The Many Sins of Lord Cameron (10 page)

Then Jasmine shied, swinging her hindquarters toward Ainsley as a heavy tread sounded in the stable yard. Ainsley dove aside in case the horse decided to kick, but Jasmine wasn’t intent on kicking.

She bolted through the half-open door and ran for freedom, shoving aside Angelo, Daniel, the dogs, and the large form of Cameron Mackenzie, who was bearing down upon them.

Chapter 9

“What th’ devil did ye think you were doing?” Cameron shouted at her in the dark of the stable yard.

Angelo, sliding bareback onto another of the horses, rode quietly out in pursuit of Jasmine. Daniel and the dogs followed Angelo on foot, while a stable boy hurriedly saddled a horse for Cameron.

Cameron’s big hands clamped Ainsley’s shoulders, but her annoyance at being manhandled was mitigated by the fact that Cameron had every right to be angry. Jasmine was a racer worth a lot of money and had been entrusted to Cameron’s care. The Scottish wilderness was full of holes to break Jasmine’s legs, icy streams to carry her away, bogs to swallow her.

“Don’t blame Angelo,” Ainsley said quickly. “Or Daniel. I left the door open.”

“Oh, no worries there, lass, I blame all three of ye. Angelo had no business letting you in, and Danny had no business bringing you out here at all.” His anger wiped away any English veneer he might have—he was an enraged Highlander ready to reach for his claymore.

“I believe the horse didn’t spook until a large Scotsman came charging in to see what we were up to.”

Cameron’s eyes flashed. “I never thought you’d be daft enough to crawl around a stall with a half-crazy racehorse!”

“I had to get my ribbon back.”

Cameron let go of her, but his rage didn’t lessen. “Ribbon—what the devil are ye talking about?”

“She was eating my hair ribbon. I didn’t think you wanted her to choke on it.”

He stared at Ainsley’s bare head. “What possessed you t’ give it to her in the first place?”

“I didn’t
give
it to her. She has a long neck and strong teeth.”

Cameron’s palm pressed where Jasmine had ripped a lock from Ainsley’s hair. His voice softened a notch. “Are you all right, lass?”

“I’m fine. My brother Patrick had a horse who regularly took chunks out of anyone near her. I still have the teeth marks to prove it. If she couldn’t reach your flesh, she’d happily chomp on your hat or coat, skirt or shirt. Jasmine only pulled out my hair ribbon.”

Cameron didn’t appear to be listening. He caressed Ainsley’s hair with a gentle hand. “Jasmine’s gotten away from Angelo before,” he said. “No horse gets away from Angelo. The little sweetheart is giving us a lot of bother.”

“Shouldn’t you be running after her?”

“I wanted to make sure ye were all right, first.”

Ainsley’s heart sped at the gentleness in his voice. “Not to mention shout at me.”

“And shout at you.” His eyes sparkled again. “Do ye always walk into a horse’s stall so fearlessly?”

“Since I was three and liked to stand under their bellies.”

“Good Lord, lass, I pity your parents.”

“Brothers. My parents died when I was very young. My oldest brother was already twenty and looked after the lot of us. Pity poor dear Patrick. I drove him mad. Still do.”

“I don’t doubt.” Cameron’s voice had lost its anger, his hand continuing to caress.

Ainsley wanted to step to him, to absorb more of his heat against the chill wind that cut across the meadow. In her rather lonely existence the last six years, she’d never been so warm as this night.

“You’d better go find your horse,” she said.

“She’s not mine. She’s only borrowed.”

“All the more reason.”

“Angelo’s the best horseman and tracker in the world, and I’m not finished with ye yet.”

Why did the words make her shiver with pleasure? “No?”

The stable boy was approaching, leading the horse he’d saddled. Cameron slid his big hand behind Ainsley’s neck and scooped her up to him for a fiery kiss.

It was a kiss filled with promise, one that told her he hadn’t forgotten what he’d started in his study, nor his intention to finish it.

Cameron released her, turned as the stable lad reached them, and swung up on the horse with easy grace.

Ainsley folded her arms against the sudden cold as Cameron rode off into the night, the stable lad waving him away.

It took the rest of the night to catch the bloody horse. By the time Cameron led Jasmine in, lathered, scratched by bramble—and if he didn’t know better, smug—the sun was up, and his two trainers were already out with horses on lounge lines. Cameron rubbed down Jasmine himself, and Angelo watered her as Cameron quit the stables for the house.

He bathed, dressed in fresh clothes, and went to the sunny room in Mac’s wing where a private breakfast was served for the family. It was only eight, but during a house party, Isabella and Beth rose early to coordinate the activities for the day.

These breakfasts involved whatever family members were awake and hungry—brothers, sisters-in-law, Daniel, valets, dogs. When Cameron entered, Isabella and Beth were already chattering about the day’s schedule. Mac sat close to Isabella, reading a paper and stealing his hand to his wife’s whenever he could. Ian ate slowly and steadily, listening to Beth and no one else. Ian’s valet, Curry, ate with gusto, the former pickpocket still reveling in the fact that he now lived the high life. Angelo was absent, the man deciding to remain in the stables with Jasmine, as were Daniel, Hart, and Mac’s pugilist valet, Bellamy.

Curry jumped up to serve Cameron, but Cameron waved the little man back to his chair and helped himself to eggs and sausages, bannocks and coffee. He plunked the plate and cup to his usual place across from Isabella and snatched part of the racing newspaper from Mac.

Without looking at it, he said to Isabella, “Tell me everything you know about Mrs. Douglas.”

Isabella’s brows rose in surprise, then she smiled. “And why are you so interested in Ainsley Douglas?”

“Because she’s busy corrupting my son, my valet, and my horses. I want to know what I am up against.”

Cameron didn’t miss Beth’s sudden smile and Mac’s knowing grin.

“I wondered when you’d confess,” Mac said. “I noticed the way you looked at her when you saw her in Isabella’s front parlor last year.”

“Was she in Isabella’s parlor last year?” Cameron asked.

Cameron knew damn well she had been, though he’d seen her for only a moment. He’d walked into Isabella’s London parlor, bent on helping Isabella and Mac through a crisis, and seen Ainsley there looking sweet as you please. She’d flushed as she’d moved fluidly past him and out the door, skirts pressed to the side as though fearing they’d touch him.

Mac only chuckled. “Cam, old man, you’re going to be snared as thoroughly as the rest of us.”

A pot of honey for the bannocks reposed near Cameron’s plate, and he lifted the dripper, letting the honey trickle back into the bowl. “Talk,” he said to Isabella.

Isabella rested her elbows on the table and planted her chin on her hands. “Let me see, Ainsley’s father was a McBride, her mother the only daughter of Viscount Aberdere. Ainsley’s mother and father both died of typhoid in India when Ainsley and her youngest brother were just babies.”

“She told me that her oldest brother raised her,” Cameron said.

“He did. Patrick McBride was already twenty. He got Ainsley and her three other brothers out of India and all the way back to the family home in Scotland. Patrick married soon after that, and he and his wife, Rona, brought up the others. They sent Ainsley to Miss Pringle’s Select Academy, wanting to make a lady of her. That’s where I met her, and we became fast friends.”

“Partners in crime,” Mac added. “Mrs. Douglas taught my dear wife how to pick locks and climb into and out of windows.”

“Ooh,” Curry said. “Sounds interestin’.”

“I never mastered the art,” Isabella said. “Not like Ainsley. She was our ringleader for midnight feasts and practical jokes. We were quite awful.”

“I can imagine,” Cameron said. “What did she do after she finished at the academy?”

“Ainsley never finished,” Isabella said, sounding surprised he didn’t know. “In the summer before her final year, Patrick and his wife took her on a trip to the Continent. They decided to stay there for a year, in Rome, I think. When I next saw Ainsley, in London, she was already married to John Douglas. Mr. Douglas was a very kind man, but at least thirty years her senior. Ainsley seemed content enough, but I always wondered why she married him. I’ve speculated, but she’s never told me, and I don’t like to pry.”

“Yes, you do,” Beth said. “When you first met me, you made me come home with you the moment I mentioned Ian.”

“That was different, darling,” Isabella said. “That was family.”

Cameron lifted the honey dripper again. The amber folds cascading down made him imagine swirling the honey over Ainsley’s naked body. Slowly, slowly licking it from her skin, savoring each sticky drop.

He looked up to find Ian watching him, no doubt guessing Cameron’s exact thoughts. Ian so rarely looked at anyone straight in the eye that when he did, it could be unnerving.

Cameron put down the dripper. “And since her husband’s death, Mrs. Douglas has worked for the queen?”

“Indeed, she has. Ainsley’s mother and Lady Eleanor Ramsay’s mother were good friends, and the queen adored Ainsley’s mother. So one year when the queen was at Balmoral, Ainsley and Eleanor Ramsay were staying with a mutual friend nearby. The queen visited with them, and when the queen discovered who Ainsley was, there was nothing for it but that Ainsley should come and work for her. The queen finagled Ainsley into her household somehow and made her a lady of the bedchamber.”

Mrs. Yardley had told him much the same thing. “So, she and the queen are chummy.”

“Not really. Ainsley is grateful for the position and the salary, but she finds it trying at times. The queen doesn’t like to let her leave very often. I’m surprised Ainsley was allowed to spend two weeks with me here, but I’m happy for it.”

Isabella picked up her coffee and sipped, clearly finished with her story.

“Is that all?” Cameron asked.

“Isn’t that enough? I’ve chattered on about my friend’s private life long enough, and I told you that much only because Daniel told me he caught you kissing her.”

Mac started laughing, damn him, and Curry was getting an earful to spread below stairs.

“Stop all the confounded smirking,” Cameron growled. “I’m not looking to marry her. She’s disrupting my life.”

Isabella lost her smile. “She’s a dear friend, Cameron. Do not hurt her.”

“I have no intention of hurting her. I want her to cease pulling me into her affairs and to quit meddling in mine.”

“Stop kissing her then.”

Cameron saw by the faces turned toward him that they were going to line up against him. None of them understood the damage a woman like Ainsley could do to his sanity. The thrumming in his body wouldn’t go away when he was around her, and he’d already lost two nights of sleep because of her.

What Cam should do was pack his bags, load up the horses, and retreat to his house in Berkshire where he had his main racing stables. He could join his other trainers and continue with Jasmine in his big, open paddocks.

But Cameron had already promised Hart to stay at Kilmorgan until the races at Doncaster, and he didn’t like to break promises to his brothers. Aside from that, Jasmine was too jittery for a long journey south. If she were Cameron’s horse, he’d back her off to light training, build her up slowly, get to know her, teach her to trust. As it was, he had to work her carefully. A long trip now would ruin her.

No, he had to stay at Kilmorgan and finish this. Once he’d had Ainsley, as he’d vowed to, he could forget her and return to sanity.

Ian slid the pot of honey toward his plate. “We should go back upstairs,” he said to Beth.

“What?” Beth looked up from a list she was writing. “Why?”

Ian rose and pulled back Beth’s chair without answering. Ian had difficulty lying, so when he knew he shouldn’t say what was on his mind, he’d learned to keep his mouth firmly closed.

Beth knew him well, though. Without arguing, she let him take her arm and steer her from the table. Before he walked away, Ian reached back and snatched the honey pot from the table, balancing the pot in his hand as he led Beth from the room.

Two days later Ainsley sat among a sea of costly fabrics at a dressmaker’s in Edinburgh. Rain fell outside, the sort that obscured everything in mist, but inside with Beth and Isabella, all was dry and snug.