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.”
Chapter 19
“Marry?” Ainsley felt suddenly light, floating, unreal. But no, Cameron was standing solidly above her, announcing that tomorrow he would marry her.
“Vows exchanged, a license,” he said. “You’ll have heard of it.”
His eyes held anger and also something Ainsley didn’t understand. “But I’m running away with you.”
Cameron hauled her off the seat and sat down again with her firmly on his lap. “Are you mad, woman? You were right to turn me down. I’ll not let you destroy your life for the likes of me.”
Ainsley looked into his hard face and realized that what she saw in his eyes was fear. Not the nerves of a man contemplating matrimony, but stark panic.
“I won’t promise to be a model husband,” Cameron said. “Home at six for tea and the like. I work the horses all day during racing season and stay out all night in the off season. I drink, I play cards, and my friends are not respectable. I’d treat you like a mistress, a love
r, because I sure as hell don’t know how to treat a woman like a wife. If that’s not what you want, tell me now and go back to your queen.”
His voice grated, a man saying things he didn’t know how to say.
Ainsley made herself laugh. “Do you know, I once thought that if you proposed to a woman it would be wildly romantic, perhaps in a boat on a crystal blue lake. You’d sweep the lady off her feet—or maybe off her oar—and have her swooning with delight.”
“I’m not romantic, Ainsley. I just want you with me.”
His words rippled fire through her, warm against the September cold. “Are you saying that you want us to behave as lovers but marry to save the scandal?”
“This way, if you tire of me, you won’t have to risk your brother refusing to house you. You’ll always have money and a place to live as my wife. I’ll provide for you no matter what you think of me.”
She blinked. “Goodness, you’re ending the marriage before it’s begun.”
“I was a rotten husband before, and I can’t promise I won’t be a rotten one this time. If you don’t want this, you can leave the train at the next stop.”
They were picking up speed, racing through the darkness.
“All my trunks are on the train,” Ainsley said. “So I have to marry you or risk you chucking out my new wardrobe.”
Again she saw the flare of panic, which he masked with anger. “The minute you don’t want to live with me, you tell me. Understand? No divorce, no separation, no bloody rows. You tell me, and I give you a house to live in and money to do whatever you want.”
“I will bear it in mind.”
Cameron growled. He slid his strong hand behind her neck and pressed an openmouthed kiss to her lips.
Warmth, delight, strength. Ainsley wrapped her arms around him and gave in. Deciding to go through with running off with him had been the most difficult choice she’d ever made. But she’d known in the end that if she didn’t go, she’d regret it forever. Fate had given her a chance, and she’d realized that she couldn’t turn her back on that chance. Or on Cameron.
The Many Sins of Lord Cameron hp-3 Page 18
