The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

“No!” Daniel struggled for control. “If you have pity on me, no. Please. Don’t make me beg.”

Too late, Daniel was already begging. He opened his eyes to find Violet regarding him in fascination. She watched him the same way she had on the balloon when he’d tinkered with the engine.

Now, if they could be doing this in the balloon . . .

God, why did he have to think of that? Daniel’s imagination put them soaring high above the winter fields. Only this time, his kilt lay on the bottom of the basket, and Violet was smiling at him, her hands full of him. A little later, she’d slip to her knees.

“Oh, Lord.” Daniel snaked his hand under the plaid, wrapped it around Violet’s, and guided her down him in one stroke. “Like that,” he said, voice broken. “Like that, lass.”

Violet froze again when Daniel took his hand away, and he prayed he hadn’t frightened her. He was about to pass out and fall off the sofa anyway, though, so it really didn’t matter if she stopped.

Violet took a breath, laid her head again on Daniel’s shoulder, tightened her hand around his hardness, and stroked as he’d shown her.

Daniel shook down to his boots. The sweet friction made everything within him loosen. Her quick slides, clumsy at first, became smoother as Violet gained confidence.

A new world opened for him. Daniel was no stranger to bodily pleasure, but the way Violet had warmed and trapped his heart made for a very different experience.

Desire clamped his body until ordinary sensations were gone. The musty scent of the room, the heat from the fire that made the space close, and the hum of activity on the street far away—all dissipated. Daniel was aware only of Violet, of holding her warmth against him and the beauty of her touch.

His climax came before he was ready. Daniel shoved the startled Violet away, grabbed his handkerchief, clamped it around himself, and lost his seed into it. His hips pumped, wanting to drive into Violet, not his somewhat unsatisfactory hand. But Daniel wouldn’t hurt her for the world.

He slung his arm around Violet and pulled her to him. The kiss that followed was frenzied and desperate. Daniel’s blood burned, as though some drug raced through his veins. He needed Violet, needed everything about her.

She kissed him back as fiercely. Strong, proud Violet.

By the time Daniel had spent his seed, they were curled together on the narrow confines of the sofa. Violet lay against Daniel, and he stroked her hair, kissing it, their silence saying more than Daniel could shout.

Violet lay against Daniel’s side in the warmth and quiet of the room, breathing in peace. She liked that Daniel didn’t want to talk. She could bask quietly in his warmth as he ran a slow hand through her hair. Whenever he bent down to kiss her, the kiss was soft but holding the remnants of passion.

I think I’m falling in love with you, Daniel. The words whispered through her. No, it’s too late. I’ve already fallen.

Violet needed to soak up this moment, this happiness, to save for forever. She had so few good moments in her life that she stored each as she would a precious jewel.

The peace of Daniel’s cluttered room was shattered by a sturdy knock at the door.

Daniel grunted and snatched up the kilt that covered them both. He gently moved Violet’s feet aside, then rolled to stand up, wrapping the kilt around him as he moved to the door.

“Bloody neighbors,” he said. “Probably coming to borrow something so they can have a look at the lovely lady I’ve brought home. Don’t worry, I’ll send them away.”

The knock sounded again. “Daniel,” came a woman’s voice, quiet but determined. “I know you’re in there.”

Violet’s happiness sloughed away like wet sand. She leaned down and plucked her drawers from the floor, standing up to pull them on, her skirts falling to hide her bare legs.

“Perfect,” Daniel grumbled. “Not what I need to make my night complete. I hope she didn’t bring the shrimp with her.”

What that meant, Violet had no idea, but Daniel seemed perfectly sanguine to open the door to one of his mistresses.

His body blocked the doorway as Daniel peered out. “Yes?”

“Do let me in, Danny. It’s freezing out here. I know you brought the fortune-teller with you, so if you are both decent, I need to come in. I’m not so easily shocked as all that.”

Daniel glanced back at Violet to see that she was dressed—barring her stockings and shoes, which Violet hastily kicked under the sofa. He gave Violet an apologetic look and pulled the door wide, admitting the wind, and the woman.

The lady wasn’t a courtesan. Worse. She was his stepmother.

“Hello, dear,” Lady Cameron Mackenzie said as Daniel closed the door and leaned back against it. “I’m Ainsley Mackenzie. You’re Violet?” Ainsley strode across the room, her hand outstretched. “Your maid is searching frantically for you. She’s in the coach.”

“Oh . . .” Violet began, but Ainsley broke through.

“I thought it no coincidence Daniel disappeared from the soiree at the same time the comtesse lost track of her fortune-teller. I had to bully the coachman mercilessly until he confessed he brought you both here.” Her smile shone out. “I adore a good fortune-teller. Have you got the true gift, or is it just for fun?”

Ainsley held Violet’s hand firmly, looking straight at her. Violet’s quick assessment—which she couldn’t stop herself making—showed her a woman confident and content, but one who hadn’t always been so. Ainsley had a darkness in her eyes that spoke of loss. She also carried worry that she would lose again. The fear was buried deep, but present.