The Many Sins of Lord Cameron

by Jennifer Ashley

  Ainsley noticed the change in Ian from her visits in previous years. He moved more confidently now, his quick agitation replaced with a calm watchfulness. Whenever he held his tiny son, his stillness became even more pronounced. Quietude, that’s what it was, the sort of peace that came from deep, unshakable happiness.

  “Not on the scavenger hunt?” Ainsley asked Ian as she lined up her cue to the white ball.

  Ian poured himself whiskey and leaned against the billiards table. “No.”

  “He means he’d win it too quickly,” Daniel said. “Same reason he don’t like to play cards.”

  “I remember every card on the table,” Ian said.

  Ainsley imagined the other players wouldn’t much like this. “Sporting of you to stay away then.”

  Ian looked uninterested in being sporting, and Ainsley understood in a flash that he stayed away from card games because they weren’t a challenge to him. He had a mind so quick that it solved problems before others were aware there was a problem.

  Cameron was a bit like that with his horses, Ainsley mused, knowing when one would founder before it happened, and exactly why. She’d watched him stop a training session and lead a horse away, with his grooms protesting that nothing was wrong, only to have the horse doctor confirm that Cameron had been correct.

  As Ainsley lined up her cue, Ian tapped the table two inches to his right. “Aim here. The red ball will fall into that pocket and the white will return there.” He pointed.

  “Aw, Uncle Ian, no fair helping.”

  Ian sent Daniel the barest hint of smile. “You should always help the ladies, Danny.”

  Ainsley knew enough about the mathematics of billiards to know that Ian had given her good advice. She shot. Her white ball struck the red, sending it exactly where Ian pointed. It caromed off the wall and into the pocket, the white ball gently rolling back toward Ainsley’s cue.

  Daniel grinned. “You’re good for a lady, I’ll give you that.”

  “I’ll have you know that I’ve rousted my brothers on many occasions,” Ainsley said. “They regretted teaching me all these games after they started losing money to me.”

  Daniel chuckled. “Good for you. What else do you know how to do?”

  Ainsley lined up another shot. “Shoot a pistol—and hit the target, mind you. Play cards, and not womanly games like whist. I mean poker.”

  “Aye, I’d love to see that. There are some games going in the drawing room even now.”

  Ainsley shook her head. Ian, more interested in the billiards than the conversation, again tapped the table where Ainsley should aim.

  “I don’t wish to embarrass Isabella by draining her guests dry,” Ainsley said with good humor.

  She’d thought of joining a card game to try to win the money to pay off Phyllida, but while her brothers Elliot and Steven had taught Ainsley to be a good player, there was still the risk that other players might be better. Many of Hart’s guests were hardened gamblers, and one needed a large amount of money to even enter the games. Thousands of pounds moved around those tables in the drawing of a breath. She couldn’t risk it.

  Ainsley tapped her ball. That ball struck the second, which bounced against the cushion where Ian’s hand had rested and rolled into a pocket with a definite thud.

  Daniel whistled. “I wish you would play for money, Mrs. Douglas. The two of us, we could win a great deal together.”

  “Certainly, Daniel. We’ll get a wagon and travel about, waving a banner that says ‘Champion Exhibition Billiards by a Lady and a Lad. Be Amazed! Test Their Skill and Try Your Luck.’ ”

  “A gypsy wagon,” Daniel said. “We’ll have Angelo do acrobatics and Dad show off his trained horses. And you can shoot at targets. People will come from miles to see us.”

  Ainsley laughed, and Ian completely ignored them. When Ainsley finally missed her shot, Daniel took the balls from the pockets and lined them up for himself. Ian abandoned the table and came to stand in front of Ainsley.

  The golden gaze that roved her face before settling on her left cheekbone was as intense as any of the Mackenzies’, even if Ian didn’t look directly into her eyes.

  Ian had spent his childhood in a madhouse, and while Ainsley knew that Ian never had been truly insane, he wasn’t an ordinary man either. He had intelligence that came out of him in amazing bursts, and Ainsley always had the feeling that his enigmatic exterior hid a man who understood everyone’s secrets, perhaps better than they did themselves.

  “Cameron’s wife hated him,” Ian said without preliminary. “She did everything she could to hurt him. It made him a hard and unhappy man.”

  Ainsley caught her breath. “How very awful of her.”

  “Aye,” Daniel said cheerfully from the billiards table. “Me mum was a right bitch. And a whore.”

  Ainsley’s correct response would be to admonish Daniel for speaking so harshly of his mother, especially when she was deceased. Good heavens, Daniel, that cannot be true. But from what Ainsley had heard about Lady Elizabeth, Daniel likely spoke the unvarnished truth.

  “I never knew her,” Daniel said. “But people tell me about her. I used to punch the fellows at school for saying that my mother had bedded every aristocrat in Europe, but it was mostly true, so I stopped.”

  The matter-of-fact tone in Daniel’s voice made Ainsley’s heart ache. Lady Elizabeth’s reputation had been bad, but to hear the facts of it so baldly from her son’s lips was heartbreaking.

  “Daniel, I’m sorry.”

  Daniel shrugged. “Mum hated Dad for not wanting her to go tarting about after they were married. She thought she could carry on as before, you see, but with all Dad’s money behind her. Plus she had the prospect that she might become a duchess if Hart pegged it. In retaliation for Dad not letting her run wild, she tried to convince him that I wasn’t his son, but as ye can see, I’m very much a Mackenzie.” Daniel was, with that sharp Mackenzie stare. No denying it.

  “How could she?” Ainsley asked indignantly. That a mother could use her child as a pawn in a game with her husband made Ainsley sick. Stupid Elizabeth—she’d had Cam’s wicked smile, the warmth in his dark gold eyes, his kisses of fire all to herself, and she hadn’t treasured them.

  “Like I say, she was a right bitch.”

  Ainsley didn’t question how Daniel knew this about his mother. He’d have been told—by the servants, his schoolmates, well-meaning friends, not-so-well-meaning acquaintances. She imagined the anguish of the little boy learning that the mother he didn’t remember hadn’t been the angelic being a mother was suppose to be. Ainsley had very few memories of her own mother, and she could imagine how she’d feel if she were told repeatedly what a horrible person she’d been.

  “I’d like to give Lady Elizabeth a good talking-to,” Ainsley said. A good tongue-lashing was more like it.

  Daniel laughed. “So would Aunt Isabella and Aunt Beth. And my uncles. But Dad never let anyone go up against her. Well, no one but him.”

  Ian broke in. “I never knew her. I was in the asylum when she was married to Cameron. But I heard what she did to him.”

  Ian, not a man who showed emotion except in his love for Beth, held a spark of rage in his eyes for his brother.

  “Daniel.” Cameron’s voice rumbled from the other side of the room. “Out.”

  Daniel looked up at his father without surprise. “I was just telling Mrs. Douglas things she needed to know.”

  Cameron gestured at the door he’d just opened. “Out.”

  Daniel heaved an aggrieved sigh, shoved the cues back into the rack, and shuffled out of the room. Ian followed him without a word, closing the door and leaving Ainsley and Cameron alone.

  Chapter 11

  Cameron looked at Ainsley, her color high, her eyes sparkling with righteous anger, and he wanted her. He’d take her on the billiards table, on the chair near it, or the settee, he didn’t much care. He wanted to kiss the lips parted in indignation, run kisses down the chest that rose with agitate
d breath. Cam wanted to bury himself inside the woman who’s said with such outrage, I’d like to give her a good talking-to.

  He could imagine Ainsley, with her frank eyes and bold stare, telling Lady Elizabeth Cavendish exactly what she thought of her. Elizabeth, the rich, spoiled daughter of an aristocrat, as wild and bright as a tropical bird, wouldn’t have stood a chance against Ainsley. Ainsley was more like a sparrow—a matter-of-fact woman, more interested in the practical matter at hand than displaying her plumage.

  No, not a sparrow. That was too plain for someone like Ainsley. Ainsley was deeply beautiful, with beauty that shone from the depths of her. Cameron wanted to learn that loveliness, every single inch of it.

  “I know such things are none of my business,” Ainsley was saying, her voice like fine wine to his senses. “I should have stopped Daniel when he began, but I admit to a morbid curiosity about your late wife. If any of what Daniel said is true, I am sorry.”

  She was sorry, that was the thing. Other women might pretend that Daniel must be making things up, or be disgusted—at Elizabeth, at Cameron, at Daniel for telling the tale. But not Ainsley. She saw the truth for what it was.

  There were reasons Cameron hadn’t divorced Elizabeth, all of which had to do with Daniel. He’d realized early on that Elizabeth couldn’t be trusted not to try to rid herself of her baby, and so Cameron kept her close, much to her fury. Elizabeth had claimed repeatedly that the child wasn’t Cameron’s, and Cameron knew there was a risk that she told the truth. Elizabeth had had a string of lovers, some regular, some brief encounters. But Cam had been willing to risk it. Elizabeth had been wrong—Daniel was a Mackenzie all right.

  Cameron knew now that he should have sent Elizabeth away as soon as she’d given birth to Daniel, but he’d been young and sentimental. He’d truly believed that once Elizabeth had a son to care for, she would change. But she hadn’t; she’d only sunk into a strange melancholy, her rages growing worse, and she’d started trying to hurt Daniel.

  Cameron had the strangest feeling that Ainsley, if he explained all this to her, would understand.

  “I’m not here to talk about my wife,” he said.

  Ainsley’s eyes were filled with anger for him. “Very well, what did you come here to talk about?”

  Cameron touched the top button of her dull gray afternoon dress and forced his voice to soften. “I came to ask how many buttons you’ll undo for me today.”

  Ainsley’s sharp intake of breath pressed her bosom against the very buttons Cameron wanted to undo. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes starry, Ainsley at her most beautiful.

  “I thought you’d forgotten about that game,” she said.

  “I never forget games. Or what’s owed me.”

  He stepped closer still, inhaling her sweet scent. Current fashion dictated that women’s skirts were worn tight against thighs and legs, and Cameron took full advantage, standing right against her. When she opened her bodice, he’d be able to peer into her soft cleavage.

  He again touched the top button, which was a little bar of onyx. “How many buttons, Mrs. Douglas?”

  “It was ten last time. This time, I think, I should only go a half dozen.”

  Cameron frowned. “Why?”

  “Because we’re indoors with people barging about the house looking for odds and ends. Billiard balls were on a few lists for the scavenger hunt.”

  “Twenty,” Cameron said firmly.

  Ainsley choked. “Twenty?”

  “Twenty buttons will put me here.” He ran his finger down her bodice almost to her waist.

  Cameron felt her heart pounding behind the stiffness of her corset. “Not fair,” she said. “These buttons are more widely spaced than the last set.”

  “I’m not interested in what your dressmaker designed. I’m interested in how many I can open.”

  “Very well, twelve. My final offer.”

  “Not final at all.”

  The billiards table stopped Ainsley from stepping back. All Cameron had to do was lift her, and he’d have her lying flat upon it. They’d tear the cloth and exasperate Hart’s housekeeper, but replacing the damn thing would be worth having Ainsley.

  “I will concede fourteen,” she said.

  “Twenty.”

  “Lord Cameron, if someone bursts in here, I will never have time to do up twenty buttons.”

  “Then we’ll lock the door.”

  Ainsley’s eyes widened. “Good lord, no. I’d have a devil of a time explaining why I was behind a locked door with the notorious Lord Cameron Mackenzie. Leave the door unlocked, and they’ll think we were scavenging.”

  Cameron smiled, putting as much sin into it as he knew how. “I’m getting impatient, Mrs. Douglas. Twenty buttons.”

  “Fifteen.”

  Cameron let his smile turn triumphant. “Done.”

  She flushed. “Oh, very well. Fifteen. But let us be quick.”

  “Turn around.”

  She looked at him with startled gray eyes. Did she know how sensual she was? She could make a man long to see those eyes regarding him sleepily across a pillow, and Cameron did not like women in his bed. Bed was for sleeping. Alone. Safer that way for all concerned.

  Ainsley faced the billiards table, her breathing still rapid. Her stupid bustle was in his way now, loops of wire that kept her skirt stuck out behind her. An idiotic fashion. Whatever fool had designed bustles had obviously had no interest in women.

  Cameron made do by standing half at her side, his thigh against her hip. The next time he stood thus with Ainsley, he vowed that the bustle would be gone.

  Cameron pressed a kiss to her cheek as he undid the first button. Ainsley stayed true to the game, no maidenly flutters or begging off. She’d finished the bidding and would stick to the bargain. Brave, beautiful woman.

  Her eyes drifted closed as Cameron undid the second button and then the third, her body relaxing against his. He kissed the corner of her mouth, and her faint noise of longing made his cockstand ache.

  By button eight, Cameron was kissing her neck, tasting her—salty tang over the faint bite of lemons. One day soon, Cameron would peel away her clothes and lick her entire body. Then he’d kneel before her and drink and drink, while her toes curled into the carpet, her hands tangled his hair, and she made those precious sighs of pleasure.

  Ten, eleven, twelve. Cameron touched her bosom, heady heat inside her corset. He’d have the corset off her next time too.

  “Thirteen,” he whispered. “Fourteen.” He dipped one hand into his pocket and opened button number fifteen one-handed. “Don’t move.”

  Ainsley stood very still, eyes closed. Cameron breathed her scent, kissed her skin one more time, and then slid the necklace he’d taken from his pocket around her throat, closing the tiny clasp in back.

  Ainsley’s eyes popped open. She stared in amazement at the strand of diamonds that now lay across her chest and then up at him. Her bodice gaped enticingly, breasts lifting above a corset with small, decorative bows on the front.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  Cameron made his tone careless. “I bought it at that jeweler’s in Edinburgh after you and Isabella and Beth left. I thought it would go well with your new finery.”

  Ainsley looked at him in pure astonishment. No squealing excitement that most of Cam’s women succumbed to when he bought them jewels, no sly looks of promised payment later. Ainsley Douglas was dumbfounded.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “What do you mean why? I saw the damned necklace, and thought you’d like it.”

  “I do like it.” Ainsley fingered the diamonds. “It’s beautiful. But . . .” Her expression held longing, loneliness, and a sudden hurt that surprised him. “I can’t accept it.”

  “Why the devil not?”

  Cameron looked so angry—at her. He who’d interfered with Ainsley’s business with Phyllida and had taken over her session at the dressmaker’s, the man who wanted to give Ainsley money without collateral and bough
t her jewelry as he would for his doxy, now looked angry at her.

  “Because, my dear Cameron, you know how people like tittle-tattle. There would be much speculation on why you gave me this necklace.”

  “Why does anyone have to know I gave it to you?”

  Ainsley wanted to laugh. “Because you’re not exactly discreet.”

  “Bugger discretion. It’s a waste of time.”

  “You see? You can say that because you are so very rich, not to mention male. You can get away with much, while I must be a good little woman and follow all the rules.” And didn’t those rules chafe?

  “The queen should give you a damned sight more than she does for drudging for her. You are worth more than she understands.”

  Ainsley shivered at his dark voice. “You are flattering, and believe me, I adore you flattering me, but I have to be so careful.” She touched the necklace again. “Anyone discovering that you bought this for me will assume me your mistress. Phyllida already believes it.”

  Cameron leaned to her, moving his hands to either side of her on the billiards table. His body hemmed her in, his arms a cage.

  “Then be my mistress in truth, Ainsley.”

  His breath touched her lips as she gasped in surprise, his mouth following. The swift kiss burned like a brand.

  “I could give you so much,” he said. “I want to give you so much. Is that so bad a thing?”

  So bad a thing? Ainsley clutched the lip of the billiards table and tried to stay upright. No, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to be this man’s lover. She’d lounge in his bed—or wherever he preferred—while he unbuttoned her frock and tasted her skin. Surrender to Cameron would be breathless, a wild, heady freedom.

  He was a man who took everything he wanted, whose women were meltingly grateful to him and didn’t mind the strings attached. But then, Cameron’s usual ladies were courtesans, merry widows, and women whose reputations had been soiled long before they took up with him. They had nothing to lose, and Ainsley had everything. And wouldn’t the downfall be heavenly?