The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

Violet let out her breath in a huff. “I’ve just promised Ian I’d look out for him. But I don’t know why either of you believe I can control every move he makes. Daniel does as he pleases.”

“Do your best. If you want to prove you are good for Daniel, then make sure he comes to no harm.”

Violet had not lost her fear of the duke, but overbearing men always put her back up. “Is that a threat, Your Grace?”

“It’s a fact. Good night.” The duke gave her a proper bow and at last departed, closing the door behind him.

He left Violet in a jumble of feelings—anger, outrage, wonder.

The fact that both Ian and Hart had stopped by to explain to her that Daniel needed looking after betrayed their worry about him. Cameron never said a word, but Violet had seen the same concern in him too. In Mac as well, as careless as he pretended to be.

Daniel was a beloved son, the Mackenzie men were telling her. And Violet needed to make certain he came to no harm.

Violet wasn’t sure she could. She couldn’t imagine that she had any power over Daniel, that he needed her the way she’d come to need him.

Even while she stood in the middle of her bedroom, worrying about what the duke and Ian had told her, the physical memory of joining with Daniel lingered. She still felt the absolute joy of lying in Daniel’s arms while he made her feel like the most cherished woman in the world.

Her life had changed tonight. She knew that the Violet going forward would be nothing like the Violet she was leaving behind.

“Here we go,” Daniel said to Violet. He leaned over the door to the driver’s seat where Violet sat waiting, taking a moment to gaze upon his creation as well as the delectable woman inside it.

The motorcar, in all its glory, sat on a long, straight, empty farm road outside Paris, ready for a test run and Violet’s first time driving it. The body, painted a sunny yellow, was long, low, and narrow, the wheels with their pneumatic rubber casings riding high around the chassis.

The gear chains and driveshaft were secure beneath the car, protected from breakage by a welded metal casing. At the very front of the car was the pump he and Violet had come up with, based on Violet’s wind machine, to cool the monster engine. A high-backed bench stretched across the inside for driver and passenger, the padded, tooled leather giving the machine a touch of luxury. Beautiful Violet sitting upright on the seat made the whole thing perfect.

Daniel rubbed his ungloved hands together, breath fogging in the crisp winter air. This moment had been a long time coming.

“We put the gear in neutral,” Daniel said, reaching over the door to move the stick. “This little lever here makes the ignition ready to go, and this one keeps it from sparking too soon. Then we ease in on the throttle to give it some fuel—like that. Pull out the choke and hold on to it—cuts off air to the fuel mix, better for starting. Right? Now, don’t move.”

Daniel lifted the hand crank from the space behind the seats, into which Simon had also packed a large picnic basket and some blankets. Daniel moved to the front of the car and inserted the crank into the starting hole.

Remembering to keep his thumb cupped with his fingers—he’d seen men break their wrists starting engines like this—he pulled up hard on the crank. The engine coughed once, tried to catch, then died. Daniel cranked again. “A little more throttle!” he called. Violet nodded and reached for the lever.

On the fifth try, the engine roared to life.

Daniel snatched away the now loose crank, tossed it into the back, and returned to Violet’s side.

“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!”