The Many Sins of Lord Cameron

Chapter 18

Ainsley’s mouth dropped open. “She beat him?”

“With a poker mostly.” Eleanor’s voice was quiet but held vast rage. “Cameron is a large and strong man, of course, so he’d stop her, but usually he’d take the brunt on himself because he was keeping her away from Daniel. Or, Elizabeth would wait until Cameron was drunk and asleep, and then she’d go at him. She slipped him laudanum once or twice, Hart told me. Cameron had to begin ensuring he didn’t fall asleep anywhere near her.”

Which explained why Phyllida Chase had said that Cameron never took a woman to his bed. He had her everywhere else, yes, but not in a bed. That must have been a habit he’d cultivated, to avoid the chance that the woman he fell asleep with would wake him with a poker across his back. The scars on his thighs suddenly took on new and horrible meaning.

Ainsley realized she was clenching the handle of her teacup too tightly for fragile porcelain. She set it down. “Dear heavens.”

Eleanor shook her head. “Elizabeth was a cruel and crazed woman, and she resented Cameron for trapping her in marriage. She was a few years older than Cameron, and according to Hart, Cam fell wildly in love with her. I imagine that Cameron being the son of one of the richest men in England, standing to inherit the title if anything happened to Hart, was too tempting for Elizabeth to resist. Her parents did nothing to warn Cameron about her, being happy to be rid of the girl. Elizabeth had thought she’d simply do what she pleased, you see, after she married, with whatever man she pleased, and she did at first. When Cameron insisted that Elizabeth be faithful to him, she grew uncontrollable. It was an unfortunate match from the beginning.”

Ainsley thought about the Cameron she knew—single- minded, stubborn, knowing what he wanted and letting nothing stand in his way. He could laugh, but there was always a bitter tinge to his laughter. Cameron had a reputation for taking up with women here, there, and everywhere, and he’d never fixed on one woman after his wife’s death.

Ainsley had assumed he played the rakehell from boredom, but Eleanor’s explanation told her a different tale. After a wife so awful to him, who’d destroyed whatever trust he had, Cameron would not have rushed eagerly back to the altar. This was Cameron’s view of women then: Grasping and selfish like Phyllida Chase, or cruel and tormenting like Lady Elizabeth Cavendish.

“Poor Cameron,” Ainsley said.

Eleanor smiled as she lifted her teacup. “Do be careful, Ainsley. They entice you, these Mackenzies, first with their wickedness and then with all that is heartbreaking.”

“Why did Cameron not divorce her?” Ainsley asked. “He surely had grounds. Or at least tuck her into a remote house somewhere, away from him and Daniel?”

“Precisely because of Daniel.” Eleanor refilled their cups then dropped five lumps of sugar into her freshened tea. “Elizabeth became with child very soon after they married, which infuriated her. She never wanted to be a mother. She would fly into rages, threaten to harm herself or to try to rid herself of the baby. Cameron didn’t want to let her out of his sight—he was protecting Daniel from her even then. Elizabeth tried to tell Cameron—repeatedly—that Daniel wasn’t his son, claiming any number of men to be his father. The trouble was, you see, any one of them could have been. Elizabeth was most generous with her body.”

Ainsley remembered the look on Cameron’s face when he’d found the letter from his wife’s lover in the hidden drawer. The anger, the disgust, the old pain that hadn’t quite dispersed. He’d kissed Ainsley right after that with a desperation, a need to forget.

“I think I rather hate her,” Ainsley said.

“I’m not much fond of her myself,” Eleanor said decidedly. “Cameron has a big heart, and it didn’t deserve to be broken by someone like Elizabeth.” She looked thoughtful. “Though I’ve come to believe that her need to rush about with other men was a kind of illness. Father read a piece from a scientific journal to me that explained that some people become obsessed with coupling just as others have a mania for gambling or alcohol. They can’t stop themselves. They must lie with someone and experience that . . . ecstasy, let’s call it, or they go a little mad. Father and I decided that perhaps Elizabeth must have been one of those people.”

Ainsley blinked. “Good heavens, Eleanor, your father talked of this with you?”

“Of course. Dear Father has no idea that such things shouldn’t be mentioned in the presence of a young lady. He’s keen on all branches of science and has a wide-open mind, which means he’ll discuss the mating habits of frogs or human beings and not have an inkling that there’s a difference between them. Proprietarily, I mean. Frogs reproduce rather differently from human beings, of course.”

Ainsley couldn’t stop her laugh. Certainly anyone bringing up the mating habits of frogs, let alone human beings, at Patrick’s dinner table would face the horrified silence of Patrick and Rona. Her brother and sister-in-law weren’t unkind people, but they had very stringent ideas about manners and proper topics of conversation.

The laugh ended in a sigh, and Ainsley sat limply in her chair. “What do I do, Eleanor? Cameron goes on about diamonds and hotels in Monte Carlo as though I’ll clap my hands and rush with him to the train.”

Eleanor gave her a sympathetic smile. “Because Cameron is used to women who cross their eyes and fall over when he dangles diamond necklaces in front of them. They don’t want him, they want his money, and he knows it.”

He did know it. Cameron was a generous man, but not a stupid one. He knew exactly why the ladies flocked to him.

“I don’t care about his money,” Ainsley said.

“I understand that, but I wager Cameron hasn’t the faintest idea how to woo a lady without bribing her. None of the Mackenzies do.”

Eleanor spoke with conviction. Hart must have lavished gifts on Eleanor until she couldn’t see, and still, Eleanor had told him to go.

Ainsley let out her breath. “If I refuse Cameron, I know that I will regret it for the rest of my life. But if I go, I’ll ruin myself and disgrace my family.” Again, she did not say. “My brothers would never forgive me.”

“Well, you do not have to advertise that you are running off with him, you know. If you will forgive me for saying so, you are not the most socially prominent young lady in Britain. Go incognito.”

Ainsley laughed, thinking of her costume at Rowlindson’s party. “In a wig and mask?”

“Nothing so theatrical. Simply leave for a jaunt to the Continent on your own. Ladies do such things nowadays all the time. They take walking tours of far-off countries by themselves and write books about their adventures. You’re not an unmarried miss, but a respectable widow. If you meet Cameron on your travels, what of it?”

Ainsley stared across the table at Eleanor, and Eleanor looked unflappably back at her. “El, you are telling me to run away with a man to become his mistress.”

“I am telling you to be happy. Even if it lasts only a little while. We must snatch what we can when we have the chance. Life is so very lonely when we don’t.”

Ainsley sat back, realizing that Eleanor probably hadn’t been the wisest choice for advice on this matter. Ainsley had hoped for a clear-eyed, uncolored view of the Mackenzie family—and Eleanor had that—but Eleanor still loved them as hard as did Beth or Isabella. Ainsley hadn’t wanted to go Isabella or Beth, because she knew Cameron’s offer would become a family discussion, and Ainsley had not wanted that, and she knew that neither would Cameron.

But Eleanor, she saw, though she’d shown Hart the door, wasn’t exactly an outsider. Eleanor obviously regretted her decision to jilt Hart, though she’d likely had good reason for it. Ten years ago, Hart Mackenzie hadn’t had a pristine reputation. Ainsley had heard from Beth about the house he’d bought for his mistress, a woman called Mrs. Palmer. He’d visited Mrs. Palmer in this house for many years, and the things he’d done there hadn’t been exactly conventional. Not until after his wife and child had died had Hart become much quieter and more discreet. He’d stayed with Mrs. Palmer, though, until that lady’s death.

Eleanor lifted her teacup. “You’re not an ingénue, Ainsley. You know exactly what you are getting yourself into. You know about men and what they want. You know the Mackenzies. You will be walking in with no illusions.”

Ainsley poked at the seedcake on her plate. She loved cake but at the moment had lost her appetite. “Tell me, El. If it were you—if Hart popped in and asked you to go away with him and be his lover—would you do it?”

Eleanor’s eyes flickered. “He never would.”

“But let us enter the realm of make-believe and suppose he did. Would you go with him?”

Eleanor flashed a smile. “Let Hart Mackenzie drape ropes of jewels about my neck and beg to share my bed at night? I would be sorely tempted. But my circumstance is a bit different than yours.”

Ainsley drew an impatient breath. “But in a castle in the air, where all else is unimportant, would you do it?”

Eleanor studied her teacup for a moment, and when she looked up, her eyes were quiet. “Of course I would,” she said. “I would in an instant.”

Eleanor’s train to take her back to Aberdeen pulled into the station not long later, and she and Ainsley left the teashop for the platform.

Eleanor wasn’t certain what Ainsley would do, but she saw in Ainsley a lonely young woman who badly needed a moment of happiness. Whether Ainsley would be brave enough to snatch that moment remained to be seen.

Ainsley pressed the seedcake she’d asked the waitress to wrap for her into Eleanor’s hand and thanked her as they exchanged a kiss good-bye. It was like Ainsley to disguise generosity as gratitude, Eleanor thought. Eleanor wasn’t too proud to accept the cake, though. She’d take it home to Father, and they’d have such a treat.

Ainsley hurried from the station after their good-byes, likely having stolen this time from whatever errands she was supposed to be doing for the queen. Poor Ainsley had less freedom than Eleanor did. Eleanor still managed to maintain a circle of friends—at least, those friends who didn’t give a toss about money. Only the very rich or the very poor could be so cavalier, so Eleanor’s friends came in an odd range.

Eleanor turned from waving Ainsley off to step from platform to train compartment. She slipped, failed to steady herself, and was caught by a large, strong hand.

All the breath went out of her when she looked back and down at the face of Hart Mackenzie.

The golden gaze that studied her had grown, if anything, harder and harsher with experience. Hart’s body was still broad and strong, shoulders stretching his finely tailored greatcoat, under which he wore his Mackenzie plaid kilt. Unshaved whiskers dusted Hart’s jaw, a sign that he’d been working around the clock as usual, but no exhaustion tinged his intense gaze.

Eleanor sensed something new in him, however, a focus that hadn’t existed before. She knew that Hart’s ambition was as honed as ever—she read the newspapers—but the hope and humor that had once lightened his eyes was gone. This was a man who had experienced loss, first of his wife and only child, then of his longtime mistress. He seemed to exist on ambition alone, now.

“I heard about Mrs. Palmer,” Eleanor said softly. “Hart, I am so very sorry.”

His eyes flickered in surprise, and in that moment, Eleanor looked at the true Hart Mackenzie, the man who’d sacrificed so much that his family would not suffer. It had been Hart who’d forced the old duke to make generous trusts for his three younger brothers, so that they could live independently. Their father would have been happy to let Ian, Mac, and Cam starve to keep all the money in the dukedom.

How Hart had persuaded his father to do this, Eleanor never did discover. Eleanor was one of the few who even knew he’d done it. And now Hart, a man with so much power, so much wealth, and so much might, grieved for a simple courtesan.

His look told her that he wasn’t certain of her motives, but he nodded. “Thank you.”

Eleanor gave his hand a squeeze, her heart fluttering at the strength she felt through his gloves.

Hart smiled suddenly, a smile that held the challenge of a predator about to make a kill. A lion might look like that right before he leapt upon a gazelle that couldn’t run away quite fast enough.

Eleanor tried to snatch her hand from his, but Hart closed his fingers on hers in an unshakable grip. The signal man on the platform blew a whistle, indicating that the train was about to leave. Hart transferred his grip to Eleanor’s elbow and half shoved her up into the compartment, following her inside.

“This is your train?” Eleanor asked nervously. Oh, mother mine, he can’t mean to ride with me all the way to Aberdeen!

“No.” Hart stood in the open door frame until she fell into the seat, the package with the precious seedcake landing beside her.

The engine’s whistle shrilled, and a waft of black smoke rolled back along the train. The car jerked.

“We’re leaving,” Eleanor said, frantic.

“I see that.” Hart reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded note, and thrust it into her hand.

Not a note, a banknote, for one hundred pounds sterling. Eleanor opened her hand and the money fluttered to the floor.

“Hart, no.”

Hart retrieved the note and tucked it under the string that bound the seedcake. “For your father, for research on his next book.”

Without bothering to hurry, he took out a small gold case, extracted a pristine card, and held it out to her. When Eleanor wouldn’t reach for it, Hart tucked it into the décolletage of her high-collared dress.

The heat of his fingers tore through her, and Eleanor realized at that moment that she would burn for this man for the rest of her life.

“If you need to see me for any reason, give that card to my majordomo,” Hart was saying. “He’ll know what to do.”

Eleanor fought herself for control. “How very, very, very kind of you, Your Grace.”

The cool duke’s façade cracked and fled. “Eleanor.” Hart cupped her face in gloved hands, and Eleanor’s heart sped faster than this train would ever go. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”

She couldn’t breathe. His mouth was so close to hers, his breath warm on her skin. He’d kiss her, and Eleanor would crumple, and he’d know the truth.

Hart touched the corner of her mouth, the movement so gentle she wanted to die.

The train jerked. Hart gave Eleanor a smile, stepped away from her, and dropped to the platform as the train started to glide forward.

He slammed the compartment door and gave Eleanor a lazy salute through the window as the train pulled out. Eleanor couldn’t look away from him. Hart kept his gaze locked on Eleanor’s until the train moved out of the station, and he was finally lost to sight.

One week later, Cameron Mackenzie lifted the shade of the train carriage window then let it fall again. He’d seen no woman hurrying across the dark platform, no form of Ainsley rushing for the last train from Doncaster.

“Bloody perfect ending to a damn rotten day.”

Jasmine had come in sixth in her race, and Lord Pierson had been furious. He’d accused Cameron of deliberately throwing the race and had made a huge scene, threatening to get Cameron barred from the Jockey Club. An empty threat, because Cam had a better reputation in the club than Pierson.

Even so, one of Cam’s trainers had to stop Cameron from punching Pierson in the jaw. Cameron had made the offer again, through clenched teeth, to simply buy Jasmine, but Pierson had refused. He’d had his grooms load Jasmine to take her away, and walked off.

Jasmine had looked back at Cameron like a child wondering why it couldn’t stay where it wanted to. Cameron’s heart had burned—Damn it, I’ve fallen in love with a horse.

Daniel, too, had been distraught, but he’d meekly agreed to remain behind with Angelo while Cameron wrapped up racing business in London, knowing that Cameron was still angry about Daniel’s Glasgow adventure.

Daniel had decided, when his father had charged off to Balmoral, to go down to Glasgow for reasons Daniel hadn’t yet made clear. While there, a gang of street youths had tried to rob him. Daniel had fought five of them manfully, but when the police came to arrest them, Daniel allowed himself to be arrested too instead of letting on that he’d been the victim. Apparently he’d gained the street youths’ admiration, and they’d cheerfully shared a cigar and smuggled whiskey in the cells, until Cameron had arrived to wrest Daniel away.

Instead of being remorseful that he had pulled Cameron from his argument with Ainsley, Daniel had been angry that Cameron hadn’t simply put Ainsley over his shoulder and run off with her.

Cameron was beginning to agree with Daniel, because Ainsley wasn’t coming. The queen was notorious for keeping her clutches into ladies she liked, not wanting them to leave her for any reason. The bloody woman had about seven hundred children and grandchildren, but she kept her favorite ladies pasted to her side, angry when they wanted to leave her to marry or to return to husbands and families. They all slowly froze to death together in the monstrosity that was Balmoral, the queen’s recently built “castle” that was about as Scottish as strudel.

The train engine huffed, the whistle blew, doors slammed up and down the train. Cameron took one more look at the platform, then let the shade fall again. His first-class carriage was comfortable, so he’d sleep well on the overnight journey. Alone.

The train jerked once and then began to creep out of the station. Six years had dragged by between Cameron’s first encounter with Ainsley and this one, and . . . Damn it all to hell, I can’t wait another six years.

Cameron got to his feet, ready to haul open the door and leap down. He’d go back to Balmoral, fetch Ainsley, and to hell with it.

The door to the corridor swung open, and the conductor stepped out of the way to let someone pass. “Is this it, ma’am?”

“Yes, thank you.” Ainsley spoke in a breathless voice, dropped a tip into the man’s hand, and breezed into the carriage. “You’ll see to my luggage, won’t you? I’m afraid there is rather a lot of it.”

The conductor, looking smitten, touched his hat, and said, “Right away, ma’am.”

He backed out and slammed the door. Ainsley drew the shades down over the corridor-facing windows, plucked off her gloves, and dropped into a seat.

Cameron remained standing as the train glided into the night. Ainsley looked fresh and bright, despite her hurry, different somehow. He realized after a moment that she wore vibrant blue instead of her usual gray or black, one of the ensembles Isabella had purchased for her in Edinburgh. Though her bodice was still buttoned to her chin, the fabric hugged her like a second skin, and her matching hat and veil turned her gray eyes almost silver.

“I’m sorry I nearly missed the train,” she said. “I had to rush from Edinburgh, because the clothes Isabella ordered for me were ready, and they take up three trunks, which all had to be packed at the last minute. Isabella and Mac kindly gave me use of the townhouse they lease there, so I’m afraid they know I’ve run off with you. Mac was rather pleased about it.”

“He would be.” Mac’s method of persuading a woman to stay with him was to abduct her and make her think it was her own idea.

“I assume we’ll make a stop in London?” Ainsley asked. “I can’t imagine you’d run straight through to Paris tonight, would you? If I could find a room at a respectable hotel, I can sort through my things and decide what I truly need to take. Isabella thought the lot, but I think she is optimistic.”

Cameron unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “We’ll stop in London,” he said, his voice gruff. “Not at a hotel. In Hart’s house; he keeps it ready. In the morning, we’ll marry.”