Most of Daniel’s shirt buttons had gone flying when Violet had torn into him, so he had to make do with securely buttoning his waistcoat and arranging his frock coat to cover himself. Ainsley stood up when they were ready, setting aside the line drawing she’d been studying.
Violet glanced at the drawing as Lady Cameron put it down. Neat lines showed a cross section of some machine, with labels, letters, and numbers. Violet was pretty sure part of the machine had wings.
“What are you building here?” Violet asked in curiosity.
“Just jotting down ideas.” Daniel fetched his greatcoat and wrapped it around Violet.
Ainsley smiled. “Our Danny’s a bit of a genius, but I’m afraid no one but Ian really understands what he comes up with.”
“I’ve told you, it’s all perfectly simple, Stepmama.”
“If you’re an engineer. Which I am not. Shall we go?”
Daniel slid his arm around Violet as they walked back down the stairs and moved swiftly through the wind and passages to the main street. Daniel betrayed no shame that he’d been caught by his stepmother dallying with Violet. He walked along without comment and handed both ladies into the coach as though he’d been escorting them to a respectable night out at the opera.
Mary waited inside the carriage, her eyes round. She wouldn’t say why she’d been chasing after Violet—in fact she said nothing at all.
Daniel took the seat next to his stepmother, and the two of them began a lively conversation as the coach turned for the main streets. Daniel talked with Lady Cameron in a relaxed manner, teasing her as much as she teased him.
Violet thought of the story he’d told her of the lonely little boy who’d hoped that one of the women his father brought home might stay and be his mother. Daniel might not have found a mother, but he’d discovered a comrade in Ainsley, a lady he obviously respected and admired. And loved. Lady Cameron had filled the space in Daniel that had been empty. The pair had a warm, strong relationship that Violet envied.
The coach stopped at Violet’s boardinghouse all too soon. Daniel jumped down and handed out first Mary, then Violet. Mary thanked Daniel politely then ran ahead into the house, opened the door, and waited for Violet.
Violet’s time with Daniel was over. She unwrapped the greatcoat he’d lent her and handed it to him, feeling herself lose part of him as she did so.
Daniel gave her a smile that spoke of the sensuality of the evening and touched her cheek. Violet clutched the warmth of it to herself like a cloak.
“Don’t kiss her in front of her respectable boardinghouse, for heaven’s sake,” Lady Cameron said from the coach. “You’ll ruin the girl.”
Daniel’s eyes filled with laughter. He stuck out his hand, shook Violet’s, and executed a bow. “Until tomorrow, my lady.”
Violet didn’t want to let him go. Daniel had opened a new world for her tonight, and she wasn’t ready to leave it.
Daniel released her hand, and she realized she’d been clinging to it. “Go on, now,” he said in a gentle voice.
Violet swallowed, managed a “Good night,” and turned to follow Mary into the house.
She tried to linger in the doorway so she could watch Daniel swing into the coach and roll off into the night, but Mary closed the door behind Violet, cutting off her view.
“I never knew he was so rich,” Mary said. She started up the stairs, and Violet ascended slowly behind her. “Looks like he’s taken with you, miss. If you keep him on a string, you’ll be the making of us all.”
Keep him on a string. After the beautiful night Violet had just lived, the phrase sounded vulgar and coarse.
“There’s no question of me keeping him on a string.” Violet had to let Mary unlock and open the door to their rooms, because she knew she’d never manage keys tonight. “When we leave Marseille, I’ll likely never see him again.” And that would leave a large hole in her heart.
“Then best you get as much money and as many jewels as you can from him now,” Mary said, ever practical. “And don’t trust the jewels to a bank. A gentleman can always make a bank give them back to him.”
Mary’s expression was ingenuous. She saw no objection at all to Violet becoming Daniel’s mistress—a very sensible solution for women in need of money, to her mind.
But Mary’s words continued to tarnish the brightness of the night. “Mr. Mackenzie won’t be giving me any jewels,” she said.
Even as Violet spoke the words, she envisioned herself sitting at a dressing table with Daniel coming behind her, smiling his wicked smile, diamonds in his hands. He’d lay the necklace across her bosom, fasten the clasp with gentle fingers, and lean down and press a kiss to her neck.
Violet craved it. Not the jewels, but the intimacy of it. Daniel choosing a gift with Violet in mind and warming her as he gave it to her.
“Miss?”
Violet jumped, finding herself back in their faded sitting room. She crossed to the window, but a glance outside showed her that Daniel and his coach had already gone. “I’m sorry, Mary. Now, why were you searching for me so desperately?”
Mary looked worried. “It’s your mum. She’s had one of her premonitions.”
“Oh dear.” Violet’s euphoria faded. Her mother often had dire visions of their future, which, unfortunately, sometimes came true. “Is she all right? Have you put her to bed?”
“I did, but she went on something awful. Begged me to find you, said she wouldn’t settle until you were safe back here. It was a bad one tonight. She foresaw all kinds of dire horrors, especially for you. Fire, smoke, and death, all mixed up. She’s very afraid, miss.”
“I see.” Violet sighed. She patted Mary’s shoulder, gave her the pouch of tips she’d earned from her fortune-teller’s bowl, squared her shoulders, and walked into her mother’s bedroom.
Chapter 20
Ainsley wanted to stop at a restaurant.
“They won’t let us in this late,” Daniel said.
“Nonsense. There’s the little one next to the cabaret—they serve people far into the night. Besides, they have the most marvelous torte you must try. Cake smooth as butter, with raspberry jam between the first two layers and luscious chocolate glaze dripping down the sides.”
Daniel looked at her with fondness. Ainsley had been a friend from the moment he’d met her. “You do love your cake, Stepmama.”
“So do you, Stepson. I remember when we made our way down the boulevards of Paris, trying cake at every patisserie in the city. Drove your father wild.”