The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

“You are stronger than you think.” Daniel cupped his hands around her elbows. “And don’t worry, sweet. I’ll be right beside you to make sure you don’t fall.”

Violet’s eyes softened, and Daniel bent down to kiss her again.

Mars chose that moment to rush them, bending himself around Violet’s legs and running into Daniel’s. Daniel’s knees gave, and Violet laughed.

“Bloody dog,” Daniel growled.

“It’s cold,” Violet said. “He wants us to keep moving.”

“Yes, all right, let me round up the dratted horse. Don’t laugh so hard. If she’s run for the barn, we have a long walk ahead of us.”

But Medusa hadn’t strayed. Daniel got himself into the saddle, then helped Violet climb up in front of him. She expressed surprise when Daniel didn’t turn at once for the house, but he continued the lesson, riding onward, holding Violet fast and not letting her fall.

The remaining days before their departure to Paris passed too quickly. Violet lay in her bed the last night in Berkshire, too warm under the covers in the overheated room.

Her sleeplessness came from fear, not discomfort, the old panic sharpening itself inside her. All very well for Daniel to say it was best to face Jacobi and her fears, that Violet would be strong when the time came.

She saw no reason why Daniel and his lawyers couldn’t take care of everything without her. She might have to sign papers of some sort, but she could do that in an office in London, couldn’t she?

But Daniel was immovable. Violet was going with him to Paris. She’d look upon Jacobi and spit at him, then they’d go win Daniel’s race.

Violet shuddered. If she saw Jacobi again, she wasn’t certain what she’d do. She might go into one of her panics. She might run from him while he laughed. Or worse, she might feel sorry for him and forgive him again. Jacobi had played upon her the same way she played upon her mother’s audiences. He might play upon her still.

But Daniel wouldn’t let any of this happen, would he? He’d be there, making certain all went well. He wanted her to face Jacobi as Violet the woman, not the terrified girl.

I’ll be with you, love. Every step of the way.

And then what? What would Daniel want from Violet after that? To be his lover? His wife?

Violet doubted the Duke of Kilmorgan, Hart Mackenzie, with his eagle eyes and penetrating stare, would allow Daniel to marry a lower-middle-class trickster from Southwark. Daniel was in line to inherit the dukedom, albeit after Hart’s two sons and Cameron, but tragic things could happen to entire families—illnesses, accidents. Daniel could be duke before he knew what happened. The Mackenzies might accept Violet if she would only ever be simple Mrs. Daniel Mackenzie, but perhaps not if there was a chance she’d become Duchess of Kilmorgan.

Violet rolled over and kicked off the covers again. The house was silent, the children having at last been herded to bed. Knowing that Violet and Daniel were to leave tomorrow, the little ones hadn’t wanted to settle down.

Violet would miss them.

She sat up, reached for matches, and lit the candle in the old-fashioned chamber stick on her bed table. Tomorrow, she was leaving the shelter of this house for the world again, and the world was a dangerous place.

It’s best to face something head on, smash it, and move on with your life, Daniel had said the day he’d first taken her out on Medusa. Lingering and wondering, waiting and worrying . . . that kills you.

He was right, and not just about Violet facing her past. She needed to face her present too.

Violet thrust her feet into slippers, opened the door of her room, and ventured into the corridor. She nearly tripped over Venus, who panted up at her, tail thumping.

“Shh.” Violet put her finger to her lips, then reached down, her long braid falling over her shoulder, and patted the dog. Venus yawned noisily and got up to follow Violet.

The house had two long wings. The wide upstairs hall ran from one wing into the staircase hall, down a half flight of stairs, and up another half flight to the other wing of the house. Violet had been put in the guest wing, opposite the one that contained Daniel’s room. She knew exactly which was Daniel’s room, though, because she’d made it her business to know.

Silently Violet picked her way across the dark landing, her single candle lighting the way. She’d come to learn that one of the boards creaked in the middle of the landing—she avoided it.

Venus followed, her nails clicking when they left rugs for bare floor. Outside Daniel’s door, Venus sat down on her haunches and looked at Violet expectantly, tail moving.

“I need to go in alone,” Violet whispered. She might be ridiculous explaining things to a dog, but she felt the need to. Venus looked up at her in seeming understanding.

Violet opened the door and slipped inside the room. Venus gave a resigned sigh and lay down in the hall as Violet shut the door.

Daniel’s chamber was large and dark, the fire burning in the grate not as high as the fire in Violet’s room. The flickering light showed a large, low-post bed against one wall, with a lump of blankets on it. From the lump came a very distinctive snore.

Violet had to smile, though her lips were stiff with fear. She crept forward, stepping carefully so as not to trip on a corner of the carpet, or a discarded boot, or perhaps another dog . . . She put to use her experience moving through the dark at her mother’s séances to glide noiselessly to the bed.

Violet raised her candle. She had a moment of watery fear, worrying she’d gotten the room wrong, then the candlelight fell on Daniel’s face.