She shivered. “He is rather strange.”
“He’s disgusting. He understands only crudity. Not beauty.”
Ainsley touched the velvet wall of the coach. “This is a very comfortable carriage. Quite large and warm.”
“I travel a lot during the horse season. I like a big traveling coach, especially if I have to sleep in it.”
“You could take trains, surely. Even with the horses.”
“The horses don’t like the train, and the coal smoke is bad for their lungs.”
He sounded like a worried father. “You are very kind to your horses.”
Cameron shrugged. “They’re expensive animals, and they give me all they have. Idiots ruin them by not taking care of them.”
“You take good care of Jasmine, even though she’s not yours.”
“Because she’s a damn fine horse.”
His voice held longing. “You truly want her, don’t you?” Ainsley asked.
“Yes.” Cameron’s fingers under her chin tilted her head back. “And I truly want you.”
“I hope not for the same reason. I don’t gallop very fast.”
“You have a lot of the devil in you, Ainsley.”
“So I’m told—”
Cameron silenced her words with a kiss.
Soft lips, trembling and nervous, but determined at the same time. Cameron tasted her need to be held and touched, her laughter. He’d never, ever met a woman like her.
His heart beat faster, his body beginning to perspire in the coach’s heat. Whenever he seduced a woman, Cameron was calm and cool, knowing the steps it took to reach the brief part of coupling that brought him alive. The spark lasted only a short while, but it was heady when he got there.
He always made sure the ladies enjoyed great pleasure, his gift to them for releasing him from numbness. He reflected that the women often had a much better time with the whole thing than he did.
Tonight he was impatient, clumsy with need. He tugged at the waistband of Ainsley’s skirt. “I want this off.”
Pins that held skirt to bodice tinkled to the carpet. When Ainsley reached forward to catch them, Cameron unfastened the clasps on the skirt’s back. The velvet folds came away, so many yards of them.
Cameron knelt on the floor in front of her as he pulled away the last of the skirt. Underneath the skirt’s smothering fabric he found—sofa pillows. He burst out laughing.
“We didn’t have panniers,” Ainsley said. She pulled a cushion out from the sash that tied them around her waist. “It was Morag’s idea.”
Cameron pulled the pillows away and plumped them behind her. “There, now there’s your comfort.”
He laughed again, the sound of it grating, because Cameron had never had the velvet tones of his brothers. Working in the cold outdoors had broken his baritone long ago.
Ainsley lolled against the old sofa pillows in her white stockings and plain cotton pantalets. Cameron’s laughter died away as he put his hand to her bodice. “How many buttons, Mrs. Douglas?”
“They’re clasps.” Her breath was warm on his face. “I suppose that doesn’t sound as enticing.”
“I didn’t ask you what it sounded like, I asked you how many.”
Ainsley’s mischievous smile flashed. “All of them, I think.”
Cameron was already undoing the clasps until the old- fashioned bodice and stomacher came loose in his hands. Ainsley, being her modest self, wore a small corset under it, and under that, her combinations, its lacy straps on her shoulders.
Cameron ran his hand down the corset. “I want this off too.”
“It would be a relief, yes.”
Ainsley shivered as Cameron spread the corset’s laces, as he had that long-ago day in his bedchamber, his big hand like fire on her back. He lifted the corset away, and there Ainsley sat, in nothing but her combinations, undressed in front of a man for the first time in years.
And what a man. Cameron knelt in front of her, his big body filling so much space. His coat followed her corset and bodice to the seat behind him, then his waistcoat and cravat. He unbuttoned his shirt, and she beheld him as she had the night she’d crept into his room looking for the letters—the brown of well-muscled chest, kilt hugging narrow hips, Cameron folding back his loose cuffs to bare his arms.
The scars on his thick wrist came into view, those burns that someone had given him long ago, pain deliberately inflicted. Ainsley hated whoever had done that. From her brothers, she knew that young men at school sometimes tortured each other, she supposed to prove how masculine they were. But Cameron didn’t seem the type to let bullies shove him down and press lighted cigars to his skin.
Ainsley caught his hand, lifted his wrist, and kissed the burn marks. His skin was smooth, the scars puckered.
He pulled away. “Don’t.”
“I dislike to see you hurt,” she said softly.
Cameron rested his hands on either side of her. “Stop being kind, Ainsley. Not while I’m ravishing you.”
Ainsley smiled. “If you’d like me to be unkind, I certainly can be.”
“I doubt that. What I’d like is for you to wrap your legs around my waist.”
“But I’m still wearing my combinations.”
“I know, devil woman.”
Cameron slid his hands under her thighs, lifted her legs, and eased them around his hips. Ainsley felt him through the fabric of her pantalets, warm wool of the kilt and the hardness beneath it.
“That’s my girl.” His hands were hot on her legs, moving around to her buttocks while he rocked against her.
Ainsley felt shivery and hot at the same time, nervous and happy. This was going to happen. She was a wanton courtesan tonight, like her imaginary lady who held salons in Paris and had the most handsome men in France after her. But she didn’t want handsome Parisians, she wanted Cameron, her hard, powerful Scotsman.
“Stop laughing,” he said against her mouth.
Ainsley cupped his cheek. “Not laughing. Wondering how you plan to ravish me in the close confines of this carriage.”
The answering heat in his eyes fired her blood. “I don’t know yet. I’ve never had a lady in this carriage.”
“Never?” Ainsley’s heart beat faster.
“Never until you, vixen.”
“Good.”
Cameron slid one hand through her hair, dislodging pins, letting tendrils tumble to her shoulders.
“I love your hair,” Cameron said. “I’ve always wanted to see it down.”
“A bit difficult to tame, I’ve always found.”
“I don’t want it tame.” Cameron fisted a lock of hair, kissed it. “I want it wild. I want you wild, Ainsley. I know it’s in you.” He put his hand between her breasts, right over her heart.
“Wild? Me?” She contrived to look innocent.
“I work with horses all day, every day. I know which ones are happy to plod along and which ones are bursting to throw off their fetters and run free.”
“Like Jasmine.”
“Exactly like Jasmine. I look at you and see fire, love. You hide it behind drab clothes, and you pretend to be so dutiful, but that fire wants to burst out of you. You’re a woman of passion, wanting to run.” Cameron’s voice softened but was still rough, still deep. “Why not let yourself run?”
“No one wants me to,” she said. “No one but you.”
Cameron closed both hands over hers. “Reconsider my offer, Ainsley. Come to Paris with me. I’ll take you to Nice, to Monte Carlo, to Rome if you want. I’ll dress you in beautiful clothes and put you in a carriage behind the finest horses, and you’ll eclipse everyone we see.”
Ainsley couldn’t stop her happy sigh. “Wouldn’t that be grand? Me a sophisticated and glittering lady.”
“Say you’ll come with me.” His smile was sudden and wicked. “Say you will or I’ll have my coachman stop, and I’ll put you out into a Scottish meadow in your combinations.”
“As though such a thing would frighten me, m
y lord. I’d fly home through woods and dance lightly across bogs, unhampered by my confounded corset and false panniers.”
Cameron’s laughter filled the carriage. “Ainsley, you have to come with me. Say you will. Promise me.”
She touched his face. “Cameron.”
“Damn you, don’t say no.”
Ainsley started to speak, but Cameron put his hand to her lips. “Not now. Don’t refuse me now. Think about it. Be on the train from Doncaster to London after the last St. Leger race—I leave from there for the Continent. If you want to go with me, tell me then. Now, stop talking, woman, and let me ravish you.”
Chapter 14
He was going to have her, touch her, taste her. Everything he could of her.
Tonight if no other time. He’d do everything he could to persuade her to come away with him, but right now, he was going to enjoy this.
He undid the pretty bow that tied the top of her combinations and slid the lacy fabric from her shoulders. Her breasts came into view, round globes, firm and tight. Not the small breasts of a virgin, but the wonderfully full ones of a woman who’d grown into her body.
Ainsley was as beautiful as Cameron had dreamed. He cupped one breast reverently before he leaned forward and licked it.
He tasted fire, felt her heart beating swiftly. Cameron nuzzled her skin, flicked his tongue to the taut peak of her nipple. She gasped. Cameron touched his tongue to her again, and again, the gasp. Delightful.
“Has no man ever tasted you, Ainsley?”
“No.” The word was breathless. “Not like that.”
“Fools. You taste good.” Cameron licked a circle around the areola. “You’re like the best wine, Ainsley, lass.”
He suckled her gently, then drew one nipple between his teeth. She reclined on the cushioned seat, eyes half closed, breasts bare in the lamplight, legs spread for him. He hadn’t seen so beautiful a sight in a very long time.
Cameron kissed between her breasts, moving his way downward. Her belly was a little soft, a little round, despite the constant cinch of her corset. There were scars here, pink lines on her skin, signs that her abdomen had once been much fuller than this.
He flicked his gaze to her face, and Ainsley stilled. She knew he’d seen and that he understood what he’d seen.
Isabella had never mentioned that Ainsley had borne a child. Where was that child now?
The sorrow in Ainsley’s eyes told him. The baby had not survived.
It was a common thing, even in this day and age, for a child to die at birth or shortly thereafter. But that didn’t mean every death wasn’t mourned, every grief felt. John Douglas had been elderly; perhaps his seed hadn’t been strong.
Cameron remembered his conversation at breakfast with Isabella, her story that Ainsley had gone to the Continent and returned a year later, married, to Isabella’s surprise. There had been no announcement, not even a letter, simply Ainsley McBride returning as Ainsley Douglas. Interesting.
Not that he’d question her about her secrets right now. They all had them, dark secrets of the soul. The only way to deal with them was to live, and forget.
Cameron feathered kisses along the lines, tracing them with his tongue. He enjoyed himself, tasting her skin, inhaling the salt sweet scent of her. He dipped his tongue into her navel, and she let out a laugh.
She pushed at the open placket of his shirt. “Not fair that I’m the only one undressed. I want to see you.”
“No need.” Cameron could feast his eyes on Ainsley all night. When it came time to finish, he didn’t need to bare his scarred body. He rarely undressed all the way for his ladies.
“There is need. My need.” Ainsley lolled against the cushions, bare, delectable, erotic. “I have hidden nothing from you, my Cam.”
My Cam. Damn her.
My Ainsley.
He could give her some but not all, and the carriage was dark enough. Pressing another kiss to her belly, Cameron knelt back and slid off his shirt.
Ainsley held her breath, her heart beating fast and hard. Her Mackenzie male was large, strong, delectable.
She’d only glimpsed his chest before, and now she saw Cameron in full, a huge man, sculpted with muscle, skin glistening with perspiration. Perfect, except for a thin scar that marred where his collarbone joined his right shoulder. Ainsley traced the scar with her fingers, then leaned forward to kiss it, to lick it.
“Ainsley, you do have fire,” he whispered. “I want to feel that fire all around me.”
Ainsley kissed his scar one more time, lifted her face, and lightly kissed the scar on his cheek.
Cameron’s ensuing kiss was hard, hot, taking. Strong fingers undid the buttons that held her pantalets closed, and the cotton moved down her legs.
Ainsley thought he’d lift her around him there and then, but Cameron pressed her again to the cushions. He parted her legs and bowed over her lap.
And then his mouth. Ainsley jerked as Cameron closed lips and tongue over her most intimate place. Her legs came up, knees bending as her feet rested on the seat. She was open all the way to him, but she felt no shame, only heat and a burning need.
The carriage listed, but Cameron didn’t stop. Ainsley furrowed his hair as he went on, his strokes and pulls harder. She hurt for him, she wanted him, and the friction of his tongue was glorious, glorious. His mouth was hot, tongue skilled and swift, the burn of his whiskers on her thighs wicked.
She was coming apart, the noises she made muffled by the cushioned walls. Cameron went on and on, and Ainsley couldn’t see or hear or breathe. The only thing in the world was Cameron’s mouth on her, the bulk of his warmth so close to her, the dark fire spreading through her.
“Cam, please!”
Ainsley didn’t know what she begged for, she only knew she wanted him against her, with her, inside her. Always.
Cameron raised his head and dabbed his lips with his fingers. “Sweet Ainsley. Has no one ever done that either?”
She shook her head, beyond speech.
“All men are fools,” he said. “To pass you by when they could have this.” Cameron stroked his fingers through the curls between her legs. “You’re sweet and wet for me, my Ainsley. Wet and ready.”
He pulled aside the folds of his kilt, and no, he wore nothing beneath it. Only him, his shaft long and dark.
The drapes of the plaid got in Ainsley’s way, but she easily found him. She smiled as she closed her hand around him, not hiding her pleasure at how hot and hard and so very big he was. Cameron was a large man, large all the way down.
Cameron groaned as Ainsley squeezed, her tightly controlled man coming undone for her. He studied her with half-closed eyes, his cheekbones flushed. Enjoying what she did to him, and letting himself enjoy it.
“You are quite . . . long,” she said. “Have you ever measured it?”
A glint flashed in Cameron’s eyes. “No.”
“I must fetch a tape measure then.”
Cameron seized her wrist in an impossibly strong grip. “You are not going anywhere or fetching anything. Not now.”
He removed her hand from him and drew her up off the seat.
The wool of his kilt prickled her as Cameron moved between her thighs. His tip touched her opening, and Ainsley ached with need. Her body wanted to squeeze, wanted to pull him in, to have him all the way.
“Not too fast, love,” Cameron said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Ainsley shook her head. She was past caring, past remembering what pain was. “I’m ready.” She’d been ready for six years.
“Stop me if I hurt you. Promise me.”
His eyes held anguish mixed with need, and Ainsley realized that her answer was very, very important to him.
She nodded. “I promise.”
Cameron relaxed, as though Ainsley had said the right thing. He cradled her in his strong arms her, held her gaze with his, and slid inside.
I belong here.
I belong inside this beautiful woman who tastes like
dreams.
Cameron’s thoughts scattered, and all he could feel was Ainsley, her heat and her scent. Deeper, deeper into her. Ainsley, I need you.
His breath came fast, the noises in his throat hoarse, Cameron who never lost control.
Cameron couldn’t afford to lose control, never, ever. But Ainsley was stealing him. She was tight, so damn tight, and he was sliding into her so deep he never wanted to come out.
He kissed her throat, feeling her groans with his lips. He kissed her face, up under her hair. Ainsley was making beautiful noises, and Cameron kissed her throat again. He felt the slight scrape of her fingernails on his back, Ainsley not even knowing she scratched him.
“Ainsley.” Saying her name was joy.
Cameron couldn’t move inside her much in this position, but their bodies were tight against each other’s, the feeling raw. Later, he’d take her on cushions on the floor of her chamber, and then he’d be able to move. Stroking into and out of beautiful Ainsley. The thought excited him beyond measure.
But right now was good too. Ainsley touched his face, looking straight into his eyes with her beautiful gray ones. She was around him, part of him, and he was part of her.
Ainsley couldn’t believe what she was feeling. Cameron was thick and firm inside her, spreading her, yet there was no pain, only rightness. He held her so gently, but his body had such power that it undid her.
If she’d known there would be this joy, six years ago, Ainsley would not have waited so long. “I’d have found you,” she heard herself saying. “Chased you through London like a fool, and begged you to do this.”
Cameron’s smile was hot. “Wicked, wicked lady. I’ll give you everything you want, do anything to you. All you have to do is ask.”
He moved inside her, and Ainsley gave in to the bright, hard feeling. “Would you do this for me?” She moaned as he sent forth another burning thrust. “Any time I wanted? If I went to Paris with you?”
“Hell, yes.” His voice was dark. “Again, and again, every damned night. I know pleasure, Ainsley, and I’ll show you every bit you ever dreamed of.”
She sucked in a breath as he pressed even tighter into her, spreading her so wide. “This seems adequate.”
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