“Nonsense,” Ainsley said. “But we will speak of it later.”
Ainsley bent a glance at Daniel, who was seated at another table drinking coffee, his back to them. Violet knew Ainsley and Cameron had helped her for Daniel’s sake, no other reason.
She also knew Daniel was quite angry, and rightly so. Violet had many things to tell him, and he might be even angrier afterward. But she wouldn’t shy from it.
Ainsley sent Violet a shrewd look. She rose briskly, going to Celine. “Now, then, Madame, you are drooping and need to sleep. You too, Gavina. Come along. No, sweetheart, do not bother to argue.”
Gavina, who was seven, had started to protest, then caught the look in her mother’s eye and snapped her mouth shut. A child who had learned at a young age when not to argue.
Ainsley held out both hands, one for Violet’s mother and one for Gavina. She marched them through the door of the rocking car that led to the bedrooms. Cameron, in silence, pushed aside his tea leavings, rose, put a folded paper under his arm, and strolled casually out the front door of the car, heading for the main part of the train.
Leaving Violet alone with Daniel. Daniel went on drinking coffee, his silence heavy.
Violet rose from the sofa, picked up her empty cup, and went quietly to his table. She sat down opposite him and poured out another stream of coffee into her cup. Daniel watched her, not pretending to ignore her, but he still didn’t offer to speak.
“You saved me today, Daniel,” Violet said. “I know I can never repay you for it, but you saved my life. Monsieur Bellec was not going to let me go.”
Daniel had lifted his cup to drink but now he clattered it back to his saucer. “Damn it, Violet, stop talking about repayment. I don’t want any kind of payment from you.”
“I know you don’t. But you deserve to know some things about me.” Violet set down her coffee and twined her fingers together on the tabletop. If she clasped her hands hard enough, maybe they wouldn’t tremble.
Daniel waited, saying nothing.
“I was born Violet Devereaux. My father was a Frenchman, as I’ve told you. His family emigrated to England before he was born. We lived in South London—you guessed right about that—in a poor but respectable neighborhood. My mother learned when I was about eight that she had clairvoyance, or so she thought. She started out giving séances for friends then was hired by others to do them. She decided to go to Paris when she’d saved enough in fees to try our luck there. That’s where I met Jacobi, who taught me about how to give a memorable stage performance and sell more tickets. I’ve taken many names since then, all to sell tickets and keep us out of trouble.” Violet took a breath. “The name Violet Devereaux is the real one. But my married name is Violet Ferrand.”Chapter 23
“Married name.” Daniel sat still, the words meaningless to his stunned brain. He felt the same as when she’d crashed the vase into his head.
“Yes.” It was a whisper, filled with shame and a little bit of defiance.
Daniel was on his feet, his realization returning. “Married?”
“Yes.” Violet said again.
Daniel walked to the door that led out of the car then swung around and strode back, his temper rising with every step.
All the Mackenzies had berserker rage within them, inherited from generations of men fed up with people trying to kill them and steal their land. Daniel’s grandfather had used the rage to terrorize his family. Uncle Hart had used it to terrorize England. Uncle Ian’s anger had turned around and terrorized himself. Daniel felt the rage beat through his veins now—at Violet, at himself, at whoever had made her like this.
“Bloody hell, woman!” His Highland Scots erased every bit of English elocution ever drilled into him. “When were ye planning to tell me? Or were ye at all? If you’d gotten away from the police by yourself, I’d have never seen you again, would I? You would have run, just like ye did in London, just like ye’ve done time and again in the past, haven’t ye? Not bothering to tell Daniel, that poor blithering idiot, that ye’d gone!”
Violet’s face was stark white. “I was going to tell you. About both things. I promise. I planned to tell you all about the marriage at the inn if you took me there today. But the police arrived . . .”
“If? If I took you to the inn?” Daniel slammed his hand to the table, making the coffee cups dance. “Did ye think I had no intention of doing that? Even though I’d said so? Did ye think I was playing with you?” His anger rose. “So you said, aye, ye’d like to go back to that cozy inn with me, looking happy about it, but all the time ye thought I was lying?”
“I didn’t think you lied,” Violet said, her words heating. “I thought you meant it at the time. But you might have forgotten or changed your mind. How was I to know?”
“Why the devil would I change my mind?”
Violet’s own temper sparked in her eyes. “Because you’re an aristocrat! You can afford to ride across France in a private train car and hang up a costly balloon in a tree and shrug about it. You can do anything you want, Daniel Mackenzie. Why should you bother telling the truth to me?”
“Well, you haven’t bothered much telling it to me!” He put his fists on the table. “But I’ve never lied to you, Vi. I’ve been nothing but honest. That’s my trouble, ye see. I’m painfully honest. I don’t like secrets, so I don’t keep them.” He straightened. “But let’s come back around to you being married. Where is the lucky fellow? Does he know you gad about the world and seduce hapless young men? Am I just another mark? You knew all about me and my family the minute I walked into your dining room in London. Did you look at me and decide I was ripe for the plucking?”