“More spark, that’s it. And ease off on the choke. Excellent. Listen to that!”
The engine was loud, a constant sound, but at the same time it purred like a big cat. Daniel grinned as he wiped grease from his hands. The beast was alive.
He’d tested the motorcar in Berkshire a few times with Simon, but he’d not let Violet into the vehicle, as much as Violet had protested, until he made certain it was safe. He and Simon had put the brakes and gears through intense workings, Daniel fine-tuning and fiddling until everything was perfect. He’d spent the last few days, since their arrival in Paris, testing everything again. This morning, he’d announced that it was time for Violet to have her driving lesson. They’d brought the car out here via horse-drawn van, then Simon had helped unload it and left them to it.
Daniel climbed into the passenger seat, liking that the car was narrow enough that he and Violet had to sit close, arms and shoulders touching. “Ease back the clutch,” he said to her. “Slide it into gear, give it some throttle . . . and off we go.”
The car jerked then moved forward in fits and starts as Violet strove to figure out the correct balance between clutch and throttle.
Daniel sat patiently beside her, remembering how hard he’d worked to master the art when he’d driven his first motorcar. That had been at Gottlieb Daimler’s factory, where he’d ended up ordering a car for himself. He’d gone from there to Mannheim to buy one of Benz’s creations as well.
He’d had both motorcars shipped to his London house, drove them about a little, to the delight of his friends and neighbors, and then stripped them down.
The motorcar he’d built for today held none of the parts of the others, because that would be cheating. Daniel had learned everything he could by studying those cars, plus what others were doing in Britain, France, and America, then he built his from the ground up, based on his own ideas.
The car jerked along a while longer, then suddenly they were rolling forward, gliding smoothly. Violet’s concentrated scowl turned to a big smile. “It’s going!”
“Of course it is. You’re making it go. Now, how about the next gear?”
Violet struggled to maneuver the lever into position as well as work the clutch and hold the tiller steady. “Maybe you should have made this a two-person machine,” she said loudly over the engine. “Like a boat. One person to hold the tiller and the other to row.”
Daniel let out a laugh. “Nay, driving alone is pure freedom. No horses, no coachmen, no grooms, no waiting on anyone else. Just you and the wind and the machine rumbling under you.”
“Until you run out of fuel,” Violet said. “Then you go nowhere.”
“You’re a pessimist, love. Don’t throw cold water.”
“I’m practical. How can I flee the police if the car won’t run? With a horse, I can just gallop away.”
“Until the horse drops dead. Let’s try the brakes now.”
Violet pumped the foot brake and the motorcar slowed. Daniel showed her how to gear down and brake some more, then pull the hand brake at the end. The car rolled more slowly until it stopped altogether.
Violet swung to Daniel, her eyes shining, smile wide. “I did it! I drove it.”
She looked so happy like this, free of everything but the excitement of what she was doing. Daniel wanted to kiss her, but he held himself back. Let her enjoy the moment.
“Aye, that you did,” Daniel said. “And ye did it well, just as I knew you would. Now, want to see how fast it will go?”
The look in her blue eyes said she did. “What do I do?”
“First we ready ourselves.” Daniel reached into the back again and pulled out the other things he’d had Simon pack. He handed a bundle to Violet.
She stared at it. “You really want me to wear these?”
Daniel pulled a leather helmet over his head and settled goggles on his eyes. Gloves went on next. “If ye don’t want bugs in your hair and dust in your eyes, yes.”
Violet watched him then laughed. “You look like a fly.” Her gaze dipped to his plaid-covered lap, and Daniel tightened. “A Scottish fly.”
“Enough making fun of me, woman. Put it on.”
Violet didn’t look like a fly in her gear. She looked adorable.
They hadn’t lain together since the night in Berkshire. Daniel had spent all the nights since reliving every moment of what they’d done. Every heated, erotic moment.
But Daniel had no intention of ruining what they’d begun by pushing her too hard. To that end, they had separate bedchambers in the Grande Hotel, filled their days working on the motorcar, and filled their nights showing Violet the splendors of Paris.
Daniel had Violet get the car moving forward again and guided her to the first gear, then to second. When they were moving along at a smooth pace, it was time for the top gear. “Ease in more on the throttle. More . . . more . . . yes.”
The motorcar sped up, then sped up some more. Violet fought the tiller—Daniel really needed to find a more efficient steering mechanism. The wheels skidded on the mud of the farm road, but Violet moved the tiller from side to side, naturally finding her way out of the spin.
The car kept moving. Fast and faster. Fields stark with winter rushed by on either side of them.
Violet flashed Daniel a triumphant look, then she laughed. Wind buffeted them, freezing and bracing.
“It’s like flying!” Violet shouted, and let out a whoop.
Violet embracing the world. A beautiful sight.
The road curved sharply to the right. Violet’s eyes widened as the bend zoomed up fast. Daniel had his hands with hers on the tiller as they pulled it around the bend, the wheels slipping and sliding under them.
The car went into a spin. Daniel was thrown back into his seat, but Violet set her face and hung on to the tiller, her tongue pushed between her teeth. She wrestled with the car, pulling and pushing the brakes and gears until the car came out of its wild skidding and moved in a straight line again.
Daniel thought she’d gear down and stop the car, but Violet gave him a look of wild glee and pushed the motorcar to go even faster. She leaned forward, the joy on her face wonderful to behold.
They were moving fast, faster than Daniel had thought the car would go. The best speed anyone in Europe or America was reaching at the moment was about fifteen to twenty miles per hour. Daniel and Violet had left twenty far behind. Forty was more like it. Or fifty.
Violet let out a wild noise. Every bit of fear in her was gone. She was free. And Daniel loved her.