The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie (25 page)

Violet glanced across the house to see Daniel on his feet, applauding heartily. His stepmother stood next to him, also applauding and looking delighted. Ainsley was a foot or so shorter than Daniel, which emphasized Daniel’s height. Daniel shot an approving smile straight at her.

Much as she wanted to stay out front gazing at Daniel, Violet knew she couldn’t. She swept the audience a graceful gesture—a princess would never bow to commoners—and retreated backstage.

Even in her daze, Violet remembered to secure the take. She got her mother and Mary away out the stage door with the money, and returned to the dressing room alone to change to her plain shirtwaist and skirt.

The last time she’d left this theatre, Daniel had been waiting for her. Violet’s heart beat faster as she made her way out. He might not be there tonight, since he’d come with his stepmother, but Violet couldn’t stop her anticipation.

She stepped out the back door, preparing to close and lock it.

A strong hand landed on her shoulder. Daniel’s gaze was all for Violet as he pushed her gently back inside. Once they were in the hallway, his arms went around her, and his mouth came down on hers.

He kissed her for a long time, slowly, no frenzy tonight. But the kiss held heat and stole every bit of Violet’s breath.

Daniel eased away and touched her lower lip. “Ready?”

Violet swallowed. “Ready for what?” To take her to the country inn? This late? Or back to his wonderfully cluttered flat where he’d begun to awaken her? “Where is your stepmother?”

“Returning virtuously to the hotel to her husband and child. You and I, on the other hand, are off to enjoy ourselves. Thoroughly.”

Violet tried a smile. “Another balloon ride?”

Daniel’s answering smile was hot. “Maybe. Then again, who knows what I’ll do?”

Violet’s mouth went dry. “I have to lock up. Everyone’s gone.”

Daniel was looking her up and down. “You are lovely, as usual, but we’ll be needing something a little more formal if I’m taking you out.”

“Are you taking me out?”

“I am. What about that beautiful gown you were wearing onstage? Still have it with you?”

“It’s in my valise. But I don’t want anyone seeing me in it as Violet.”

“Of course. You’re right. But this is a theatre. Do you keep other costumes here? Ones you haven’t worn yet?”

“I don’t but . . .” Violet swallowed, his excitement catching. “There is a costume room.”

“Let’s have a look then.” Daniel gestured for her to lead the way.

The next hour was filled with laughter. Daniel lit all the lamps in the costume room, and they went through the wardrobes. Most of the costumes were for fanciful dramas, comedies, or operettas, plus some very skimpy things Violet assumed were for the fairies in
A
Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Daniel pulled out a confection of a gown called a robe à l’anglaise, from the eighteenth century, all puffs and lace, a narrow bodice, the wide skirt to be held out with panniers. “Very Marie Antoinette,” Daniel said, holding it up. “You’d look beautiful in it.”

“I’d look ridiculous on the avenues of Marseille in it,” Violet said. “Oh, look at this one.”

She lifted out a gown that had been made for a more modern play. The skirt was a dark blue satin, and the velvet bodice, cut low across the bosom, was beaded with shimmering onyx and stones that glittered like diamonds. Violet knew they weren’t real diamonds, theatres being notoriously short of cash, but the illusion was perfect.

The bodice had small puffed sleeves made to be worn off the shoulder. The gown left the arms very bare, intended to be worn with gloves. Plenty of those in the cupboards.

“Put that on,” Daniel said. “And we’ll go to the fanciest restaurant in town.”

Violet gathered the satin and beaded velvet to her bosom. “
Steal
the gown? The theatre manager would go spare. And make me pay for it.
If
he didn’t cancel our contract. Both probably.”

Daniel came to her, took the gown, and held it up against her. “I want to take you out. You can’t go in a prim shirtwaist. I want you to rival the fanciest women in Marseille, respectable or otherwise. Wear the dress, or we don’t go.”

Violet strove to keep a teasing note in her voice, though the heat of Daniel through the dress made her thoughts incoherent. “Will we go elsewhere if I keep to my prim shirtwaist?”

“No. Dress. Now. Don’t worry. We’ll bring it back.”

His eyes held his usual glint of mischief, but also something deeper that she couldn’t decipher.

Violet knew she should go sedately back to her boardinghouse, count the take, settle her mother, and look through the requests for private consultations. She should not steal a gown from the theatre’s costume room and go out on the town on Daniel’s arm like a common courtesan.

But Daniel had made clear he didn’t want to spend his evening with a young woman in sensible clothing. If Violet refused him and went home, like the good, respectable daughter she worked hard to be, she’d spend her evening as she usually did, alone, tired, looking after everyone but herself.

Being the good girl could be so very lonely.

Violet turned away with the dress and went resolutely behind the changing screen. She threw off her skirt and shirtwaist, putting on the costume over her corset and underthings.

“I need a lady’s maid to do up the back,” she said, holding the bodice around herself as she emerged.

“At your service.” Daniel turned Violet around and expertly fastened every button up the bodice. He did it swiftly and competently, which told Violet he was used to helping women dress.

Violet remembered the beautiful courtesans she’d seen him with and swallowed a sudden burn of jealousy.
Don’t think of it
, she told herself
. I’m with Daniel tonight.

She found gloves, but Daniel wouldn’t let her wear her own shoes. Lace-up boots didn’t go with the shimmer of the satin gown, he said.

They searched until they found a pair of high-heeled slippers that fit Violet. Violet suspected they went with the Marie Antoinette gown, but it didn’t matter. They were silver satin, fit, and looked perfect. A velvet cloak to keep her warm completed the ensemble.

Daniel helped Violet bundle her own clothes into her valise, took the key from her to lock the theatre door, then walked her down the alley to the waiting carriage at the end.

The vehicle was another sumptuous conveyance, with lacquered inlay and soft cushions. The driver greeted Daniel with friendly courtesy.

Daniel took Violet to the most fashionable restaurant in town, a giant dining room with a soaring ceiling punctuated with multitiered golden chandeliers. Smart waiters in black glided about the room, crowded at this hour. Violet’s gown received many admiring glances, the onyx beading shimmering as she moved.

Daniel ordered a feast. He gave Violet champagne, bubbly and sweet, delicate salads, roasted squab in a smooth sauce, tiny fish in an aspic. Elegant food for elegant people.

After the meal, Daniel ordered up hothouse strawberries, which were served alongside a bowl of sweet cream. Daniel plucked up a strawberry, dipped it into the cream, and tilted his head back to bring the confection to his mouth. He closed his lips over the strawberry, tongue coming out to lick the cream.

Suggestive, sinful. He swallowed the strawberry, looked over at Violet, and laughed.

“You look shocked.” Daniel dipped another strawberry into the cream. “Don’t you know I’m a wicked man? Here, have one.”

He held the strawberry out to Violet, its peak plump with soft cream. Violet leaned forward and closed her mouth around it. Daniel didn’t let go, waiting until she’d taken a bite.

Violet flushed as she came up, noting the people around her staring at their wonton display. Some looks were disapproving, but some were indulgent, the latter from couples watching as though remembering their courtship days.

Daniel fed Violet another strawberry. She bit down on the bright berry, contrasted with the smooth cream, the combination delightful.

Feeling bolder, Violet finished her strawberry, picked up another, slid it though the cream, and fed it to Daniel
.
Daniel closed his eyes as he bit down, cream dotting his lips.

He’d talked about desire—
Deep down, belly-clenching, blood-heating pleasure
. Violet was feeling it now, in the middle of a restaurant, in the middle of a crowd, with she and Daniel doing nothing more than feeding each other strawberries. When they finished the bowl, laughing together, they washed the berries down with more of the heady champagne.

If this is what it is to be bad, I never want to be good again.

Daniel also engaged Violet in conversation. Real conversation, as though they were friends. He told her about some of his travels and asked Violet about hers. Violet and her mother had performed in many cities, mainly on the Continent—France, the Italian states, Bavaria, Prussia, the Netherlands. Daniel, on the other hand, had traveled more extensively—from Russia through the Austrian Empire, to the Ottoman Empire, including Greece, Egypt, and Constantinople, and to other parts of the Middle East.

“I climbed aboard a dhow and sailed away to Smyrna, Acre, Jaffa,” he said. “If it had an exotic name, I went. I found the Tigris and Babylon and the heart of the Persian Empire. I learned that such places are much more romantic when read about as a small boy under the covers than when picking scorpions out of my boots, but it didn’t stop me.”

How wonderful to have the money and leisure to simply go where you wanted. No fetching hot water bottles and soothing away worries, no standing in front of people who had terrible hope in their eyes, waiting to talk with those they could not let go. No chilly boardinghouses and worrying about the rent, no keeping an eye on theatre managers so they didn’t cheat you.

But one needed money for freedom. If Violet had the money Daniel did, she’d make sure her mother had a host of servants to look after her, then Violet would run away and see the world. She knew the journey would be that much better if Daniel took it with her.

When they finished the champagne, Daniel took Violet to see a play, a comedy that was ridiculous and a bit risqué. Violet laughed as hard as the rest of the audience as the hero bounced onto the stage holding a golf club so that it appeared to stick out of his trousers. The heroine made requisite quips about his rigid club, both hero and heroine oblivious to the innuendo. Silliness, but the audience, well lubricated with wine, champagne, and brandy, found it hilarious.

Next, a cabaret. Violet watched the dancers in fascination—she loved dancing of any kind—while Daniel sat back in their little private booth, his feet up, a black cigarette dangling from his fingers. The show had more than dancing ladies—there were acrobats, men and women dancing together, and two men who told jokes, very funny indeed. Violet laughed and clapped and drank more champagne. During the last act, which was more dancing, Violet leaned back next to Daniel and shared a cigarette with him.

Daniel watched her take a pull, then he removed the cigarette from her mouth, leaned to her, and bit her lower lip. Violet tried to complete the kiss, but he sat back again, a half smile on his face, and resumed the cigarette.

Violet shivered, her body as hot as it had ever been.

So this was wickedness. Everyone who’d seen that exchange must suppose Violet was Daniel’s mistress, or his courtesan for the night. Violet supposed she was. And she could feel no shame.

Or fear. Daniel was making it no secret he wanted to be her lover. The dressing up, the restaurant, the conversation, the cabaret acts, and the champagne were all to relax her. Daniel leaning to take her lip between his teeth had been the most natural thing in the world. Violet felt no panic, only a frisson of pleasure.

She closed her hand around Daniel’s. He sent her a sideways look, eyes warm. He lifted her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it. His gaze was all for
her
, not the nearly naked women on the stage.

The final curtain went down. “Time to go,” Daniel said.

He led her out ahead of the crowd, signaled to his hired coachman, and handed her into their conveyance.

“Where to now?” Violet leaned against the cushions and closed her eyes, her sleepless night and the laughter tonight making her pliant and warm.

“Hotel.”

She opened her eyes in surprise. “With your father, stepmother, and sister?” Not that she wouldn’t mind meeting them all. She liked Daniel’s stepmother, whom Violet thought she could be friends with. Perhaps. She’d never had a woman friend before, so she wasn’t sure how one went about it. “Isn’t it a bit late for a visit?”

“Not that hotel. This afternoon I took rooms in another. I’d rather take you there than back to my dusty flat, with my work strewn about. I’m sorry about that, but last night I didn’t have another choice.”

“I liked seeing your work.” Violet found his ideas fascinating. “How many rooms did you hire in this city?”

“A few. I often do that. Never know when I might feel like sleeping somewhere different. Or lying low for a few days.”

Violet reflected again how wealth allowed a man to do anything he wanted.

The hotel was small but elegant, and what Violet supposed was meant by discreet. The doorman and footmen didn’t blink when Daniel handed out Violet and led her inside.

Daniel had a suite, of course, on the first floor, up a long flight of carpeted stairs. A parlor paneled in light polished wood with periwinkle blue and cream upholstery fronted a bedroom, entered through double doors.

Violet looked into the bedroom as Daniel closed the door to the suite. The bed was wide, a carved four-poster bedstead hung with velvet curtains. It looked comfortable, a nest for the rich. Perhaps she’d find out how comfortable it was tonight.

The thought made her throat close, the dratted panic welling up just when she wanted it to go away forever. That was the trouble—the panic could rise at unexpected times, catching Violet unguarded. Her fear of the fear was almost as bad as the panic itself.

She found Daniel’s hands on her waist, he turning her away from the doorway. “We’ll stay out here, if you like.” His look said he’d seen Violet stiffen, seen the relaxation start to drain away. “But someday, I’ll show you that a bed is a fine place, and not just for sleeping.”