The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie(70)
Author: Jennifer Ashley

Leaving Violet alone with Daniel. Daniel went on drinking coffee, his silence heavy.

Violet rose from the sofa, picked up her empty cup, and went quietly to his table. She sat down opposite him and poured out another stream of coffee into her cup. Daniel watched her, not pretending to ignore her, but he still didn’t offer to speak.

“You saved me today, Daniel,” Violet said. “I know I can never repay you for it, but you saved my life. Monsieur Bellec was not going to let me go.”

Daniel had lifted his cup to drink but now he clattered it back to his saucer. “Damn it, Violet, stop talking about repayment. I don’t want any kind of payment from you.”

“I know you don’t. But you deserve to know some things about me.” Violet set down her coffee and twined her fingers together on the tabletop. If she clasped her hands hard enough, maybe they wouldn’t tremble.

Daniel waited, saying nothing.

“I was born Violet Devereaux. My father was a Frenchman, as I’ve told you. His family emigrated to England before he was born. We lived in South London—you guessed right about that—in a poor but respectable neighborhood. My mother learned when I was about eight that she had clairvoyance, or so she thought. She started out giving séances for friends then was hired by others to do them. She decided to go to Paris when she’d saved enough in fees to try our luck there. That’s where I met Jacobi, who taught me about how to give a memorable stage performance and sell more tickets. I’ve taken many names since then, all to sell tickets and keep us out of trouble.” Violet took a breath. “The name Violet Devereaux is the real one. But my married name is Violet Ferrand.”

Chapter 23

“Married name.” Daniel sat still, the words meaningless to his stunned brain. He felt the same as when she’d crashed the vase into his head.

“Yes.” It was a whisper, filled with shame and a little bit of defiance.

Daniel was on his feet, his realization returning. “Married?”

“Yes.” Violet said again.

Daniel walked to the door that led out of the car then swung around and strode back, his temper rising with every step.

All the Mackenzies had berserker rage within them, inherited from generations of men fed up with people trying to kill them and steal their land. Daniel’s grandfather had used the rage to terrorize his family. Uncle Hart had used it to terrorize England. Uncle Ian’s anger had turned around and terrorized himself. Daniel felt the rage beat through his veins now—at Violet, at himself, at whoever had made her like this.

“Bloody hell, woman!” His Highland Scots erased every bit of English elocution ever drilled into him. “When were ye planning to tell me? Or were ye at all? If you’d gotten away from the police by yourself, I’d have never seen you again, would I? You would have run, just like ye did in London, just like ye’ve done time and again in the past, haven’t ye? Not bothering to tell Daniel, that poor blithering idiot, that ye’d gone!”

Violet’s face was stark white. “I was going to tell you. About both things. I promise. I planned to tell you all about the marriage at the inn if you took me there today. But the police arrived . . .”

“If? If I took you to the inn?” Daniel slammed his hand to the table, making the coffee cups dance. “Did ye think I had no intention of doing that? Even though I’d said so? Did ye think I was playing with you?” His anger rose. “So you said, aye, ye’d like to go back to that cozy inn with me, looking happy about it, but all the time ye thought I was lying?”

“I didn’t think you lied,” Violet said, her words heating. “I thought you meant it at the time. But you might have forgotten or changed your mind. How was I to know?”

“Why the devil would I change my mind?”

Violet’s own temper sparked in her eyes. “Because you’re an aristocrat! You can afford to ride across France in a private train car and hang up a costly balloon in a tree and shrug about it. You can do anything you want, Daniel Mackenzie. Why should you bother telling the truth to me?”

“Well, you haven’t bothered much telling it to me!” He put his fists on the table. “But I’ve never lied to you, Vi. I’ve been nothing but honest. That’s my trouble, ye see. I’m painfully honest. I don’t like secrets, so I don’t keep them.” He straightened. “But let’s come back around to you being married. Where is the lucky fellow? Does he know you gad about the world and seduce hapless young men? Am I just another mark? You knew all about me and my family the minute I walked into your dining room in London. Did you look at me and decide I was ripe for the plucking?”

Violet flinched at his words, but Daniel didn’t feel like being kind. She’d played him, the same way she’d played Mortimer and all the other young men around the table that night. And Daniel, dazed by her beauty, had tumbled right on his ass.

Violet’s lips were bloodless. “You mean the moment I met you, was I supposed to hold out my hand and tell you my life story? How could I know my life story would even matter to you?”

“Would matter to me? Everything about you matters to me, Vi. What if I were fool enough to get on my knees and propose to you? Would you have mentioned the marriage then?”

“I told you—I planned to tell you tonight at the inn.” Violet’s eyes were filled with fury, but also tears. “I am telling you tonight. It took me a long time to gather the courage to say the words—I know you’ll probably toss me to the wind once you know everything, but I want to tell you. I’m trying to.”

“Don’t throw this back at me, love. I’ve been square with you from the moment I met you. And you’ve returned half-truths, lies, and evasion. Hell, you even dumped me in a cart when you couldn’t wake me up.”

Violet jumped to her feet, the cups clattering again as she jarred the table. “And I didn’t ask you to follow me across Europe, or to spring upon me in the theatre in the middle of my performance. I thought you’d want to stay far, far away from me.”

“A simple You know, Daniel, I’m married might have convinced me to.”

“I doubt it.” Violet’s eyes sparkled blue. “You take whatever you want, damn all who get in your way. You want to test your theory about flying, so you take my wind machine, you take your friend’s balloon, you fly it into a tree—but it’s all right, you’ll buy him a new one. We’re stuck in a storm, but it’s all right, you’ll charm the innkeepers into giving us the best room in their house. And a woman you want to bed is caught by the police, but no matter—you’ll get your father to call in favors and take her out. Why?” Violet balled her fists. “Why not leave me alone? If I’ve lied to you and evaded you, why the devil don’t you just leave me alone?”