The Many Sins of Lord Cameron

Chapter 27

The Mackenzies started pouring into Waterbury Grange in April, at about the time Ainsley’s letters stopped coming. Cameron would leave for the meets at Newmarket soon, the racing season once more reaching out to embrace him.

Mac and Isabella arrived first with their two children in tow, Mac taking over with his usual ebullience. Fortunately the house was big enough to absorb them all plus give Mac a place to set up his studio.

Mac had been painting with gusto this past year, in his usual getup of nothing but kilt and painting boots and a gypsy kerchief to protect his hair. He now spent his time fully dressed in the stable yard, doing preliminary sketches of Chance’s Daughter, while his wife kept her robust children from going too close to the horses, an arduous task.

A few days later Ian and Beth and child turned up, accompanied by Daniel, who’d traveled down with them.

In years past when Ian had visited Waterbury, he’d develop a rigid routine, allowing himself only into certain rooms and along certain paths around the unfamiliar house and grounds. He’d be fine if allowed to follow that routine, but the moment anything disrupted it, Ian would fall into confusion and rages, what he called his “muddles.” Only Curry, his valet, had been able to calm Ian back into the comforting routine.

This year, Curry seemed to have been recruited as makeshift nanny. He bounced the ten-month-old Jamie Mackenzie in his arms while Ian assisted Beth from the carriage.

Ian called out that they’d arrived and took his son back from Curry. He slowed his steps for Beth, who was plump with child, as they entered the house. Beth hadn’t been to Waterbury before—last year she’d been pregnant with their first child, and Ian had not wanted her to travel. This year, Beth had insisted.

Cameron greeted them, then stood back with Mac as Isabella hugged Beth and chattered with her about the journey. The two dogs that had accompanied Ian and Beth now swarmed around McNab, the three of them probably also chattering about the journey.

As Ian took Beth’s hand and started to lead her up the stairs, Cameron’s housekeeper blocked their path.

“I’m afraid you’ve been put into a different room this year, my lord,” the housekeeper said. “Her ladyship—Lord Cameron’s ladyship, that is—thought you’d be more comfortable in a bigger chamber. It’s a front one, my lord.” She smiled tightly, familiar with Ian. “It has a very nice view.”

Behind Ian, Curry stopped, looking worried. Beth smiled encouragingly at Ian and squeezed his arm.

Ian didn’t look at the housekeeper but glanced at Cameron, briefly meeting his eyes. “The one at the top of the stairs? I was going to ask you for it, Cam. My usual one will be too small. Ainsley was right to change it. This way, my Beth.”

He glided on up the stairs, baby on one arm and Beth on the other. Curry followed, the look of relief on his Cockney face obvious. The housekeeper relaxed as well, and Mac raised his brows at Cameron.

“Our baby brother has grown up,” Mac said.

He had. Beth had taken the wreck that was Ian and given him a life.

“Ainsley is very perceptive,” Isabella said, leaning on Mac’s shoulder. “I believe I have mentioned that she is excellent at organizing. She’s certainly done wonders with this dusty old place. When is she returning?”

“I couldn’t say.” Cameron’s voice was stiff.

“I’m certain the queen has her running about on some mad errand,” Isabella said. “Ainsley will finish it and sail back here before you know it.” She tapped Cameron’s wrist. “But I will never forgive you for marrying her in that underhanded way, without telling me.”

Cameron thoughts flashed back to Ainsley in Hart’s London parlor, promising in her unwavering voice to honor her husband and worship him with her body. “It was necessary.”

Mac laughed. “Because Ainsley wouldn’t have agreed if Cam had given her time to think about it.” He kissed his wife’s cheek. “It’s the only way to get a woman to marry a Mackenzie.”

“Yes, but one bride in this family should have a sumptuous wedding,” Isabella said. “We could do a second one, as Beth did with Ian.”

Cameron didn’t answer. For now, his bride was elusive, buried with the queen at Windsor while Cameron grew surlier by the day.

Daniel went out with Cameron to the paddocks in the morning to watch the horses run. Cameron liked Daniel there, enjoyed standing next to the solid wall of his son. The idea of Daniel coming to partner with him after university was a good one.

After they watched Chance’s Daughter leave the other horses in the dust yet again, Daniel said. “You’ll have to trust her, Dad.”

“Who, Chance’s Daughter?”

“Very funny. Ye know I mean Ainsley.” Daniel’s voice was even deeper now, his stance more confident. “If Ainsley says she’ll do a thing, she’ll do it.”

The next set of horses came running down the flat, hooves pounding, mud flying. The roar and rush was supposed to make Cameron’s world come alive, but without Ainsley to watch it with him, that world was flat and dull.

“Women change their minds at the drop of a feather, son,” he said. “You’ll learn that.”

Daniel gave him a patient look. “She’s not women, Dad. She’s Ainsley.”

He pushed away from the fence and strolled toward the stables, waving at the trainers on the way, but his words lingered.

She’s Ainsley.

The world took on a flush of color. Ainsley would come home. She’d said she would, and the truth of that struck Cameron with force.

He’d never trusted a woman before. Elizabeth had long ago stolen that trust from him, and Cameron had held women at arm’s length ever since. He’d always ended his affairs long before the lady in question had a chance to betray and hurt him, having learned, painfully, that he had to control any liaison he entered.

Then Ainsley had bowled into Cameron’s life and taken over. No, not taken over. She’d become part of him, bonded to his heart. Cameron felt that bond now stretching between them, across the miles to Windsor, or wherever she’d gone by now. That bond would pull him to her, and her to him, and he would never lose her.

A peace stole over him, one Cameron hadn’t felt in . . . Hell, he’d never felt anything like this in his life. He’d come close to it holding his son for the first time, the tiny being he’d vowed to protect with everything he had, but never since.

Cameron raised his gaze to the young man who’d grown from that tiny being, and his heart swelled with pride. Not for anything Cameron had done himself, but for what Daniel had become on his own. A good lad, smart and brave, who loved without resentment, who was as carelessly generous as the rest of the Mackenzies.

She’s Ainsley.

Cameron thought of Ainsley: of her beautiful hair spilling across her body while she slept, of her frank gray gaze that undid his heart, of her laughter that heated his blood. He missed her with brutal sharpness.

When Ainsley returned—and she would return—Cameron would show her how much he’d missed her, every detail of it.

And he’d never let her out of his sight again. Being without her was too damned hard.

When Ainsley told Patrick that part of her scheme involved him accompanying her to a canal boat full of the Roma, he was naturally perplexed.

“Ainsley. Stop.”

Ainsley set down her valise on the towpath of the Kennet and Avon Canal. A long canal boat rested beside them, rocking ever so gently. Children watched them from the deck, as did the adults, one man smoking a long pipe. Angelo had gone below to tell his mother that they’d arrived.

Patrick puffed from the walk from the village a little west of Reading, where the hired coach had left them. Ainsley’s forty-five-year-old brother, though he’d let himself go a bit paunchy, looked so utterly respectable in his dark suit, hat, and walking stick that Ainsley wanted to hug him again. She’d missed him.

Patrick pulled out a handkerchief that had been folded into a perfect square and wiped his brow. “We’ve never discussed what we are to do on this boat.”

“Nothing. It will take us, discreetly, to Bath.”

“A Romany canal boat is discreet?”

“Unexpected, certainly. I need to get to Bath without making a fanfare of it, without anyone knowing we’re coming.”

“Where I will be your cohort in crime?”

“I use the term crime loosely,” Ainsley said. “I’ll tell you all about it on the boat.”

“Ainsley.”

Patrick’s tone turned serious, and Ainsley sucked in a breath. She’d rushed him from his Windsor inn to his hired coach, and then kept up a steady stream of chatter about her life in Waterbury, the horses, Daniel, about redecorating her house, as they rode. Anything to prevent the talk she knew she had to face now.

“Ainsley, you haven’t allowed me to discuss your elopement,” Patrick said.

“I know that. I’m avoiding the scolding that I’ll know you’ll give me.”

“I merely wish you had consulted me about it first. What a shock we had when we received your telegram! My little sister married to a lord. And such a lord.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Patrick, but I had to choose quickly. There wasn’t time to consult you. I knew that eloping would disappoint you, and please believe me when I say that it hurt me to disappoint you. Very much. But Cameron was right when he told me I’d deliberately let myself become a drudge. Because, you see, I thought that, if you and Rona saw how sorry I was, how grateful I was that you stood by me when I was so foolish—and how good I’d be for the rest of my life—maybe you, my brother, would forgive me.” She ran out of breath.

“Ainsley.” Patrick’s gray eyes went wide. “Of course I forgave you. I forgave you years ago. And anyway, there wasn’t anything to forgive. You have such a large heart, of course you’d trust that blackguard in Italy. Why shouldn’t you? It was my fault for being so wrapped up in my own business that I didn’t notice and warn you in time. You should forgive me for not looking after you.”

“But I never blamed you, Patrick. It never ever occurred to me to blame you.”

“Well, I have blamed myself. You were so young and so trusting, and I should have kept a better eye on you.”

Ainsley stopped. She’d had no idea that Patrick had felt that way. Perhaps she’d been so busy with self-castigation that she’d failed to notice her brother doing the same himself.

“My dear Patrick, we can stand here on this towpath and exchange declarations of culpability for hours, but perhaps we should agree to put it behind us. I will simply say that I’ve always been very grateful to you. You stood by me when you didn’t have to.”

“You are my sister. I would never dream of deserting you, or throwing you to the wolves. And you’re avoiding my questions again. This elopement with Lord Cameron Mackenzie—”

“I had to jump the way my heart led me,” Ainsley said.

Patrick wiped his forehead again. “Let me finish, dear girl. At first I suspected that Mackenzie had abducted you, had tricked you into running away with him by pretending to marry you. Her majesty certainly thought so and had her secretary write me her suspicions. I was inclined to investigate. I asked friends in Paris what they thought of the match. They wrote me how happy you were, how positively radiant, how Lord Cameron treated you like a queen.” Patrick chuckled. “Better than a queen treated you, actually.”

Ainsley stifled surprise. Patrick rarely criticized anyone, even obliquely, and especially not the Queen of England.

Patrick shrugged. “Bless her, she’s Hanoverian. Not even a Stuart. I rather agree with Hart Mackenzie that Scotland should be independent, although I’m skeptical at his chances to put it that way.”

Ainsley looked at her brother, her heart full. “Then you forgive me? Or at least understand?”

“I told you, there’s nothing to forgive. You followed your heart, and this time, you were wise enough to make the choice with your head as well. I would like to meet Lord Cameron before I fully make up my mind, but I trust you.” Patrick let out his breath. “Now, what the devil is this crime you want me to help you commit?”

“Not a crime. Merely a little deception.”

Before Patrick could answer, Angelo came out on deck, followed by a diminutive woman dressed in soot black, her head covered with a scarf. She peered from the deck to Patrick and Ainsley with vibrant eyes.

“Well?” she said in a loud, heavily accented voice. “Why are they just standing there? Help them on you lazy louts!”

The man with the pipe sprang to his feet and vaulted over the side to pick up Ainsley’s valise.

“My lady,” Angelo said, teeth flashing in a grin. “And sir. My mother.”

The woman reached for Ainsley as Ainsley stepped across to the deck. “Welcome, my dear. Goodness, your hair is very yellow. It ain’t dyed, is it?”

Patrick gave her a shocked look. “It’s pure Scottish gold, madam.”

“Humph, I thought Scottish gold was whiskey.” Her look softened for Ainsley. “You’re quite beautiful, my dear. His lordship has come to his senses at last, I see. Now you come over here and sit down with me. I’ve made a nice space for you to settle while you watch the world float by.”

Patrick stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket as he followed Ainsley and the woman across the deck. The Romany with the pipe carried Ainsley’s and Patrick’s valises below, and Angelo cast off the ropes.

“I hope it doesn’t rock too much,” Patrick said as he sat down, the children eyeing him with curiosity. “You know how deucedly sick I get on boats.”

When Ainsley’s coach stopped, a week later, at Waterbury Grange in Berkshire, the carriage door was wrenched open for her by none other than Hart Mackenzie.

“Your Grace,” Ainsley said in surprise as Hart reached in and swung her to the ground. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking after the family.” The duke nodded at Patrick, who remained in the coach clutching his hat. “Where’s Angelo?”

“Following,” Ainsley said. “Where’s Cam?”

“Snarling at all and sundry.” Hart fixed Ainsley with a sharp stare. “You haven’t written him. Not lately.”

Ainsley reached for her valise. “I couldn’t. First, I’ve been living on a canal boat, and we never stopped near enough to a village where I could mail a letter. Second, I have a surprise for Cameron, and I knew I’d never contain myself if I wrote him. My pen would betray me.”

Hart clearly didn’t believe the last part, but he led her to the house without further admonishment. Patrick, assisted by a footman, climbed down and followed, and servants swarmed to the coach to unload their baggage.

Ainsley broke away from Hart when they reached the house and its wide front hall.

“Cam,” she shouted, dropping her valise. “I’m home.”

She heard a squeal as Isabella ran out of the parlor, arms outstretched. Isabella was nicely round with her pregnancy, so soft to hug. Mac came from the parlor after her, and Beth, also pleased and plump, hurried down the stairs with Ian and Daniel.

Daniel swept Ainsley into a strong hug. “I knew you’d come back. Didn’t I say so? Dad!” he bellowed up the stairs as he set Ainsley on her feet. “It’s Ainsley!”

“He knows, lad.” Mac laughed. “I think the whole county knows.”

Cameron clattered in through the back passage, the entrance he used when returning from the stables, and everyone went silent.

Cameron halted on the flagstones when he saw Ainsley, his boots and riding breeches splattered with mud. It was all Ainsley could do not to rush to him, her tall, strong horseman with the topaz eyes.

“Hello, Cam,” she said.

Cameron’s scarred cheek moved, but the rest of him remained still.

“I’ve brought my brother with me. Cam, this is Patrick McBride.”

Patrick made a little bow. “How do you do, your lordship?”

Cameron dragged his gaze to Patrick, made a stiff, polite nod, then moved right back to Ainsley.

Hart laid his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Mr. McBride, why don’t we wet your throat with a little Mackenzie malt?”

Patrick brightened and followed Hart into the parlor, where Hart pointedly closed the doors. The others began to fade up the stairs or outside, Beth taking Ian’s arm and walking him out the front.

Only Daniel remained, stubbornly, by the foot of the stairs. “Don’t say anything stupid, Dad.”

“Daniel,” Cameron said.

“Stay all you like, Danny.” Ainsley removed her hat and tossed it to a table, then fished inside her valise and removed some papers. “I do apologize, Cameron, for taking so long to come home. But Lord Pierson is a bloody stubborn man. He took some convincing. Patrick did remarkably well, I thought. He ought to have gone on the stage.”

Cameron unfolded his arms, finding it difficult to focus on anything but Ainsley’s smile. “Pierson?”

“Angelo floated Patrick and me down to Bath, where Patrick visited Lord Pierson and convinced him to sell Jasmine. To sell her to Patrick, I mean. I stayed in the canal boat, so that Lord Pierson wouldn’t see me and recognize me, and Patrick did everything. He was quite wonderful. Do you know that canal boats can glide as smoothly as silk? I found it very relaxing. Although, Angelo’s nieces and nephews know how make the boat rock so it will slosh about in the water. They taught me.”

“Ainsley.” Cameron cut through the heady flow of her chatter. “Are you telling me that you . . . convinced Pierson . . . to sell you Jasmine?”

“Patrick did. I gave Patrick the money, and he pretended to be a rich businessman interested in horses. Patrick almost fainted when I told him how much to offer for Jasmine, but I was firm. Patrick told Lord Pierson that he was new to racing, which is true, and that he’d heard that Lord Pierson might have a horse for sale, also true. Lord Pierson almost licked Patrick’s shoes, he told me. Lord Pierson showed him Jasmine, and Patrick took a shine to her. Again, true, because Patrick agrees that she is a wonderful horse. Jasmine perked right up when she saw me when Patrick brought her down to the canal. I think she knew that she was on her way home. To her real home, I mean. Here.”

Ainsley looked so damned pleased with herself, and Cameron could only look at her and bathe in her smile.

Daniel laughed. “And Pierson fell for it?”

“Lord Pierson was happy to sell Jasmine to Patrick McBride, the rather naïve businessman.” Ainsley approached Cameron, the bundle of papers in her hand. “The next morning, Patrick McBride sold Night-Blooming Jasmine to me—for one pound sterling. We had it legally drawn up and everything.” She pressed the papers to Cameron’s chest. “And, now, my Lord Cameron, I give her to you.”

Cameron stared at the pale ivory sheets against his coat. “Why?”

“Because you want her so much,” Ainsley said.

Cameron was so stunned he could barely breathe. He wanted to reach for her and pull her to him, to crush her to his body and never let her go.

He couldn’t move.

A crunch of wheels outside interrupted, and Cameron heard a familiar piercing whinny. Ainsley whirled from him in excitement. “She’s here.”

Cameron grabbed Ainsley’s hand. She couldn’t go. Not now. Not yet.

Daniel laughed and raced outside, calling to Angelo as he went.

Cameron tugged Ainsley back to him, relaxing as she came. She was home, with him, where she belonged. His world took on color again.

“You can’t be angry at me for buying Jasmine.” Ainsley’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “I can always send her back, you know.”

“I’m not angry with you, devil woman. I’m madly in love with you.”

Ainsley looked startled, then her smile blossomed. “Are you? That’s splendid, because I love you too, Cameron Mackenzie.”

The words went straight to his heart.

The papers fell, unheeded, to the floor as Cameron kissed her. He needed the taste of her, needed it every day of his life. Ainsley’s lips were hot, her mouth wonderful. She slid her hands down his back, working under his coat to cup him in his tight riding breeches.

“Vixen,” Cameron said against her mouth.

“The others are giving us a moment alone. We may as well take advantage of it.”

“No.” Cameron’s voice went savage. “I want you for far more than a moment. I want to take you slowly, for a long time, in a place where no one will interrupt us.”

“We’d better try your bedroom, then. That door has a stout lock, and as far as I know, I’m the only one who knows how to pick it.”

Before she finished, Cameron had her in his arms, carrying her up the stairs. He wanted to hurry, but he couldn’t resist stopping on the landing to kiss her, nibble her neck, nip at her lips.

When the bedroom door slammed behind them, Cameron set Ainsley on her feet and began stripping off her clothes.

“Never go away again,” he said. “Whenever you leave this house, I go with you. I can’t stand to be away from you. Understand?”

He peeled away her layers—pelisse and bodice, skirt and petticoat, bustle and corset, combinations and stockings. Ainsley’s beautiful body came into view, dusky nipples tight, the brush of gold hair between her thighs sweetly damp. She was so beautiful that Cameron ached with it.

“I shouldn’t travel very far anyway,” Ainsley said as Cameron wrenched off his own clothes, his nude wife looking so demure. “I shall grow quite stout soon, but I can look upon it as an excuse to eat as much cake as I please.”

Cameron flung off his shirt and stripped out of his underwear. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Daniel’s little brother or sister. I wasn’t certain before I left, so I didn’t want to mention it, but I became much more certain during my visit to the queen. Her doctor confirmed it.”

Cameron stopped. Ainsley smiled that secret smile, her cheeks flushed, while she stood before him stark naked. Lovely, impossible Ainsley.

“Don’t look so shocked, my husband. It was inevitable, the way we carry on. I am only surprised it didn’t happen sooner, but there’s no predicting these things.”

“Our child.” Cameron’s voice became an awed whisper. His dark world whirled around him one last time then dissolved into sunshine. “Our child.”

“Certainly.” Ainsley’s smile faded, but the love in her eyes did not. “I am ecstatically happy, and honored, to carry her—or him.”

Cameron read worry in her face, fear that hadn’t quite faded from the death of her first baby. He cupped her face in his hands.

“I’ll take care of you,” he said. “You can be certain of that. You’ll not have to fear.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Damn you, Ainsley, I love you so much I hurt with it. I fell in love with you the night I first caught you in my bedchamber, my little thief. I was so drunk, and you were so lovely, and I wanted you like I’d never wanted a woman before in my life. How the hell did I live so long without you?”

“About as well as I lived without you.” Ainsley touched his face. “Let’s never live without each other again, all right?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to say.” Cameron straightened from her. “Bed. Now.”

Her brows rose. “My, aren’t you commanding?”

“I am about this. March.” He slapped his hand to her backside and half shoved, half walked her to the bed, Ainsley laughing all the way.

While he laid her down, he growled those naughty things that she loved to hear. Ainsley kissed him, and Cameron slid into her, completing their joining, completing himself.

He loved her until they were panting, sweating, shouting their joy. Cameron held her hard through it all, and still held her as they wound down to exhaustion.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, Cam.” Ainsley’s voice was soft, tender. He believed her.

Cameron snuggled down beside her, pulling the covers over their nakedness, knowing that he could drift to sleep in complete safety and solace. He knew that he’d wake again in the peace she’d taught him, no more blackness, no more grief.

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for giving me back my life.”

“There will be much more of that, my Cam.” Ainsley touched his cheek, breathed her cinnamon-scented breath on him. “Years upon years of it.”

He intended there to be.

Cameron started to whisper that tender thought when he jumped, feeling a very determined hand close around his still-hard cock.

“Devil,” he growled.

Ainsley laughed, her mirth ringing to the ceiling as Cameron rolled her into the featherbed and loved her all over again.