The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie
Page 71

“I want to see you happy, is all. You flit about the world from country to country, car race to balloon race to horse race, city to city, woman to woman. As though you’re seeking something, but don’t know what.”
“Enjoying myself. Sowing wild oats. Learning. I’ll set the next land-speed record for motorcars this year, see if I don’t.”
“With Violet by your side?”
Ainsley always did know what Daniel hid in his heart. Daniel the boy had fumed when his father had caught him at his many pranks or hauled him home every time he ran away, though Daniel realized now he’d wanted to be caught at those things. As much as Cameron raged, at least his father was paying Daniel some attention.
When Ainsley, a slip of a young woman with fair hair and lovely gray eyes, had come into the lives of Daniel and Cameron, she’d discerned Daniel’s vices with a canny shrewdness. She’d known about his gambling, the dubious connections he’d cultivated, his affairs, his decadent friends. Daniel had given up much of this and settled down once Ainsley became his stepmother, to please her more than out of any fear she’d tell Cameron.
Now Ainsley peered at him with her knowing look, telling him his own secrets.
Of course Daniel planned to win the motorcar races with Violet by his side. No other woman Daniel had met had shown such interest in his projects and ambitions. Violet had looked at Daniel’s sketches and drawings and understood right away what he was trying to do, and even more importantly, why he wanted to.
“She’s fearless,” Daniel said. “Bless her.”
“So what will it be? Marriage? Or a torrid affair? And once you ruin her, what will you do?”
Daniel curled his hands as he held on to his patience. “You make me sound like a seducer in a melodrama.”
“You’re a Mackenzie,” Ainsley said. “And your father’s son. As Mac likes to say, Mackenzies break what they touch. Remember that.”
She had a point. Daniel shrugged. “It’s up to her. Violet can have it as she likes.”
Ainsley leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Daniel, it’s never up to us. Us ladies, I mean. Gentlemen do as they please, and women have to fight for every scrap. She’s been hurt before. I saw that in her. I for one don’t mind if she’s a stage actress or a fortune-teller, or whatever she is, as long as she makes you happy. I don’t think she’s after your wealth. I’ve met predatory women before—good heavens, your father was surrounded by them. Violet doesn’t have the look, at least not when she looks at you. As I said, I saw what was in her eyes.”
Daniel waited until she’d run down. “Finished?”
Ainsley contemplated her empty plate. “Yes, I think so.”
“I’ll tell you a secret then. I believe the one who’ll end up with the hurting this time is me.”
Ainsley looked up at him, her eyes softening in sympathy. “That bad, is it?”
“Getting there,” Daniel said. He let Ainsley close her hand over his and squeeze it. “Definitely getting there.”
“Poor Daniel. Well, you know you will have my help. At any time, for any reason. I owe you—you know what for—and I love you, Danny-boy.” Ainsley gave his hand another squeeze and released him. “Now, shall we try another cake? Or perhaps you could take me to the cabaret so I can watch the cancan.”
“Cake,” Daniel said quickly. “Dad would thrash me good if I took you to the cabaret to look at naked women.”
“Don’t be silly. I like the dancing. I can’t imagine how they’re able to kick their legs so high. And anyway, it’s not sordid. They wear drawers.”
“In some cabarets, especially this late, they don’t always.”
“Oh.” Ainsley looked thoughtful. “Yes. I can see where that would be a bit racy. Especially with the kicking.”
“Cake,” Daniel said firmly, and he waved the waiter over before Ainsley could argue any more.
Violet floated. She suspected the heat of the collected bodies in the theatre, smoke from the incense she’d wafted about, and lack of sleep caused some of it.
The rest was remembered joy. Violet walked about the stage in numb oblivion, going through the motions of their performance, speaking entire sentences before she knew she’d said anything. She was grateful for her costume with the veil, which would hide the glazed look in her eyes and the idiotic euphoria on her face.
Celine had kept them all awake until six this morning with her hysteria over her visions. Smoke, fire, grave danger. They needed to leave Marseille at once.
Or perhaps not. The trouble with Celine’s visions was they were maddeningly vague. Celine wasn’t certain where the disaster would take place. If they fled Marseille, their fate might await them in Cannes, Monte Carlo, Italy, or on a boat back to England.
Most of Celine’s premonitions didn’t come true, but every so often, one did—frequently enough to make Celine terrified of them. Privately Violet believed her mother in possession of a vivid imagination she didn’t bother to control. Disaster, large or small, came into everyone’s life at some time. It was inevitable. The world was a dangerous place, no matter how one tried to cushion oneself against it.
On the other hand, it didn’t hurt to be careful. Violet assured Celine she would check that the boardinghouse and the theatre were as safe as possible. She and Mary finally got Celine to sleep, with the help of a little laudanum. Celine was much calmer when she woke, and they made their way to the theatre, which seemed solid enough.