Daniel loved this hunk of metal. Violet saw it in the way he looked upon his creation, in the way he laid a tender hand on it. She was excited about it too—she’d always had an unladylike fascination with motorcars, steam engines, and other machines.
“I’d be interested to see it go when you’re finished,” she said.
“See it go? Vi, my love, you’re going to help me make it go. That’s why I brought you here today. I need your help to finish the thing. I thought if you saw it, you’d be more eager.”
“My help?” Violet stared in surprise. “How can I help build a motorcar?”
“Because you understand mechanics. I knew that as soon as I saw your wind machine, and you so proudly said you’d put it together yourself. I could use your knowledge to design the cooling pumps, which won’t be much different from your wind machine. Ye have a keen mind, lass. I intend to use it.” He grinned at her. “Did you think it was only your body I was after?”
Violet let out a nervous laugh. “I knew you were wooing me for my machines.”
“Oh, I’m wooing you for an entirely different reason. The fact that you can build intricate machines is a separate blessing.”
Violet imagined any other lady growing offended at his words. Lady Victoria, the debutante who’d clung so tightly to Daniel in Marseille, would have walked off in a huff. Violet only wanted to laugh.
Daniel came around the engine to her, his arm stealing around her waist. “Say you’ll help me, Vi. I want this done for the time trials in Paris, and I want you by my side when we win them.”
Violet could never think properly when Daniel was close to her. He was warm in the cold of this shut-up dusty house, with its treasure in the back parlor. When he was near her, she wanted to do anything for him, be anything for him.
And to kiss him. She rose on her tiptoes, sliding up his body, and kissed his lips. Daniel was still angry with her, she saw that under his teasing, but she couldn’t stay away from him.
Daniel’s mouth was stiff, his whiskers rough under her lips. He returned the pressure but without his usual heat.
Violet kissed him again. Daniel made a surrendering noise in his throat, and this time, his answering kiss was fierce. He crushed her up to him, his broad hand forming to her backside.
Violet slid her hands up his back, wishing the thick greatcoat and the clothes beneath were gone. Touching his skin in the hotel in Marseille had been heady, licking sweet chocolate from it had been heaven itself. What they’d done in his small apartment, with his papers crinkling under her on the sofa, had sent her to madness.
She wanted the fire of his mouth on her opening again, the touch that had spiraled her to joy. That madness had held no pain, only the sensation of soaring free.
I need you with me every moment, Daniel Mackenzie. And it terrifies me.
Violet never heard the footstep through the roaring in her ears, but she became aware of a presence in the room. She broke the kiss and stepped back.
Daniel looked at Violet in puzzlement, brows drawn, his attention all for her. Then he lifted his head and saw the man in a greatcoat standing next to the motorcar, running a gloved finger over the cylinder block.
“Uncle Ian.”
Daniel’s words were a greeting, but the man didn’t turn around.
Daniel didn’t seem bothered by the abrupt appearance of his uncle. Ian didn’t look at Daniel but continued gazing at the motorcar and its configuration of gears as though he saw and understood every nuance.
“Well?” Daniel asked. “Have I got it?”
Ian turned his head slowly, finally looking straight at Daniel. He had golden eyes, lighter than Daniel’s, and as penetrating as a hawk’s. “Yes,” he said.
Chapter 25
Daniel went to Ian and clapped him on the shoulder then quickly removed his hand as though worried how his uncle would react to his touch. “Thank you.”
Violet wasn’t sure what the exchange meant, but Daniel was beaming. “Violet, come and meet my uncle Ian. The most maddening man in the world.”
Violet didn’t understand that either, but she stepped forward and held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, my lord.”
Lord Ian Mackenzie was tall, like the other Mackenzies she’d met, and broad of shoulder, with dark red hair. But he was different from the others as well. While he shared the restless energy she’d seen in Daniel and Cameron, Ian channeled his into a focus that was more intense even than Daniel’s.
Ian remained motionless for a moment or two, then he clasped Violet’s hand as though he had to remember the correct response to the gesture. Ian’s grip was plenty strong, though, no hesitation or shyness.
He withdrew his hand with the same slow deliberation and remained standing in front of Violet. Ian’s gaze met hers fleetingly, then moved past, but Violet knew she was still the subject of his attention.
There was a stillness about him Violet hadn’t seen in Daniel, a calm he’d found, but she sensed it had come only after a long struggle. Ian was not a man who would be effusive, she decided, but not because he had nothing to say. Violet saw behind the amber eyes thoughts from the fleeting to the most profound, chasing one after the other.
“She was worth finding, don’t you think?” Daniel asked Ian. “I am forever in your debt.”
Ian again met Violet’s gaze very briefly then turned back to the motorcar. “Worth finding,” Ian said. “But easy to find.”
Daniel rolled his eyes. “Easy, he says. All I had to go on was a false name and that you vanished from Mortimer’s house in the middle of the night. Oh, certainly. I should have found you in a trice.”
Ian’s answering words came out in a monotone, each one the same speed and emphasis. “Names are not important. You asked me to look for one middle-aged woman, one young woman, and one maidservant. Five such parties purchased tickets on trains from London on that night. Two went west to Somerset and Dorset and to middle-class homes and families. One went north to Leeds—a cook, a lady’s maid, and a maidservant to work in a house. Two parties went to the Continent. One went north. They spoke Dutch and the mother and daughter were leading members of their church. The final set went to Marseille. A few days after they arrived, advertisements for the Countess Melikova and Princess Ivanova went up in the streets. You told me they worked as mediums, and Countess Melikova was billed as a clairvoyant. Simple.”
Violet listened to his speech, eyes widening. “Good heavens, how did you know where all those people went and that they bought tickets, and so forth? And that they spoke Dutch?”