The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

Now that Hart stood before her and told her to go, however, Violet knew what the pain of it would be. Daniel called her strong, but she knew she wasn’t strong enough to leave Daniel behind for his own good.

“You might ask Daniel what he wants,” Violet said, voice losing its steadiness.

“Daniel is young, he’s wealthy, he’s generous. Any woman would like to get her claws into him.”

Violet remembered young Lady Victoria, who’d clung to Daniel’s arm while she all but demanded Violet predict that Daniel would marry her. Lady Victoria had slavered over Daniel’s wealth, powerful family, and handsomeness, and hadn’t cared one whit for the man himself.

That Hart could equate Violet with the steely little debutante hurt. “I’ve told you I’d go. But it’s Daniel’s choice too, isn’t it?”

“He’s from a family that makes notoriously bad choices. Including me. I’ve made hellaciously awful ones. If I can save Danny from them, I will. I’m sure you need money, Miss Devereaux. Name a sum and go. A clean break. That’s best.”

“You insult me.”

“I’m realistic, and so are you.”

“I don’t want your money.” Violet stopped. The desperate voice inside her told her to reach out and take what he offered. When her association with Daniel was over, she’d need money. She’d concluded that Daniel was right that she should face Jacobi and finish with him, and then the rest of her life was hers. But life was hard.

“You do want it,” Hart said. “I won’t name a sum. I’ll simply give it to you—after you’ve walked away from Daniel.”

“A bargain you could easily forget.” Violet met Hart’s gaze with a pride to rival his. “I’ll make a different bargain. You let the decision for me to leave be mine and Daniel’s, on our terms. In return I won’t let on to your wife that you were with a woman tonight. Or maybe I will, if you don’t leave me in peace. The duchess is a kind soul, and she doesn’t deserve to be betrayed by one such as you.”

To Violet’s surprise, the duke took on a look of pure astonishment. “With a woman . . . ?”

“I’m not a fool, Your Grace.” Violet assessed him again. “You were outside, in the grass, with a woman, drinking brandy—to keep warm no doubt. I do hope you won’t catch cold.”

Hart stared at her, his shock palpable. “Miss Devereaux, you are laboring—”

“Leave her be, Hart.”

The voice that rumbled through the open door to Violet’s room didn’t come from Daniel. It came from Ian Mackenzie.

Ian walked into the room, his gaze going not to the two people standing in the middle of it, but to the flame of the candle on the dresser.

“Goodness,” Violet said shakily. “Does no one in this house stay in bed?”

Hart turned to face his brother. Hart was still angry, Violet could see, but when he looked at Ian, his face softened. There was love there, a powerful love that Violet had rarely seen.

“Well?” Hart said, his voice rough with impatience.

Instead of answering Hart, Ian moved his gaze from the candle flame and fixed it on Violet, or at least on Violet’s shoulder. She saw him start to look back at the candle once or twice but then firm his resolve not to turn his head.

“When you are in Paris, you must look after Daniel,” Ian said to Violet.

Violet blinked. “Me look after him?”

“Danny is like me,” Ian said, ignoring her response. “He will go after what he wants and let nothing stand in his way. But I have learned to be careful. Daniel, though, will do anything, even sacrifice himself, to win.”

Ian’s gaze didn’t move from Violet’s shoulder. One of his hands was curled to a fist, the other half clenched. Ian too was fully dressed, but no scent of outdoors came from him. He’d been on his way out, not on his way in.

“You’re not just talking about Daniel’s motorcar race, are you?” Violet asked.

Ian didn’t change expression, but he switched his gaze fully to Violet’s eyes. “Don’t let him.”

Hart broke in. “Ian . . .”

Hart might have been a dust mote for all Ian paid attention to him. “Don’t let him,” he said to Violet.

The intensity of Ian’s gaze was unnerving. Violet wondered how he could exude more power with that look than Hart could with all his harsh commands.

“I won’t,” Violet said to Ian.

“Promise me.”

“Yes, I promise.”

Ian looked at Violet for a few more heartbeats, then he broke the gaze, studied the candle flame for a count of three, then made to leave the room. He turned halfway back when he reached the doorway.

“Hart was not with another woman,” he said to Violet. “He was with Eleanor. They like to meet in unusual places and try unusual things.” A look of amusement, a flicker only, passed through Ian’s eyes. “Beds are more comfortable.”

Hart, the great Duke of Kilmorgan, flushed dark red. “Yes, thank you, Ian.”

Ian shared another amused look with Violet, turned for the door, utterly ignored his brother, and walked out of the room.

Hart watched him go, again with the look of intense affection. “Ian has difficulty not saying exactly what he feels,” he said.

“So do you,” Violet countered.

“Touché. But Ian’s not wrong about one thing—Daniel is reckless, and he’s headstrong. I don’t want to have to tell Cameron that Danny crashed his motorcar at this time trial of his or bled to death in a knife fight with your husband. You seem to be a very careful young woman. If you insist on staying with Daniel, you had better take care of him. If something happens to him, I will hold you to blame.”