Then the shouting as the household tried to get into the room, Daniel’s infant screams, then Hart’s gruff voice bellowing at Cameron to open the damned door. Hart had broken it down to find Cameron cradling Daniel in his arms, desperately trying to quiet him, and Elizabeth on the floor in a pool of her own blood.
Cameron’s dream jumped forward to the funeral—Cameron in soot black, wind stirring the crepe trickling from his tall hat. He stood rigidly next to his father and Hart as the Scottish vicar droned on about the wickedness of this transitory world and how Elizabeth was welcomed as a sister with joy into the next.
He remembered how their father had growled as soon as the vicar finished that Cameron had made bad job of it, losing himself a wife before she could push out more babies. If Cameron had only brought Elizabeth to heel, the old duke said, she would have been more obedient and not such a damned whore.
Hart had turned and crashed his fist into their father’s face, while the vicar watched in horror. Hart’s voice had held terrible anger as he’d said to their father, “You are dead to me.”
Cameron had stood by numbly, not really giving a damn. Afterward, he’d gone upstairs, told Daniel’s nurse to pack his things, and had taken Daniel, nurse and all, to London that very afternoon.
Cam’s dreams were cut by feminine laughter and a scent he already loved. He opened his eyes to see Ainsley, dressed once more in sensible gray—buttoned to the chin again—give Jasmine a bannock. The horse sniffed it, lipped it, then took it from Ainsley’s hand and crunched it down.
“Daniel, another,” she said.
Daniel took a second oat cake from a hamper and handed it to Ainsley. Ainsley fed it to Jasmine, who ate it with enthusiasm and reached for more. Angelo sat cross-legged in his corner, arms on his knees, watching with interest.
The images and dreams floated away in the cold dawn light, birds coming awake outside in the yard. Cameron’s eyes were sandy, but he felt strangely alert and rested.
“Was that meant to be my breakfast?” he asked.
Ainsley turned beautiful gray eyes to him. “That’s what I told your cook. My brother Patrick’s horse always loved bannocks when she grew ill. It seems far more effective than any draught in a black bottle.”
“She does seem to be perking up, Dad.” Daniel stuffed another bannock into Jasmine’s mouth, and Jasmine ate it greedily. Her nose still dripped mucus, but her miserable look had gone.
Horses were maddening. They could be right as rain in the morning and drop dead that night, or be as near death’s door as a horse could get and then make a full recovery a few hours later.
Jasmine couldn’t not feel better with Ainsley hand- feeding her. The horse crunched the next oatcake as Cameron got to his feet.
“You’re awake then,” Ainsley said. “You were twitching a bit when we came in. Bad dreams?”
“Nothing important.” Cameron heaved himself to his feet and went to stand next to her, absorbing her warmth. He couldn’t very well tell her, I’m sorry I didn’t come to your room and finish our debauch, in front of his son, Angelo, and the other men, but the look she gave him told him he didn’t need to say a word.
“Are the letters safe?” she whispered to him.
He nipped her earlobe as he answered. “Locked in my room, and no one, but no one is allowed in there but Angelo, and he’s incorruptible.” He gave her a pointed look. “Remember that.”
Ainsley sent him a cheeky grin. “I’ll consider it.”
Jasmine ran her horsy nose across Ainsley’s placket and closed her teeth over one of Ainsley’s buttons. Ainsley squeaked as Jasmine jerked off the button. Cameron swiftly took it out of Jasmine’s mouth before she could swallow it and pulled Ainsley back as Jasmine reached for more.
“You see?” Cameron said, lacing his arms around Ainsley from behind. “She knows exactly what should be done with all those buttons.”
Ainsley and Daniel went inside for breakfast soon after that, but Cameron remained. Training needed to begin, sick horses or no. The routine never stopped, and Cameron had the other racers to consider.
But he felt good. His crazed dreams had dissolved like mist in the sunlight, and he was back to remembering being inside Ainsley. Jasmine seemed to have passed her crisis, and if she were truly better, Cameron would arrange to spend that night with Ainsley. And the next night, and the next. All winter, in fact. He’d send telegrams to his man of business in Paris to begin the lease of his usual house and to hire a lady’s maid for Ainsley.
He hoped that Ainsley would return to the stables while he worked, but she didn’t. Cameron rode with Angelo and the others and didn’t see her among the guests that turned up to watch the training. She’d likely been pressed into service by Isabella again.
When Cameron returned to the house hours later to wash and change, he nearly ran into Beth coming in through the front door in bonnet and gloves. The house was quiet, the guests nowhere in sight.
“Is Ainsley with Isabella?” Cameron asked Beth.
Beth blinked at him in surprise. “With Isabella? No, Ainsley’s gone. I’ve just come back from putting her on the train.”
Chapter 16
Cameron stared at Beth while the color drained from his world. “Gone? What do you mean gone?”
“Back to Balmoral. She had a telegram from the queen this morning.” Her voice softened. “I’m sorry, Cam. You didn’t know?”
“No, I bloody well didn’t know.” No good-bye, no bothering to send him a message.
“She didn’t even have time to pack,” Beth said, tugging off her gloves. “She took a few things with her and asked me to send everything else on.”
“And you let her go?” Cameron’s voice thundered.
Beth’s dark blue gaze burrowed past his anger. “It was a summons from the queen. She couldn’t refuse.” She hesitated. “Do you remember when you taught me how to ride a horse?”
“What the devil does that have to do with anything?” The world had dropped from under Cameron’s feet, and he was falling, falling.
“You were so patient with me, even though I was completely ignorant about horses. You found me a horse that would be gentle and easy to ride, and you went slowly. I learned to trust that you wouldn’t let me fall. And not only because Ian would throttle you if you did.”
“I remember.”
“Then trust me when I say that you will see Ainsley again. And everything will be as it should be.”
Beth looked wise, but this was wrong, all wrong. “Did she leave any message for me?”
“No.” Beth looked apologetic. “She barely had time to say good-bye to Isabella and ask me to kiss the babies for her.”
No good-bye for Cameron, no answer to his pathetic plea. Ainsley, you have to come with me. Say you will. Promise me.
“Damnation.”
Beth touched his arm. “Cameron, I am so sorry.”
Cameron looked down at Beth, the kind but resilient sister-in-law who’d made Ian so happy. He started to answer but just then his jumbled thoughts clarified into a single one.
The letters.
The exasperating Ainsley would never have rushed off to Balmoral without the letters. If Angelo had given them to her . . . Cameron should have remembered that she’d already swayed Angelo to her side.
Without another word, Cameron strode to his wing of the house, took the stairs two at a time, and stormed into his bedchamber. Everything looked as Cam had left it the night before, including the dog-haired impression McNab had left on the bed. The dog in question now padded back into the room.
Cameron slammed across the room to his bedside table. A painting of a cheerful tart hung above it, she sitting on the edge of her bed in her chemise, grinning while she pulled on her stockings. Mac had painted the picture for him a long time ago. Though Cameron had never met the model Mac had used, he liked the way the woman’s cheeky smile beamed at him every morning.
She laughed at him now as Cameron yanked open the drawer. Camero
n had locked the drawer, but the little lock was no match for Ainsley’s skill.
The stack of letters had gone.
“Damn it,” Cameron said. McNab sat down next to him. “Bloody rotten guard dog you are.”
McNab thumped his tail.
Cameron drew out a scrap of paper from the drawer that hadn’t been there the night before. Unfolding it, he found Ainsley’s clear handwriting.
On the train, after the St. Leger. I will give you my answer.
She hadn’t signed it.
“Dad!” The outraged cry had McNab’s tail going faster. Cameron slid the note into his pocket.
“Dad!”
“I heard you the first time.” Cameron shoved the drawer closed and faced his son, who’d been running, his kilt dirty as usual.
“Dad, Mrs. Douglas is gone.”
“I know that.”
“Well, go after her. Bring her back!”
Cameron glared, and Daniel took a worried step back. Cameron checked his rage, not liking the frustrated violence boiling up inside him.
“She went to the queen,” he said as calmly as he could. “She had to go.”
“Why? What does the bloody queen need with her anyway? She’s got enough people to look after her without Ainsley.”
Cameron agreed. The beast inside him wanted to rush to Balmoral and damn anyone who got in his way. “I know.”
“This is your fault,” Daniel snarled. “She’s gone, we’ll never see her again, and it’s all your fault.”
“Daniel—”
Daniel whirled and fled the room, McNab trotting worriedly after him.
Hell and damnation. Cameron sank to the bed, the strength going out of him. He hadn’t slept all night, and his head pounded with whiskey, exertion, and memories of Ainsley.
On the train, after the St. Leger. I will give you my answer.
Cameron could barely breathe.
He wouldn’t let her go. Mackenzie men were good at getting exactly what they wanted, and Cameron would have Ainsley. He’d not let her go again, not for the Queen of England or any other reason on God’s earth.
The declaration didn’t return color to his world, but he clung to it as he stripped off his soiled clothes and bellowed to the footmen to fetch Angelo.
Queen Victoria opened the keepsake box Ainsley had brought to her and slid the bundle of letters inside it. She locked the box with a little key on a ribbon and tucked the key back into her pocket.
“You have done well, my dear,” the queen said, her quiet smile satisfied.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but shouldn’t you burn them?” The lock on the keepsake box was flimsy, and Phyllida’s toady had found no difficulty stealing the letters from it the first time.
“Nonsense. It scarcely matters now. Mrs. Chase is long gone.”
Yes, but there might be others just as intent on embarrassing you, Ainsley argued silently.
However, the queen was right that Phyllida Chase would no longer be a threat. As soon as Ainsley had alighted from the train that evening, the maid who’d come to fetch her had told Ainsley the delightful rumor that Mrs. Chase had fled to the Continent with a young Italian tenor.
The rumor was confirmed at Balmoral by a colleague of Mr. Chase. Phyllida had written a letter to her husband, baldly stating that she’d left him and outlining why. Mr. Chase was outraged, ready to sue her, and he fully blamed the Duke of Kilmorgan for hosting licentious house parties. Ainsley wondered how Hart Mackenzie had reacted to that.
Victoria went on. “I heard that you returned my five hundred guineas to my secretary.”
“Yes, I was able to retrieve the letters and not spend your money, ma’am.”
“Very clever of you.” The queen patted her cheek. “So frugal, so very Scots. You’ve always been resourceful, my dear, as was your mother, God rest her soul.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
It alarmed Ainsley how easily she slid back into the role of the queen’s trusted servant. Ainsley wore mourning black again, but she couldn’t help but touch the onyx buttons of her bodice and imagine the wicked smile Cam would give her as he asked how many she’d let him undo.
Ainsley thought of the note she’d left him, poor recompense for all his help. But when Ainsley had telegraphed the queen that she’d successfully retrieved the letters, she’d received an almost instant reply that she should return to Balmoral at once.
Cameron had been on a horse in the fields with Angelo and his trainers, and Ainsley knew she wouldn’t have time to wait for him to finish so that she could say good-bye. When the queen said at once, she meant it.
Besides, Cameron might have demanded an answer then and there, and Ainsley’s mind whirled with the question. He wanted her to flee to the Continent with him, as Phyllida had done with her tenor, and Ainsley hadn’t the faintest idea what to tell him.
If she did go with Cameron, how on earth would she explain it to Patrick and Rona? As she’d tried to tell Cameron, she didn’t so much worry about scandal but who she would hurt by it. If I were alone in the world, I’d tell scandal to go hang and do as I pleased.
But Cameron was tempting Ainsley. It wasn’t simply lust for the bedchamber that made her long for him—there was his smile, the warmth in his eyes, the way he worried over Jasmine, the way he’d helped lame Mrs. Yardley so very gently across the croquet green. Ainsley wanted all of Cameron, the whole man.
“I’m thinking of going to Paris, ma’am,” Ainsley said.
The queen blinked. “Next summer, with your family? Of course, you must. Paris is lovely in the summer.”
“No, I mean in a few weeks.”
“Nonsense, my dear, you can’t possibly. We have the ghillies ball at the end of the month and so much to do after that, and then Christmas.”
Ainsley bit the inside of her mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”
To the queen, nothing was more interesting or important than royal entertainments, and Ainsley knew that Victoria would not want Ainsley to leave her side. Victoria smiled at Ainsley now.
“Play for me, dear,” the queen said. “You soothe me.”
She had her hands around her box, the queen’s plump face serene now that she’s regained the evidence of her secret love. Ainsley hid a sigh, went to the piano, and started to play.
Two days later, Ainsley walked into a long drawing room and found Lord Cameron Mackenzie standing in it, his back to her while he warmed his hands at the fireplace.
Before she could choose between running away and facing him squarely, Cameron turned around. His sharp gaze moved up and down her, and he didn’t disguise the fact that he was angry. Very angry.
“I left you a note,” Ainsley said faintly.
“Damn your note. Shut the door.”
Ainsley walked across the room to him without obeying about the door. “What are you doing here?”
And why did he look so wonderful in his worn riding kilt and muddy boots?
“I came to visit my mistress.”
Ainsley stopped. “Oh.”
“I meant you, Ainsley.”
Ainsley’s breath came pouring back. “I’m not your mistress.”
“My lover, then.” Cameron sat on a sofa without inviting her to sit first, removed a flask from his coat pocket, and took a long sip.
Ainsley seated herself on a nearby chair. “You make us sound like characters in a farce. I’ll wager you didn’t tell her majesty that you were here to visit your mistress.”
Cameron shrugged and took another sip. “She asked for my advice on a horse, and I decided to give it to her in person.”
“Very clever.”
“The queen likes to talk about horses.”
Ainsley nodded. “She does. I told you I’d give you my decision after the St. Leger. I need time to think.”
Cameron crossed his booted feet. “I’ve changed my mind. I want my answer now.”
“Does that mean you’ve come here to carry me off? They do have guards and things.”<
br />
“No, damn you. I came here to persuade you.”
“You are an arrogant man, Cameron Mackenzie.”
Cameron thrust the flask back into his pocket. “I’m a damned impatient man. I don’t understand why the devil you insisted on rushing back here to be the queen’s best servant.”
Ainsley spread her hands. “I need the money. I’m not a rich woman, and my brother can’t be expected to keep me forever.”
“I told you, I’ll give you all the money you need.” Cameron flicked his gaze up and down her frock. “I hate you in black. Why do you keep wearing it?”
“It is what I wear when I’m working for the queen,” Ainsley said. “And I wear it because John Douglas was a kind, caring man, and he deserves not to be forgotten.”
“Kind and caring. The opposite of Cameron Mackenzie.”
Something in his eyes stemmed her anger. “You can be kind and caring. I’ve seen you.”
“Why did you marry John Douglas in the first place? No one seems to understand why, not your closest friends, not even Isabella.”
Ainsley did not want to talk about John with Cameron. “You were enticing her to gossip and speculation, were you?”
“I have to, mouse, because you won’t answer a straight question. But tell me this.” Cameron held her gaze with his. “Were you carrying his child?”
Chapter 17
Ainsley’s breath went away again. “What?”
“I saw the marks on your abdomen, Ainsley. I understand what they mean. You had a baby.”
No one knew. Only Patrick and Rona, and John. Even Ainsley’s three other brothers, nowhere near Rome at the time of Ainsley’s hasty marriage, hadn’t known the full story.
Ainsley rose from her chair, walked across the room, and closed and locked the door. Cameron watched her, not moving, as she returned to her seat.
“The child lived for a day,” she said in a quiet voice. “But she wasn’t John’s.”
Cameron sat perfectly still. “Whose, then?”
“I met a young man in Rome. I fell in love with him and allowed him to seduce me. I thought he’d rejoice that I was having his child and marry me.” She wondered that she’d ever been so naïve. “That’s when he told me he was already married, and even had two children of his own.”
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