“Telegrams,” Ian said.
“Add to that the fact that Uncle Ian knows everyone in Great Britain and half of France,” Daniel said. “The one thing he stated in all that was the most interesting bit: Names are not important. Ian looked for the people, not the names. Names, as you know, are so easily changed.”
Violet’s face warmed. “So I have heard.”
Daniel shot her a grin. “This means you’ll never be safe from me, Vi. No matter how far or fast you run, I’ll find you. I will tear apart the world looking for you. I guarantee that.”
The intensity of his look made Violet shiver. He meant it.
Ian had lost interest in them. He gave the motorcar one last look, then he walked out of the room to the hall. “Beth is waiting,” he said over his shoulder.
“And that is that,” Daniel said. He held out his arm to Violet. “Time to go, love. Welcome to my crazy family.”
They stayed in London three days. During that time, Daniel watched Violet relax, little by little, into the bosom of the Mackenzie family.
His choice of having her stay with Ian and Beth had been wise. Violet would have remained quiet and withdrawn against the power of Hart, and even against the exuberance of Isabella and Mac. Violet’s mother withstood Hart, Daniel saw, because she was so absorbed in her own world that she didn’t notice him. The way Hart’s stern power bounced off Celine was a delight to watch.
Beth, of all the Mackenzie ladies, had grown up a pauper, in the rougher areas of London, which gave her something in common with Violet. They’d both struggled to survive and had suffered cruelty. Daniel caught Violet and Beth once or twice in deep, serious conversation, which broke off when Daniel entered the room. And then they’d look mysterious—or worse, laugh.
Daniel used the time in London to run errands and get his motorcar taken apart and packed into crates. Simon, who’d arrived a day after Daniel with the rest of the baggage, kept a watchful eye on things. Once Daniel was certain his engine was safely away to Berkshire, to be met by Cameron’s trusted man, Angelo, Daniel turned his attention to his most important errand.
He visited Mr. Sutton in his Park Lane home, this time sending word ahead for an appointment. When he arrived, the thin, spare Mr. Sutton saw him in the same quietly luxurious study that Daniel had been ushered to before.
Daniel had decided after debating with himself not to use Ian’s skills for this matter. The way could grow dangerous, and Ian wouldn’t bother to hide what he was doing. Ian could take care of himself, but Beth would never forgive Daniel for putting Ian in any kind of danger.
Sutton waited for Daniel to seat himself before he began, without preliminary. “I see in your eyes again that what you want me to do is about a woman. I believe I made clear that I have no interest in domestic troubles.”
“The man I want found is a criminal,” Daniel said. He accepted brandy from Sutton’s butler and sipped it, reflecting that it was some of the best he’d tasted. “A Frenchman by the name of Jacobi Ferrand. He might be dead; he might not. I don’t know.”
“Then go to the police. In France, preferably.”
“The crime was a long time ago. And yes, it involved a woman. I mean to make him pay for what he did.”
Sutton heaved a little sigh, which barely moved his body. His eyes, on the other hand, were ice cold. “Revenge is a waste of time, Mr. Mackenzie. Trust me. Be knight-errant to your woman another way.”
“I intend to pay you handsomely for the information.”
“No doubt. But it’s a fool’s game. I want no part of it.”
Daniel sat back and took another sip of brandy. “I’ll have to convince you, then. She isn’t just any woman. She’s different.”
“So every man has said since time immemorial.”
“Yes, that’s true. I’ve met plenty of women, Mr. Sutton. From a young age, I have had mistresses whose beauty and skills would astound you. Skills they taught to a young man, because I was ever so rich. I also got to know them—courtesans are living, breathing women, you might be surprised to learn. With dreams and ambitions, some longing for a better life, one in which they won’t have to rely on wealthy men’s sons for survival. I became quite good friends with some of the ladies and am still. And then I met Violet.”
Mr. Sutton was listening but striving to look uninterested. “Another courtesan?”
“She’s neither one thing nor the other. Which is why I say she’s different. She’s not from the upper-class families whose mothers throw their daughters at me with alarming ruthlessness. She’s not a courtesan, selling her body and skills in exchange for diamonds and riches. She’s not a street girl from the gutter, selling her body to survive. She’s not a middle-class daughter, striving to live spotlessly and not shame her parents. Violet faces the world on her own terms, making a living the best she can with the skills she has. And everywhere, everyone has tried to stop her. They’ve used her body to pay their debts. They’ve used her cleverness to bring them clients. They’ve used her skills at understanding people to make them money. Everyone in her entire life has used her in every capacity she has, and yet, she still stands tall and faces the world. They’ve beaten her down at every turn, and still she rises. This is a woman of indomitable spirit. And I want to set her free.”
Sutton watched him in silence a moment. “A nice speech, Mr. Mackenzie. You mean you want this woman for yourself.”
“Aye, I do. And I intend to persuade her as hard as I can to stay with me. But first, I need to find this Jacobi and get her free of him—if she is indeed still bound to him. He might be dead. He might have annulled the marriage and remarried. The vengeance part of it, I’ll deal with on my own. I only need you to find him and discover whether his marriage to Violet is legal.”
“And if it is?” Sutton looked more interested now.
“Then I go in with my barrage of solicitors and make it un-legal. Annulment, divorce, whatever it takes. I have plenty of money at my disposal and have many friends in the legal profession in both France and Britain. I don’t anticipate a problem.”
“You have the optimism of the young,” Sutton said. “Anything you want, you reach out and take.”
“It’s a besetting sin of the family. Uncle Hart had his own personal brothel at my age, where he trained ladies in the art of exquisite pleasure. He trained them, not the other way around, the pompous bastard. Dad had his own racing stable, Uncle Mac was already a celebrated artist with a scandalous marriage. I’m a bit late in the proceedings for a Mackenzie.”