Jennifer Ashley: The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

The planchette said Yes .

Mademoiselle Violette was very good, but Daniel was good too. “What message?” he asked.

Ellingham joined them on the planchette again, and it started to move. Around and around it went on the board, back and forth, sliding toward a letter only to slide away before it could stop. Daniel felt Violette’s subtle but steady pull, and he subtly but steadily pulled back.

Mademoiselle kept her countenance absolutely still. If the spirit’s indecision vexed her, she made no sign.

The planchette at last halted at the letter F . Ellingham said excitedly, “Someone should write this down.”

A gentleman obligingly drew a small notebook and pencil from his coat pocket and wrote F .

The planchette moved again. It stopped at U , paused for a time, then slid innocently to the letter C. After another pause, it began a rapid journey toward the letter K .

Mademoiselle jerked her hand back, and the planchette stopped dead. The room filled with snickers and chortles.

“Well,” Violette said, turning to fully face Daniel. “The spirit seems in a mischievous mood tonight.”

Her eyes sparkled like candle flames on a frosty night. They looked at each other, neither offering to glance away first. Mademoiselle’s cheeks took on a faint flush, but other than that she sat as still as marble.

Damn, but she was beautiful, and defiant too. No simpering miss in her first Season, hoping to snare the wealthy Mr. Mackenzie, one of the most eligible bachelors in Britain. Why the hell young women were taught that pretending to be frail should make men fall madly in love with them, Daniel didn’t understand. The frail act made Daniel want to suggest the lady eat robust food and take plenty of exercise until she felt better.

This young woman could walk five miles in a storm, brush off her skirts, and comment offhand that the wind was a bit brisk today. Then in the next breath she’d tell someone like Daniel and all his money to go to the devil.

Mademoiselle Violette’s lips parted. The moisture between them beckoned. Daniel wanted to send Mortimer and his irritating cronies out into the cold and have Mademoiselle to himself, to ask her to perform for him alone. No layabouts of the English ton watching, no Mortimer. Just Daniel and this lovely lady, a candlelit room, and time.

“Enough of these parlor games,” Mortimer broke in angrily. “I told you, Mademoiselle, Mackenzie came here to see the whole show. So give it to him.”

Daniel had to turn away from Violette’s beautiful eyes, and for that, Mortimer would pay. “Shut your gob,” Daniel said. “She’s done enough for tonight, and you still owe me two thousand quid.”

Mortimer was halfway out of his chair. “I’m paying for a show, and by God, I want one.”

Daniel started up himself, ready to go over the table to him, but Mademoiselle raised her hands, her voice cutting through the impending tempest.

“The spirits are here! Now! ”

A freezing wind swept through the dining room, extinguishing the candles in one go. The room plunged into darkness. In the middle of the table, where the candles had burned, a pale, luminescent blob began to form and spread.

Before Daniel could sit down, a heavy grip seized him by the arms, and someone very strong dragged him up and out through a door and into a pitch-dark room. The door shut, cutting him off from the wind, Mortimer, and the enchanting Mademoiselle Violette.

Daniel twisted and swung around, his punch contacting flesh in the dark. A man grunted, then an answering blow landed on Daniel’s face before he could spin out of the way.

More blows came down. Daniel fought back. His punches landed on a gut like a brick wall and an iron-tough jaw. Giant fists hit him in return, on his eyes, face, chest. Finally Daniel’s punch contacted a solar plexus, and the man grunted again, wheezing bad breath over Daniel’s face.

Daniel shoved the man away and steadied himself on his feet. He couldn’t see a damn thing, and his first step led him smack into a table on which things clattered and clinked. A heavy thud and hoarse breathing told Daniel where the gentleman had fallen, but there was no telling how long he’d stay down.

The short fight had been brutal, the man deadly strong. Daniel shook out his right fist. So much for not hurting his hands.

Daniel took another step forward, this time connecting with a chair. Good enough. He sat down and stripped the gloves from his stinging hands.

“If I can’t finish my motor in time, I’m blaming you,” Daniel said, pulling a box of matches from his pocket.

“I only want the money,” the man on the floor said between gasps.

“You’re the bloke who’s been following Mortimer tonight, aren’t you? What does he owe you?” Daniel struck a match against his boot, and a spark flared to life.

“Five thousand.”

Daniel gave a short laugh. “The idiot. And he owes me two.”

“I’ll have it out of him. I’ll have it out of you. You took all his money.”

“No, I won it fair and square. What he owes you is between him and you.”

The light from the match showed Daniel a table beside him loaded with trinkets. A hurricane lamp waited in the midst of the clutter, and Daniel lifted its chimney to touch the match to the wick.

The glowing light fell over the hard-faced man who lay stretched out on the floor. He looked less intimidating with his arm over his stomach, his face sickly green.

“I can’t go back until I have it,” the man said, struggling to breathe. “It’ll be my life.” He had a London workingman’s accent.

“Hired hand, are ye? What’s your name?”

“Simon. Matthew Simon.”

“Nice and biblical. So it’s kill me or go back and be killed, is that it? Brutal times we live in.”

“That’s the size of it,” Mr. Simon said grimly. “Sorry and all that. But don’t really see a way around it, sir.”

The man did sound regretful. But not apologetic. He had a job to do, and he would use any means to get that job done.

“Tell you what, Mr. Simon, why don’t you come and work for me? Right now. You won’t need to run back to your master empty-handed. You can stop beating on me for the cash, and I’ll pay ye a decent wage.”

“Work for you?” Simon gave Daniel a long, suspicious stare. “Doing what?”

Daniel shrugged. “Lifting and carrying, keeping an eye on things, helping me with my engines when I need it. What do ye say? If ye have another go at me, I guarantee, I’ll do my best to make sure you crawl home.”

Simon’s breathing was easier, but he made no move to get off the busily patterned carpet. “No man’s ever knocked me down before. I thought I was too big.”

“There’s a trick to it.”

“Ye know about fighting.” Simon sounded admiring. “Dirty fighting.”

“I was raised by men who fight dirty. Rules are for the polite. How about it, Mr. Simon?”

The man went silent. Daniel could almost hear the gears turning in Simon’s head as he went through the possibilities open to him. Finally he heaved a long sigh. “I’m your man.”

“Good,” Daniel said. “Now, how did ye get into the house? Ye didn’t hurt that poor little maid to do it, did ye?”

“Naw, I just scared her a bit.”

“Hmm. I think she needs a rise in wages.”