart looked Violet straight in the eye. Ian did that when he had something important to say. Hart did it to unnerve people and keep them unnerved. “I know all about you, Miss Devereaux. Your father was the last son of a poor French family who were excellent at getting something for nothing. Thieves and confidence men, every single one of them, and you with your séances and table turnings are carrying on the tradition. I’m going to ask you bluntly, what are your designs on Daniel?”

Violet’s heart hurt again. “No designs at all. I’m helping with his motorcar, and that will be the end of it. No doubt I will remain in France while Daniel returns here. My mother will join me there. I thank you for looking after her while she resides in London. I take it she is still there?”

Hart ignored the question. “You plan to end your association with my very wealthy nephew? Who recently came into all the money in trust for him?”

Violet kept her head high. “I am not interested in Daniel’s money, regardless of what you think.”

The duke’s gaze roved her, but not in lechery. He was assessing her the same way she assessed him.

“I know Daniel is trying to get you out of an unwanted marriage,” he said. “I don’t mind him doing so. A woman shouldn’t be trapped. But after that, you walk away.”

Violet’s anger caught in her throat. “I intend to. Daniel owes me nothing.”

“No,” Hart said in a hard voice. “He doesn’t.”

Violet knew Daniel could send her away whenever he wished. She’d always understood that. Whatever control he’d let her have in the bed tonight was illusion. If Daniel wanted Violet to stay with him, that would be his choice. But Violet leaving could be hers.

Now that Hart stood before her and told her to go, however, Violet knew what the pain of it would be. Daniel called her strong, but she knew she wasn’t strong enough to leave Daniel behind for his own good.

“You might ask Daniel what he wants,” Violet said, voice losing its steadiness.

“Daniel is young, he’s wealthy, he’s generous. Any woman would like to get her claws into him.”

Violet remembered young Lady Victoria, who’d clung to Daniel’s arm while she all but demanded Violet predict that Daniel would marry her. Lady Victoria had slavered over Daniel’s wealth, powerful family, and handsomeness, and hadn’t cared one whit for the man himself.

That Hart could equate Violet with the steely little debutante hurt. “I’ve told you I’d go. But it’s Daniel’s choice too, isn’t it?”

“He’s from a family that makes notoriously bad choices. Including me. I’ve made hellaciously awful ones. If I can save Danny from them, I will. I’m sure you need money, Miss Devereaux. Name a sum and go. A clean break. That’s best.”

“You insult me.”

“I’m realistic, and so are you.”

“I don’t want your money.” Violet stopped. The desperate voice inside her told her to reach out and take what he offered. When her association with Daniel was over, she’d need money. She’d concluded that Daniel was right that she should face Jacobi and finish with him, and then the rest of her life was hers. But life was hard.

“You do want it,” Hart said. “I won’t name a sum. I’ll simply give it to you—
after
you’ve walked away from Daniel.”

“A bargain you could easily forget.” Violet met Hart’s gaze with a pride to rival his. “I’ll make a different bargain. You let the decision for me to leave be mine and Daniel’s, on our terms. In return I won’t let on to your wife that you were with a woman tonight. Or maybe I will, if you don’t leave me in peace. The duchess is a kind soul, and she doesn’t deserve to be betrayed by one such as you.”

To Violet’s surprise, the duke took on a look of pure astonishment. “With a woman . . . ?”

“I’m not a fool, Your Grace.” Violet assessed him again. “You were outside, in the grass, with a woman, drinking brandy—to keep warm no doubt. I do hope you won’t catch cold.”

Hart stared at her, his shock palpable. “Miss Devereaux, you are laboring—”

“Leave her be, Hart.”

The voice that rumbled through the open door to Violet’s room didn’t come from Daniel. It came from Ian Mackenzie.

Ian walked into the room, his gaze going not to the two people standing in the middle of it, but to the flame of the candle on the dresser.

“Goodness,” Violet said shakily. “Does no one in this house stay in bed?”

Hart turned to face his brother. Hart was still angry, Violet could see, but when he looked at Ian, his face softened. There was love there, a powerful love that Violet had rarely seen.

“Well?” Hart said, his voice rough with impatience.

Instead of answering Hart, Ian moved his gaze from the candle flame and fixed it on Violet, or at least on Violet’s shoulder. She saw him start to look back at the candle once or twice but then firm his resolve not to turn his head.

“When you are in Paris, you must look after Daniel,” Ian said to Violet.

Violet blinked. “Me look after
him
?”

“Danny is like me,” Ian said, ignoring her response. “He will go after what he wants and let nothing stand in his way. But I have learned to be careful. Daniel, though, will do anything, even sacrifice himself, to win.”

Ian’s gaze didn’t move from Violet’s shoulder. One of his hands was curled to a fist, the other half clenched. Ian too was fully dressed, but no scent of outdoors came from him. He’d been on his way out, not on his way in.

“You’re not just talking about Daniel’s motorcar race, are you?” Violet asked.

Ian didn’t change expression, but he switched his gaze fully to Violet’s eyes. “Don’t let him.”

Hart broke in. “Ian . . .”

Hart might have been a dust mote for all Ian paid attention to him. “Don’t let him,” he said to Violet.

The intensity of Ian’s gaze was unnerving. Violet wondered how he could exude more power with that look than Hart could with all his harsh commands.

“I won’t,” Violet said to Ian.

“Promise me.”

“Yes, I promise.”

Ian looked at Violet for a few more heartbeats, then he broke the gaze, studied the candle flame for a count of three, then made to leave the room. He turned halfway back when he reached the doorway.

“Hart was not with another woman,” he said to Violet. “He was with Eleanor. They like to meet in unusual places and try unusual things.” A look of amusement, a flicker only, passed through Ian’s eyes. “Beds are more comfortable.”

Hart, the great Duke of Kilmorgan, flushed dark red. “Yes, thank you, Ian.”

Ian shared another amused look with Violet, turned for the door, utterly ignored his brother, and walked out of the room.

Hart watched him go, again with the look of intense affection. “Ian has difficulty
not
saying exactly what he feels,” he said.

“So do you,” Violet countered.

“Touché. But Ian’s not wrong about one thing—Daniel is reckless, and he’s headstrong. I don’t want to have to tell Cameron that Danny crashed his motorcar at this time trial of his or bled to death in a knife fight with your husband. You seem to be a very careful young woman. If you insist on staying with Daniel, you had better take care of him. If something happens to him, I will hold you to blame.”

Violet let out her breath in a huff. “I’ve just promised Ian I’d look out for him. But I don’t know why either of you believe I can control every move he makes. Daniel does as he pleases.”

“Do your best. If you want to prove you are good for Daniel, then make sure he comes to no harm.”

Violet had not lost her fear of the duke, but overbearing men always put her back up. “Is that a threat, Your Grace?”

“It’s a fact. Good night.” The duke gave her a proper bow and at last departed, closing the door behind him.

He left Violet in a jumble of feelings—anger, outrage, wonder.

The fact that both Ian and Hart had stopped by to explain to her that Daniel needed looking after betrayed their worry about him. Cameron never said a word, but Violet had seen the same concern in him too. In Mac as well, as careless as he pretended to be.

Daniel was a beloved son, the Mackenzie men were telling her. And Violet needed to make certain he came to no harm.

Violet wasn’t sure she could. She couldn’t imagine that she had any power over Daniel, that he needed her the way she’d come to need him.

Even while she stood in the middle of her bedroom, worrying about what the duke and Ian had told her, the physical memory of joining with Daniel lingered. She still felt the absolute joy of lying in Daniel’s arms while he made her feel like the most cherished woman in the world.

Her life had changed tonight. She knew that the Violet going forward would be nothing like the Violet she was leaving behind.

“Here we go,” Daniel said to Violet. He leaned over the door to the driver’s seat where Violet sat waiting, taking a moment to gaze upon his creation as well as the delectable woman inside it.

The motorcar, in all its glory, sat on a long, straight, empty farm road outside Paris, ready for a test run and Violet’s first time driving it. The body, painted a sunny yellow, was long, low, and narrow, the wheels with their pneumatic rubber casings riding high around the chassis.

The gear chains and driveshaft were secure beneath the car, protected from breakage by a welded metal casing. At the very front of the car was the pump he and Violet had come up with, based on Violet’s wind machine, to cool the monster engine. A high-backed bench stretched across the inside for driver and passenger, the padded, tooled leather giving the machine a touch of luxury. Beautiful Violet sitting upright on the seat made the whole thing perfect.