Cameron’s stables were true working stables, with multiple trainers, people coming and going, and a well-run routine. Angelo was second-in-command, and any trainer, stable hand, or jockey who had trouble with this was asked to leave. Angelo knew the horses as well as Cameron did and could glide onto them bareback to run them to the clock. The trainers who’d been with Cam the longest had come to respect Angelo, saying, “He knows what he’s doing, that Romany.”
As for Cameron, once he had the Berkshire wind in his hair, and felt the young horses’ excitement coming to him through the lounge line, his ennui fled. Once again, he was awake and alive. When he and Daniel went back to the house each afternoon, Cameron had another bright spot in his life—Ainsley.
She fit smoothly into the household as though she’d lived there her entire life. The housekeeper, who’d never spoken much to Cameron except when absolutely necessary, kept a constant conversation running with Ainsley as Ainsley questioned her on all aspects of the housekeeping. Ainsley now had her own set of keys, and the housekeeper began saying, “Let me ask her ladyship,” when any question came up.
The staff here were quiet, undemonstrative, well-trained domestics, apart from their now-ended habit of skimming off the foodstuffs. If they didn’t actually burst into song and dance about Ainsley, they at least respected her.
Even the one point of contention between Cameron and Ainsley—the fact that Cameron left her every night to sleep in his own bed—seemed to ease a little as spring commenced.
Or so Cameron thought. He should have remembered that Ainsley was very good at stealth.
The locks in Cameron’s old manor house were easy to pick. The doors and locks were leftover from a hundred years ago, when the house had been built, and several of them even opened with the same key. Ainsley had practiced picking the locks from the day she arrived, which was how she’d discovered the cache of foodstuffs the servants had kept for themselves.
On a moonless night, she crept down the hall the short distance from her bedroom to Cameron’s, hairpin at the ready. She knelt softly on the carpet, listening to his snores from within for a time before she quietly moved the old- fashioned keyhole cover on its tiny hinge.
And found herself faced with a shiny new lock. He’d changed it.
Botheration.
Ainsley let out her breath, but she refused to give up. She had to work a little harder on this lock, and in the end it took two hairpins, but finally Ainsley had it open. She stood up, her heart beating swiftly, and very quietly opened the door.
The room was dark, save for the glow of coals on the hearth. She’d made certain to visit Cameron’s bedchamber often, so she’d studied the lay of the land. Unless he’d decided to rearrange the furniture at eleven o’clock last night, his bed would be that direction. The continuing snore told her she was right.
Ainsley softly closed the door behind her and started across the room.
“Ainsley.”
The word was hard, clear, and told her that Cameron was fully awake.
“Drat you,” she said. “You only pretended to be asleep.”
A match spurted and a kerosene lamp glowed to life. It showed Cameron sitting up in his bed, his lap covered with a sheet, the rest of him delectably bare.
“I was asleep. Then I heard the unmistakable scratch of a thief trying to pick my lock.”
“Your hearing must be very good then.”
“It is.”
Ainsley took another step. “Did I frighten you?” He’d told her he’d wake up in violence when he was startled. She’d planned to wake him as gently as she could, to show him that nothing terrible would happen.
Cameron’s smile was hot. “When I hear someone picking a lock, I immediately think of you. Not to mention the little mutters of frustration you make when the lock proves challenging. What are you doing in here?”
Ainsley closed the distance between the door and his bed. “I came to sleep with my husband.”
“Ainsley.”
She put her knee on the mattress. “You refuse to talk about it, but I refuse to let matters stand as they are. Beds are for sharing. Especially beds as large as this one.”
Cameron lunged for her. Before she could scramble away, Ainsley found herself dragged onto the bed and pinned to the mattress, much as he had the night she’d broken into his room to search for the queen’s letters. The difference was that last time, he’d been more or less fully dressed. This time, nothing rested between Cameron’s bare body and Ainsley but a sheet.
She felt every inch of his hard body—every inch—the strength of his hands, the heat of his breath.
“Do you need reminding how dangerous I am?” he growled.
“You’re not dangerous.”
Cameron pinned her wrists to the mattress with his weight and gave her his hot, wicked smile. “No? Perhaps I should demonstrate.”
Did she want him to or didn’t she? A wise woman should be frightened of a giant rising over her in the dark, looking ready to ravish her, but Ainsley was not wise. Or maybe she was. She’d married him.
“Not necessary,” she said.
Cameron licked across her mouth. “Necessary. I don’t want things becoming too domestic.”
So he’d told her on the train when he’d proposed. He wanted a lover, not a wife.
“Well,” she said. “Perhaps a small demonstration.”
Cameron rose abruptly from the bed, lifting her up with him, and the sheet fell away. He was naked in the dim light, his cock long and hard, his wanting unashamed. From Ainsley’s position on the edge of the bed, it was easy to grasp him in her hand, draw him a little to her.
Cameron tensed all over as he felt Ainsley’s sweet lips and tongue brush the tip of his cock. God help me. He’d been about to lay her on the floor and make deep, hard love to her, in retaliation for her sneaking into his room, but she’d turned the tables on him. Again.
She’d not done this before, but she’d seen his erotic drawings and heard the naughty things Cameron whispered into her ears. Ainsley wasn’t naïve, and she obviously wanted to play.
He almost came as he watched her open her lips and then his hardness slide between them. Cameron clenched his fists, his entire body rigid as he held himself back. If he came now, he’d miss this feeling of being inside Ainsley, the feeling of her licking him, nipping him, the wonderful pull when she began to suck.
“Ainsley.” The word was ragged, his breathing hoarse. He put his hand on her head, rocked his hips. “Ainsley. Love. What are you doing to me?”
Happily, she didn’t answer. Ainsley kept her mouth busy with him, her hands steadying herself on his thighs.
“Devil woman,” he whispered. “I am supposed to be making you pay.”
For answer, Ainsley worked him harder. Cameron heard the words spill out of his mouth, naughty syllables that had led to this situation in the first place.
Beautiful, beautiful Ainsley . . . damn it.
He shouted out loud as his seed spilled from his body, and he didn’t want to stop when she demurely pulled away and wiped her lips with her fingertips.
Cameron growled, a bestial sound. When Ainsley merely smiled at him, he swept her up into his arms and carried her across the room, where he proceeded to make deep love to her on the thick rugs before the fire. He loved her so thoroughly that she was fast asleep by the time he carried her back to her own bedroom and left her there.
Lord Pierson delivered Jasmine in the first week of February. Cameron watched him driving up the road at a snail’s pace, following the low-slung cart that contained Jasmine.
Cameron dismounted the horse he’d been riding and tossed his reins to the jockey, who sprang lightly into the saddle. Cam walked out of the paddock to meet the cart and carriage at the stable, but he stopped in surprise when another low-slung cart turned in.
Pierson stepped out of his carriage, making sure his pristine boots didn’t land anywhere muddy or damp. His neatly tailored clothes were a sharp contrast
to Cameron’s rough coat and riding breeches.
“Well, Mackenzie,” Pierson said. “I’ve brought her back. You won’t make a pig’s breakfast of it this time, will you?”
Cameron watched the second cart approach and halt. “And what’s in that, then?”
“A stallion. He’s called Raphael’s Angel, and he’s giving me problems. I’d like you to sort him out for me.”
“And why should I do that?”
“For losing me the St. Leger. No one wants Raph’s Angel, but everyone says if anyone can turn him around and make him sellable it’s you. I thought that you’d do it for me as a favor.”
Jasmine’s cart had been taken all the way into the stables. Daniel and Ainsley appeared as if by magic as Angelo started to unload her.
“And I don’t want that Romany anywhere near my horses,” Pierson said loudly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s why she did so poorly.”
Ainsley turning, heard, and opened her mouth. Cameron held up his hand to forestall her.
“There’s nothing wrong with Angelo, and there’s nothing wrong with Jasmine,” Cameron said.
He would rather bash Pierson in the mouth, dump him back in the carriage, and send him home, but Cameron controlled himself. He wanted to train Jasmine—wanted to save her from this bastard—and if he angered Pierson, the man would simply take Jasmine away again.
Cameron turned to gesture Angelo away, but Angelo had already moved from Jasmine, leaving her to one of Pierson’s grooms. Angelo would comply without rancor, which was why Cameron trusted the man.
“Fine,” Cameron said. “Leave them both. I’ll see you at Newmarket.”
Pierson didn’t even gloat. He simply looked down his long nose and turned back to his carriage, ready to rush back to his overly ornate house in Bath.
Ainsley pressed her lips together. She knew what a struggle it was for Cameron not to shout what he thought at Pierson. He’d chosen to hold in his temper for Jasmine’s sake.
Poor Jasmine looked a bit rattled from traveling. Her coat was flecked with lather, and her eyes were wide. A good rubdown and a turnout in a paddock so she could run off her nerves, that’s what she needed.
Pierson’s groom, however, started leading Jasmine straight to a stall in the U-shaped stable yard. Jasmine obviously didn’t want to go. She’d bolt the moment she had the chance, if Ainsley were any judge.
“Let her have a run,” Ainsley said. “Angelo.”
Angelo said nothing, leaning against another stall door to watch.
The groom shook his head. “His lordship’s order, m’lady. He’ll not let us go home until she’s safely locked away.”
“Horses don’t like being locked away.”
Ainsley had learned that as a child, and she’d seen it watching Cameron every day. If you had a nervous horse, you let them wander about the paddock and investigate the scary new landmarks, preferably with a horse who was calm and sedate. The new horse needed to feel safe, needed time to get used to things.
The groom sighed. “Well, Lord Pierson likes it, and I like me job, so in she goes, begging your pardon, m’lady.”
Ainsley folded her arms and let him go. What happened after Lord Pierson left would be different.
Jasmine didn’t fight the groom, though she danced nervously. All would have been well, except for the stallion.
He didn’t want to be shut up for the night. As soon as Raphael’s Angel was backed out of his cart, he snorted and danced and threw off the two grooms trying to keep him quiet. Cameron started for him, and Angelo clenched his fists as he watched, not daring to interfere.
Jasmine heard the stallion and looked back to see what was happening. Not in fear, but with the calculating eye of a mischievous child.
“Watch her,” Ainsley warned.
The groom gave her an irritated scowl. She, a mere lady of the manor, was presuming to tell an experienced groom how to handle horses.
The stallion danced out of reach, spied Jasmine, and headed toward her. Jasmine swung her hindquarters around and flicked up her tail—the horse equivalent of a lady sashaying her hips at a randy gentleman.
The stallion let out a low, rumbling neigh and ran for her, two thousand pounds of black horse barreling into the narrow yard. Stable hands scrambled out of the way, and Ainsley danced aside as Jasmine, at the last minute, got the jitters.
Jasmine threw up her head, breaking the halter rope, and whirled around, frantically looking for a way out. The stallion charged to pen her in, and both horses swung straight toward Ainsley.
Chapter 24
Ainsley’s world slowed. She saw Angelo’s eyes widen, the groom lunge for the stallion. Jasmine’s sweaty brown hide coming too close, the mare’s back undulating as she bucked. The stallion, a huge wall of horseflesh, ducked Jasmine’s flailing hooves, and swerved directly at Ainsley.
Ainsley heard her own shout, felt herself raise her arms, her attempt at scaring them off. Then the acrid odor of excited horse, the forequarters and flying hooves of the stallion, his huge chest, his hot breath, wide red nostrils, white-rimmed eyes.
Dimly she heard the stable hands and Daniel shouting, the whinnies of the other horses, and over it all, Cameron’s voice, terrible and harsh.
The instant before the combined might of Jasmine and the stallion came to crush Ainsley alive, she felt herself rising into the air. A tight band squeezed her chest, choking out her breath, but she slid rapidly upward and over the top of the stall behind her.
Both horses crashed into the wall where Ainsley had been standing, smashing through the boards. Ainsley landed in the soft hay in the back of the stall, rolling over Angelo, who seemed to be tangled up with her.
Jasmine and the stallion whirled from the corner stall and out the way they’d come. They charged from the yard and lit out for the fields, two streaks of horse on the green.
Angelo scrambled to his feet. “Are you all right, my lady?” He held out his hand to Ainsley, who took the bronzed lifeline.
I think so. Ainsley opened her mouth to speak, and nothing came out.
Cameron threw open the broken door and snatched Ainsley to her feet. Ainsley found herself crushed against him, Cameron’s strong arms like iron.
“Ainsley.” His voice was broken. “Dear God . . .”
I’m all right. Again, the words wouldn’t come. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t feel. She tried to put her hands on his shoulders, but they slid limply off. Shock, she thought. I’ll be fine once my heart starts beating again.
Cameron lifted a flask to Ainsley’s lips, the metal cool, and the burn of whiskey trickled inside her mouth. Ainsley coughed, swallowed, and coughed some more.
“Cam,” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over.
Cameron held her. Ainsley sank into him, closing her eyes as chill terror rushed through her. That had been too close.
“Make sure Jasmine is all right,” she said worriedly.
“Angelo’s gone after her.”
“Angelo.” The word choked in Ainsley’s throat. “He pulled me out of the way.”
“Aye, and I’m having a medal cast for him. Damn it, Ainsley.” Cameron cupped her face in his hands. “I thought . . .” His throat worked, and moisture formed on his lashes. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Angelo is a quick thinker.” Her whisper was still too faint, and the words were lost.
Cameron’s lips shook as he kissed her. Ainsley held on to him, Cameron the anchor in her spinning world. He was the only thing that kept her from tumbling down, and she clung to him, loving him hard.
“Mackenzie!” Lord Pierson’s voice rang through the yard. “I told you to keep that Romany away from my horses.”
Cameron set Ainsley aside, gentleness itself, and then he ripped open the stall door and went for Lord Pierson. The volley of broad Scots and filthy swearing that followed flooded the yard and drowned out Pierson’s bleated protests.
By the time Ainsley picked her
way out of the stable yard, her knees wobbling, Cameron was throwing Pierson into his carriage.
A ring of men stood about, Pierson’s coachman and grooms doing nothing to help their master. Cameron’s grooms and jockeys glowered their anger and disgust. The unruly stallion had been caught by Angelo, the Romany speaking gently to it while it lowered its great head to Angelo’s hands.
Jasmine, still elusive, cantered around the paddock, a string of grooms and Daniel trying to corner her.
“Ye take your bloody stallion and get out,” Cameron bellowed. His voice was hoarse, the beast inside him no longer contained.
Pierson, incredibly, still defied him. “If the stallion goes, you don’t get Jasmine.”
“Take her off, then. Get your fucking horses out of my sight!”
“Cam.” Ainsley tried to hurry to him, but her feet were too slow, her voice too soft. “No, don’t lose Jasmine.”
The grooms moved to let her through, the men furious, but not at her. “You all right, my lady?” more than one asked.
“Yes, thank you.” Her voice was breathless. “Cam.”
“Ye haven’t even bothered to ask if my wife is all right.”
“She shouldn’t be out here at all,” Pierson said. “Women belong in bed, not the stable yard.”
Cameron’s fist flashed out, and Pierson fell backward into the coach, his face bloody. Cameron slammed the carriage door, and the coachman leapt up to the box, quickly turning the vehicle.
The carriage’s hurrying wheels sprayed mud over Cameron, but he turned back to Ainsley, not noticing. As Pierson’s carriage moved toward the drive, Angelo managed to maneuver the stallion into his cart. A groom shut him in, and Angelo climbed out to head for the field to round up Jasmine.
“Cameron,” Ainsley said as Cameron’s arms came around her again. “You can’t lose Jasmine. You love that horse.”
“I almost lost you. Pierson can go to hell.”
“But Jasmine. She doesn’t want to go with him.” Ainsley felt reaction setting in, her mind seeing again the black horse’s body and hooves swerving to crush the life out of her.
The Many Sins of Lord Cameron hp-3 Page 23