The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

Her lips were warm despite the cold, and soft, sweet. Daniel wanted to take the kiss deeper, to taste her again.

He drew back as someone passed along the street, and Violet slipped her hand from his. “Good night,” she said.

“Wait. Your wind machine.” Daniel took the box from under his arm, and leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Good night.”

Violet took the box. “Good night.”

Daniel grinned, not moving. “Good night.”

Violet shifted the box to one hand, braced it against her hip, and reached for the door handle. “Good night.”

Daniel stepped down from the doorstep to the street. “Good night.”

She smiled over her shoulder. “Good night.”

Violet opened the door, and Daniel tipped his hat. “Sleep well.”

“And you.”

“Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

Simon was watching with interest, leaning on the cab’s back wheel and smoking a cigarette. He grinned as Daniel turned around one last time and waved to Violet.

“Good night,” Daniel called.

“Good night,” Violet returned and finally disappeared inside.

Daniel heaved a sigh, dragged a cigarette from his pocket, and accepted Simon’s offer of a light. The driver looked down at them impatiently, but Daniel leaned on the coach wheel beside Simon and waited.

Simon guffawed. “If you hurry home and go to sleep, sir, you can see her again in the morning.”

“Cheek,” Daniel said, drawing in smoke. “Am I that bloody obvious?”

“You look as my youngest brother did when he was first wooing his woman. Didn’t like to take his eyes off her for nothing.”

“No?” Daniel gazed up at the window in which he’d seen Violet before. “What happened to him then?”

“Married her. And they lived happily ever after. Well, as happily as they can in a small flat with four children and a dog.”

“Sounds idyllic.”

“They think so. There’s the light you’re watching for.”

A curtain went back in the upper window, a faint glow of a kerosene lamp behind it. Violet’s silhouette appeared, she looking down into the street. Daniel raised his hand, and Violet returned the wave, hers graceful.

She didn’t turn from the window. Violet watched Daniel, and Daniel watched her.

“Is this going to go on all night?” Simon asked. “If so, I’ll step to a wine shop. I don’t much understand the pubs in this country, but I’m learning to like the jug wine.”

“Get into the damned coach,” Daniel said. He knew he was making a complete fool of himself, but he couldn’t stop.

He took off his hat, blew Violet a dramatic kiss, jumped onto the step of the coach, and told the driver to go. Simon tossed down his cigarette and flung himself inside through the other door as the carriage pulled away.

Daniel remained on the step, waving with his hat as the coach rumbled down the street. Violet shook her head and let the curtain fall, but Daniel knew she was laughing at him. He clung to the side of the carriage all the way around the corner and into the next street.

If Daniel was going to make a fool of himself, he might as well do it all the way.

Violet had no idea why, the next day, she put on the best dress she owned and made a fuss over her hair. Daniel wouldn’t come. Their adventure was over, finished.

Not that Violet was finished with it. She’d lain awake most of the night, reliving the memory of Daniel lying behind her in the bed, his arm around her. She felt again the moment he’d rolled her over and parted her nightdress, then kissed her with such caring thoroughness. She remembered every touch, every heartbeat, every breath.

Violet dozed off as morning came, and she awoke to a tray of croissants, coffee, and a bite of cheese, but no Daniel. She donned a peach-colored broadcloth dress, the fabric so fine it felt like satin. The bodice had lace and braid appliqué, the sleeves modestly puffed, the skirt graceful. She couldn’t help but picture a warm look of approval in Daniel’s eyes when he saw her in it.

But he didn’t come at midmorning, nor at luncheon. As the afternoon wore on, Violet made herself stop pacing, sit down, and have tea.

Outside, the short winter afternoon was ending. Celine finally came out of her bedroom, where she’d been resting all day.

“Ah, Violet, darling, there you are.” She was dressed in her black bombazine, the brocade turban in her hand. “It’s almost time for our appointment. I’m glad to see you’ve dressed well for it. We’re going to be late.”

Chapter 13

“Appointment?” Violet’s hand jerked, and the tea in her cup nearly landed on her lovely peach skirt. “What appointment?”

Celine stared at her. “You’ve forgotten? You never forget appointments. But I see now why Mary had to rouse me. She didn’t forget. Monsieur Lanier, a banker, very rich. We’re going to his house to give his wife a bit of table-turning, remember? He’s not a believer, and neither is his mother, but Monsieur Lanier indulges his wife. At least, that’s what Mary says. She learned everything about him while you were gallivanting in the country, leaving your poor mother all alone in a strange city.”

“Oh,” Violet said. “That banker.” Monsieur Lanier had sent a letter to the concert hall, which Mary had collected the morning Daniel had whisked Violet away. Mary trotted every day to the concert hall for their mail, which was the address on the cards she gave out to the audience. They never told anyone where they truly lived.