Highland Pleasures [6] The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie Page 9

  “Ah, Mr. Mackenzie,” Daniel said in a mocking tone. “How good to see you again. And that you’re unhurt after I whacked you over the head with my finest vase.” He rubbed his temple. “What was the damned thing made of, eh? Granite?”

  “I’m sorry,” Violette said stiffly. “I never meant to hurt you.” They stood in deep shadows, but her pupils were pinpricks of shock. “You frightened me.”

  “That was obvious. I remember you not minding me kissing you in your upstairs room. Not so downstairs. Or did you change your mind when your maid hit me with that sandbag of a bolster?”

  “I never meant to hurt you.” The words softened as she repeated them. Violette lifted her hand as though to touch the still-closing wound on Daniel’s temple, but she stopped herself. “I swear to you.”

  “It’s all right; ye only stunned me senseless. I’ve had ladies slap me before, but never with such vigor.”

  Violette took a step back, letting out a heavy breath, some of the paralytic fear leaving her. “Well, you had no business kissing me like that. I’m not a doxy.”

  “You’re right, lass. No business at all.” Daniel moved to her again. “But we were alone, it was night, and finding a woman who understood engineering excited me. It was your genius with the machines that did it. I tried to behave well, but once I’d seen your wind machine, I couldn’t resist stealing another kiss from you.”

  The frozen terror eased further from her eyes at this speech, Daniel was glad to see, but the wariness remained. “You were after more than kisses, Mr. Mackenzie.”

  “Aye, I don’t deny that.” Daniel ran his gaze over Violette’s body, not well hidden under the formfitting coat and cotton blouse. She still took his breath away.

  Finding her, the triumph of it, beat through him. He wanted to catch her in his arms, push her back against the dirty bricks of the theatre, and find his relief with her.

  “You are a beautiful woman,” he said, making himself stay in place. “Says so on your poster, doesn’t it? A beauty that drives sane men to madness, gentle men to duels. That’s brilliant, is that. I bet the punters come flocking.”

  Violette gave him a sharp look. “You are mocking me, Mr. Mackenzie.”

  “I am indeed.” Daniel stepped beside her and held out his arm in his tailored coat. “Let me escort you home, Mademoiselle Bastien, if that is your name. Even if it isn’t your name, I’m pleased to escort you anyway. There might be ruffians about.”

  “This is a respectable part of town.” Violette’s chin came up. “The only ruffian in it is you.”

  Daniel burst out laughing. “A shot to the heart, but accurate, lass. Dead accurate. Still, even respectable gentlemen might lose their minds when they come face-to-face with the stunning beauty of Princess Ivanova.”

  Daniel kept his arm out, expecting her at any moment to turn and run, or at least look about for something else to hit him with before she went. Then he’d have to follow her, because damned if he’d let the woman he’d tracked halfway across the Continent slip from his grasp again. He’d found her, and he was keeping her.

  Daniel hid his jolt of glee when she slid her fingers under the crook of his arm. “Very well. But only because it is darker out here than I thought.”

  Got her, Daniel’s mind sang as they turned together out to the main street.

  Ian’s direction of Marseille had brought Daniel here, and almost immediately he’d seen the advertisement that the clairvoyant Countess Melikova and her assistant, Princess Ivanova, the deadly beauty, would speak to an audience at a concert hall.

  Walking in late to the performance, Daniel had beheld on the stage a middle-aged woman in black with a gold brocade turban, and the upright form of Violette, wearing a long black veil that concealed her face and hair. But he’d known she was Violette. He’d recognize that enticing body and sensual voice anywhere, didn’t matter how much she hid her face or what accent she put on.

  “The bit of hair you let us glimpse behind the veil was blond.” Daniel touched a dark curl that fell over Violet’s cheek. “Clever. If smitten gentlemen waited for you at the back door, they’d strain their eyes for a woman with flaxen hair. Only I was on the lookout for the real Violette Bastien.” He winked at her. “Except that Mademoiselle Bastien doesn’t exist either, does she? Is the Violette real? Or were you christened with another name?”

  “It’s Violet,” she said in a firm voice.

  “No surname?”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “Hmm.” Daniel drew her a little closer. They walked slowly down the street like any courting couple, avoiding carriages with clopping horses and the little steaming piles that the clopping horses left behind.

  Plenty of people strolled about—friends arm in arm, couples, businessmen walking from clubs back home to their families. None paid any attention to Daniel and Violet, except for a glance at Daniel’s Mackenzie plaid kilt. Daniel was the exotic creature on the street at the moment, not Violet.

  “I commend you and your mother on your performance,” he said. “Well done. The phosphor-luminescent balls were a nice touch.”

  Violet shrugged. “People expect to see tangible evidence of the ether.”

  “No machines tonight?”

  “My mother doesn’t need them as much as I do. I don’t have her gift.”

  “Gift,” Daniel repeated, remembering the performance. “Aye, she has quite a good one. She’s masterful at telling people what they wish to hear.”

  “Do not be so quick to dismiss her, please. She is always spot-on, and not only using what I tell her. What about what your own mother said to you through her? My mother was right, wasn’t she? And I told her nothing. I didn’t know you would be here—I thought you were . . .” Violet faltered, her fingers tightening on his arm.

  “Deceased?” Daniel supplied. “Departed? Shuffled off this mortal coil?”

  “Yes.”

  Daniel heard the catch in her voice, and he took heart. “Poor lass. No wonder you ran from England.”

  Violet loosened her grip again. “But my mother was right, wasn’t she? About your mother?”

  Daniel shrugged. “Near enough.”

  “Well, there you are, then.”

  Daniel couldn’t stop his laughter. “Violet, sweet love, the gossip about my family and my crazy mum is common knowledge. Everyone who hears my name knows my mother tried to off me with a knife when I was a tiny babe, before my dad threw me out of the way and stopped her. Then Lady Elizabeth Mackenzie was dead. Did she kill herself, or did her husband, Lord Cameron, do it? People have speculated for years. Now, if your mum had given the correct answer to that riddle, then I would have been impressed. Only my dad knows the truth.”

  “You’re saying my mother’s a fraud,” Violet said stiffly.

  “A very good one. So are you, love. The best ones always get away with it.”

  Violet gave him a haughty look. “We have been questioned before. Put through rigorous tests by other mediums, not to mention scientists and priests. We’ve passed every time.”

  “As I said, the best ones always get away with it.” Daniel put his warm hand over hers. “Now, did you bring your machinery with you? And would you let me have a look at it? I was interrupted before I could examine it to my heart’s content last time, by being nearly done in.”

  “That’s why you’ve come to Marseille, is it? For my machines?”

  He enjoyed the dry skepticism in her voice. “Certainly. That, and I like Marseille. So much history—you know it was once a Greek colony? Then the Romans obligingly left us plenty of ruins to wander through, and there’s the Château d’If, where Dumas imprisoned poor Monte Cristo. One of my favorite novels as a boy was the Count. Have you been out to see the prison close to? It’s chilling.”

  Violet stopped, skirts swinging. A man in a bowler hat pushed past them, growling a
little. “Stop playing with me, Mr. Mackenzie. You came here to find me so you could drag me to the magistrates.”

  Daniel made a show of looking around them. “Do you see me dragging you anywhere? We’re walking calmly through a reasonably thin crowd, and I’m escorting you home.”

  “And once you get me there, and your hands on my machines—then you will send for the magistrates. You think me a fraud, an imposter. And I assaulted you . . .”

  “Your crimes, they keep increasing, don’t they? If I’d wanted the magistrates on you, lass, I’d have contacted my uncle the police inspector, who would have contacted his colleagues in the French police, who would have had you and your mum arrested and locked away long before I arrived. Then I would have strolled in, rifled through your gadgets, and taken what I wanted.”

  Violet’s widening eyes started to fill with fear again. “Then I don’t understand. If you didn’t find me to arrest me, why did you come?”

  “To see you again.” To feast my eyes on you. Daniel tucked the lock of hair on her cheek behind her ear. His gloved hands didn’t let him contact her skin directly, but the heat of her came through the thin leather. “To look at you.” To dream about having you. “And to ask you why the devil you hit me over the head.”

  “I told you. You frightened me.”

  “There’s much more to it than that, I wager. You’re not a lass who frightens easily. You stood up to Mortimer and his mates and were disgusted by the lot of them. Me, the one gent that night who would never have harmed you, you looked at in terror before you reached out for the nearest weapon. I’m going to find out why.” Daniel traced her cheek one more time then pulled her back into walking. “You might as well trust me.”

  “I don’t trust anyone.”

  “That’s obvious. But you’re going to learn to trust me.”

  Daniel felt Violet’s trembling, and he also felt her draw herself up, trying to master herself. “You are arrogant,” she said.

  “That’s true, but is that the best you can do? I’ve been called far worse than that.”

  “All right, then you are an insufferable, full-of-yourself, aristocratic prig.”

  She kept her eyes straight ahead, a flush on her cheek making him want to kiss it. He settled for laughing again. “Not bad. But still not the best you can do. You, Mademoiselle, are a deceitful, cunning minx and a very talented liar. I heard you pinpoint every person’s greatest desires in that concert hall. You made them tell you everything you needed to know.”

  Her flush deepened. “It’s part of the show.”

  “It’s a rare skill, and one you exploit to amazing lengths. I’d love to know how you do it.”

  Violet glanced up at him, the wariness back in her eyes. She might be deceitful, but she wasn’t sly. She was deceitful out of necessity, not enjoyment.

  Daniel wanted to find out all about her, and not only because he was curious. Since the age of fifteen and his first tumble with a lass, Daniel hadn’t been short of female company. Women were his for the taking, whenever he reached out his hand. His uncle Mac laughed that Daniel was carrying on the Mackenzie family tradition. Women wanted the Mackenzie men—that was easy. In matters of the heart, however, the Mackenzies fought long and hard battles.

  So Daniel was beginning to understand. Violet was different from his previous lovers, and not only because she was a few years older than Daniel or any more or less respectable than his usual sort of woman. Violet Bastien—or whatever her name was—was different because she was Violet.

  Since he’d seen her standing in the dining room of her London house, girding herself to face Mortimer and his friends, Daniel had wanted her. Even now, he wanted to carry her off to his hotel, peel back her plain and sensible clothes, and discover the lush woman beneath. He wanted her in his bed, to scent her ready for him, to taste her skin and mouth, to feel her around him.

  Daniel craved her, and he would have her before he left France.

  The boardinghouse they reached was clean, neatly painted, and respectable. Lights glowed in the upstairs rooms as well as in the downstairs parlors. “Thank you,” Violet said, stopping. “I’ll go in alone.”

  “Right you are.” Daniel released her and tipped his hat. “Good night, Miss Bastien. I’ll keep calling you that until I learn another name.”

  Violet gave him a nod, her face softening. “Good night, Mr. Mackenzie. I truly am glad you are well.”

  “Glad because I won’t come down upon you with the full extent of the law? You’re lucky I’ve got so much kindness in my heart.”

  Violet’s glare returned with his teasing. “I am glad, for your sake. But you may think what you like. Good night.”

  She spun away and made for the door to the boardinghouse, her head high. Her skirts swayed enticingly across her hips, her upright stride a joy to watch.

  Violet didn’t look back at Daniel as she opened the door to the boardinghouse with a little jerk and walked inside.

  She was good. She was very, very good. Daniel smiled at the closed door, tipped his hat again, and walked on down the street as though satisfied.

  When he came to a narrow passage between houses on the opposite side of the street, he stepped into the shadows, drew out a cigarette, lit it, fixed his gaze on the boardinghouse, and waited.

  Ten minutes, he gave her. Enough time for Daniel to make it to a main thoroughfare and hire a carriage to take him to his hotel.

  After ten minutes had gone by, Daniel dropped the spent cigarette and ground it out under his boot heel. At the same time, Violet walked out of the boardinghouse again. She looked up and down the street, scanning every shadow, before she started walking back the way they’d come.

  Clever lass.

  Too bad for her that Daniel knew this city so well. As a boy, he’d managed more than once to follow his father to the Riviera, despite Cameron’s efforts to leave his son behind. Daniel had learned how to coerce others to get him to the Continent, and when he was a little older, to buy his own tickets and come himself. He’d spent many an evening surreptitiously following his father around Marseille, hurt because his dad would rather take up with fancy women than sightsee with his son. Therefore, Daniel knew exactly how to weave through the streets to reach the main avenue before Violet did. Again, he ducked into a doorway and waited.

  She turned onto the street, walking briskly, determination in her stride. When Violet reached the doorway where Daniel hid, he stepped out in front of her.

  “Now then, Mademoiselle,” he said, grinning at her. “How about we walk to where you really live?”

  Chapter 9

  He’d drive her mad. Violet’s heart thudded as she stared at Daniel, with his captivating smile, his warm eyes, and his uncanny ability to predict her every move.

  Never let anyone know all about you, Jacobi had stressed. A person who knows your secrets has a powerful hold over you. If you never let yourself be known, you will always be free.

  Daniel was so tall. He stood, unmoving, not about to let her walk around him. Or he might, then catch her with his strong arm and pull her back again.

  Violet wet her dry lips. “Why must you know? Surely it makes no difference whether I stay in this boardinghouse or that boardinghouse . . .”

  “It makes a difference to you,” Daniel said. “Your key will work only in the right door, for one. And you’d keep all your things in one place, wouldn’t you? Unless you have a network of rooms all over the city. That is handy, I admit. I often keep several places at once for stashing things.”

  She tried to put on a lofty look. “Why do you care, Mr. Mackenzie?”

  “Because you do. And because I want you to get home safe. Now, come on.” He held out his arm. “If we debate in the street, that nice policeman over there will come and tell us to move on, or maybe arrest us for breaking the peace. And the police would be sticklers about finding out
your name, your nationality, where you come from, why you’re here. Safer to walk home with me, isn’t it?”

  Daniel held out his arm, so polite, so gentlemanly, but behind the courteous gesture was a man of ruthless intent. He wanted to know all about her, and by God, he was going to find out.

  Violet made a noise of exasperation, turned from his extended hand, and started striding back the way she’d come.

  Daniel easily fell into step with her, strong fingers coming around her arm. “So, did you bring it with you?” he asked.

  “Bring what?”

  “The wind machine. I want to borrow it.”

  He was too close to her. Violet easily smelled the scents that clung to him—smoke, the remnants of whiskey, the musk of himself under his wool coat. The scents made her remember how he’d leaned to her in the upstairs room in London, how he’d tasted her mouth, how he’d stunned her with the brief, warm press of lips.

  “Borrow it why?” she managed to ask.

  “Because I’m working on something, and I want to see if it will help me. Or give me a clue as to what would. If you don’t want to let the thing out of your hands, you can come with it.”

  “Come with it where?”

  “Little town about twenty miles from here, down the coast. Have a friend who will let me use his workshop. How about it? Tomorrow?”

  The man was maddening. Violet was curious now as to what he was building, and how he just happened to have a friend with a workshop twenty miles down the coast from where Violet was staying. Did he know that the workings of engines and devices fascinated her? How exactly to entice her?

  Not being able to read him was a terrible disadvantage. When Daniel spoke of machinery, his eyes lost their predatory look, and his focus changed. That he was interested in her wind machine was plain. And he was right that she didn’t want to let it out of her sight, because it had been expensive to build, and she’d tinkered with it until it did exactly what she wanted.