The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie Read Free Page B

sat down beside Violet and looked her in the eye. “Prepare yourself for what?”
    One of Mortimer’s friends, Mr. Ellingham, answered, “To contact the other side, of course.”
    Daniel kept his gaze on Violet. “The other side o’ what? The room?”
    “The ether,” Ellingham said impatiently. “She’s a spiritualist, man. Didn’t you know? Madame and Mademoiselle Bastien are the most famous spiritualists in London.”

Chapter 2

    The flash of disappointment in Daniel’s eyes stung Violet. Stung her hard. Why she should care what this man she’d never seen before tonight thought of her, she didn’t know, but she did.
    Plenty of people didn’t believe in spiritualism and scoffed at what Violet and her mother did. They didn’t believe a trained medium could contact those beyond the veil, to let the dear departed send comforting messages to the survivors.
    Just as well
, Violet’s inner voice drawled.
You don’t believe it either.
    Violet knew she’d never felt the cold touch of the otherworld or the trembling ecstasy her mother found in her trances. She’d never seen a ghost or a spirit, and had never had one talk to her, or knock at her, or do any of those other useful things spirits could do.
    But she’d become very, very good at pretending she did.
    That Mr. Mackenzie didn’t believe shouldn’t bother her. Jacobi had told her never to argue with an unbeliever, but to ignore him and move on to the next mark.
    Violet should close to Mr. Mackenzie and concentrate on the other gentlemen, to make him feel that he was left out somehow, to make him doubt his own disbelief.
    So why didn’t Violet turn away with her superior little smile, her amused disdain? Why did she keep wanting to look at him, to explain that she did this for survival, and beg him not to dislike her for it?
    Daniel leaned his elbow on the table, stretching the fine cloth of his coat. “The other side, eh? I’d like to see that.”
    Mortimer said, “You’re in for a show then. That’s why I said she’s worth more than a motorcar or a horse.”
    A motorcar or a horse?
Violet’s anger surged. She wished she did have the powers she claimed to, so she could curse Mortimer into living out his life as a rabbit, or at least being a disappointment to any ladies he took to bed.
A horse.
God help us.
    The gentlemen finally ceased speaking, quieting to watch her prepare. Violet’s preparation was part of the show—when she closed her eyes and drew long breaths to calm herself, her breasts pressed hard into her tight décolletage. Distracted the clients wonderfully.
    When she opened her eyes again, however, she found Mr. Mackenzie not distracted in the slightest. Instead of letting his gaze drop to her rising bosom, as the other gentlemen had, Mr. Mackenzie smiled straight into her face.
    Never let skeptics make you nervous
, Jacobi had said.
Give them a show in spite of their disbelief. Make them doubt their own doubts.
    Violet glanced around the table, trying to ignore Daniel. “All is calm tonight, the veil so thin. Mr. Ellingham, I believe we were very near reaching your father the last time. Shall we try again?”
    Before the eager Mr. Ellingham—who was attempting to find out where his now-deceased father had hidden away about ten thousand pounds—could answer, Mortimer broke in.
    “Contact someone for Mackenzie. He’s my guest tonight. His dear old mum, perhaps.” Mortimer’s eyes glinted with dislike.
    Violet didn’t miss Daniel’s flash of anger. The flicker was brief and instantly gone, but Violet had seen it. Whatever had happened to Mr. Mackenzie’s mother, his anger about it ran deep; the hurt that accompanied it, massive.
    “Perhaps that would not be for the best,” Violet said quickly.
    Mr. Mackenzie’s mask dropped into place. “Aye, let me mum rest in peace. Tell you what, why don’t you contact me dad, instead?” He sent her a guileless look.
    Too transparent. Violet gave him a sweet smile. “If you wish me