The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie(98)
Author: Jennifer Ashley

Her blue eyes sparkled. “If I hadn’t stayed, Simon wouldn’t have been there to save your life.”

“But if you had died, love, I wouldn’t have wanted to live.”

Violet stilled. Daniel caressed her face again, his heart pounding and making him sick. If he’d lost her . . .

He cupped his hand around the back of her neck, pulled her down to him, and kissed her. The kiss grew long, warming, seeking.

“I almost lost you,” Violet whispered. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“Never.” Daniel kissed her softly again. “Marry me, Violet Devereaux.”

Violet caught her breath. “Marry . . . ?”

Daniel attempted a shrug, flinched from the wash of pain the movement brought, and stilled until it receded. “We’ve been pretending to be man and wife. Why not make it real?”

Her look turned cautious. “I’m not the sort of woman a man like you marries. It would be a misalliance.”

Daniel stopped smiling. “Listen to me, love. The Mackenzies are aristocrats only because one of our ancestors saved the life of a king in 1300 and something. The king was grateful, so he called that Mackenzie a duke. Queen Vicki decided she’d show how much she loved the Scots by making my grandfather duke in the English peerage about fifty years ago. But we’re Scottish, not English, and we’re not obsessed with titles. The great Hart Mackenzie, Duke of Kilmorgan, isn’t even clan leader. Oh no, Hart bends his knee and pledges fealty to The Mackenzie at every clan gathering, and he’s not ashamed to do it. My family would be far happier if I married you, an intelligent woman with the fortitude to stand up to me, than if I married someone like Lady Victoria Whatsit, a wisp of a girl who only wants a rich husband. They’d have to have dinner with her, you see, and your conversation is so much more interesting.”

Violet was laughing. “Daniel.”

“Therefore, you should marry me, Violet. It’s the only reasonable solution.”

“I’m older than you.”

“I prefer it that way. I grew up fast, and I have no patience with girls fresh out of the schoolroom.”

“And I’m a fraud. You knew that the moment you met me. I’ve been so many different people.”

“And now you’ll be Violet Mackenzie.” He touched the tip of her nose. “I know exactly who you are. And so do you.”

“Yes.”

Daniel’s heart beat faster. “Yes, you know who you are?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” Violet’s smile broke through, the look in her eyes telling him all he needed to know.

“Vi.” Daniel closed his eyes. The emotions pouring through him made his body ache like hell, but the pain was a small price to pay. He opened his eyes again. “Vi, you’re . . .” Daniel gave up and pulled her down to him. “Don’t ever go,” he said, voice harsh. “Without you, my life would be . . . just going through the motions.”

Words died as Daniel held her. Violet rested her forehead against his, her tears falling to his cheeks. “I can’t go back to being without you,” she said. “I can’t.”

“Then we won’t ever be apart.” Daniel slid his hand beneath her hair. “We won’t ever.”

“I love you, Daniel Mackenzie.”

“I love you Violet . . . Whoever you might be today.”

“Mackenzie,” she said, and her smile filled his world. “I will always be Violet Mackenzie.”

“The best name I’ve ever heard,” Daniel said, and lost himself in her kiss.

Chapter 32

The next several months were a whirlwind. Daniel recovered, then recruited Simon to help him finish the last task he wanted to accomplish before he left France.

Daniel fairly quickly ran the red-bearded man to earth. Jacobi had given him the name Edmund Collard, who, it turned out, owned several bistros and gambling establishments in Paris. Collard also loaned money to gentlemen at high rates of return—usually to use at his roulette tables—then threatened dire fates if the men couldn’t pay him back.

Daniel had spent his convalescence learning much about Collard’s day-to-day routines, and he entered one of Collard’s bistros one night when he knew the man would be there.

Collard sat at a private table in a corner, a few gentlemen with him. His finely tailored suit, well-made gloves, and neatly trimmed beard and side whiskers made him look like any other respectable Parisian businessman. He held a thick cigar in one hand, a glass of tawny port in the other as he spoke to the gentlemen at his table.

Collard appeared to be perfectly ordinary, with the exception of his eyes, which were like cold steel.

Daniel saw those eyes turn to him as he walked to Collard’s table. Collard took in Daniel’s expensive suit and gold-headed walking stick with the air of one who could calculate worth in the space of a moment. Daniel looked like a wealthy Briton come to Paris to spend his money, which was exactly how Daniel wanted to appear.

As Collard assessed him, Daniel reached the table and leaned to him. “A word in private, if you please, Monsieur.”

Collard looked him over again. Daniel had set this up carefully, making certain Collard learned that a young, wealthy Scotsman who liked to gamble sought to borrow money from him. The young man had gotten himself into a bit of a bother, went the rumors Daniel had made sure circulated. He would put himself completely into Collard’s hands.

Collard nodded, unhurriedly laid aside his cigar, excused himself to his friends, and led Daniel through a door in the back of the restaurant. On the other side was a room full of ladies and gentlemen gathered around five roulette wheels. The clacking of the wheels, the heat of the bodies, the scent of smoke and perfume, and the groans or laughter of the players filled the space.

Daniel followed Collard through another door and into an office, where Collard offered Daniel a brandy and poured it himself. Daniel accepted the brandy, took a sip, then dashed the rest of the liquid into Collard’s face.

Collard blinked a moment in surprise, then dangerous rage flared in his eyes. He reached for a bell on his desk, but Daniel brought the walking stick down on Collard’s wrist. Collard struggled, but Daniel held his wrist firmly.

“I’ve come on behalf of a friend,” Daniel said, amazed his voice was so steady. “You knew her as Violette.”

Collard’s face remained blank. He’d never heard of her.

This was the man whose face Violet had seen as she’d lost her innocence, as well as any sense of comfort in the world. Because of him, Violet had faced pain, terror, and humiliation, followed by years of fear, confusion, and shame. Collard and Jacobi between them had robbed her of a normal marriage, a family, and any idea that life could be punctuated with moments of happiness.