Cameron caught her as her legs gave way. He swept her up into her arms and carried her swiftly to the house, past the servants who’d rushed out to watch, and up the stairs to Ainsley’s bedchamber.
He set Ainsley down on her chaise near the fire, and she waved a weak hand in front of her face. “When did my life become so dramatic?”
“When you agreed to marry me. It’s confounded cold in here.” Ainsley’s large bedroom had a fireplace, not a stove, and Cameron further ruined his shirt by shoveling more coal onto the hearth.
The fire built, and the room warmed until Ainsley was sweating. Or maybe it was the heat of delayed shock.
“Don’t go,” she whispered.
“I’m not going anywhere, love.”
“But Jasmine.” Ainsley’s teeth chattered. “She didn’t mean to. They were just being horses. I was standing in the wrong place.”
“Ainsley, shut it.”
Cameron trickled water from a large pitcher to its basin and wet a towel. He tugged Ainsley’s torn gloves from her and began wiping her dirt-streaked hands. The water stung where her palms had been sliced by her fall.
“Your hands are just as filthy,” Ainsley said. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and started to laugh. “And so is my face. I look awful.”
“Hush now.”
Ainsley heard voices outside the door. Two maids and a footman came in with a tub and ewers of steaming water, though Ainsley didn’t remember Cameron sending for them. Just as well he did. The mud in the stable yard, plus her scrambling journey over the door into the empty stall, had left her coated with dirt and horse leavings.
She’d have to speak to Cameron about installing taps in his house—the maids had to haul water up the back stairs. It was too far for them, really. She tried to break away from Cameron to help them, but he held her back.
“Hurry before it gets cold,” was all he said to them.
The splashing of water sounded heavenly. The maids quickly filled the tub, and then all the servants filed out, including the lady’s maid who’d tried to stay to undress Ainsley. Cameron closed and locked the door behind them.
Ainsley tugged at the buttons of her riding habit, but she couldn’t manage to open one. Cameron turned her around to face the roaring fire and undid all the buttons himself.
“You’re growing quite skilled at that,” she said.
Cameron peeled the broadcloth bodice from her back and rubbed her bare wrists. “You’re too cold. Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”
“A few bruises, I think.”
“More than a few.” Cameron loosened her corset and pulled it off, hand going to the tender spots on her back. “But these are from your rescue. Nothing broken, thank God.”
“Thank God and Angelo. Very clever of him to climb through to that stall from the one beyond.”
She’d seen the pulled-away partition between the stalls, the board walls made to be moved in case Cameron needed one large stall instead of two smaller ones. Ainsley had noted this absently while Angelo had helped her to her feet, the significance not really dawning on her.
“I’d kiss him,” Cameron said. “If it wouldn’t make both of us sick. But he will get a huge rise in wages.”
“He’s told me about the canal boats his family lives on,” Ainsley said. “I’d love to see them. I’ve never been on a Romany canal boat. Or any canal boat for that matter. Not something for a lady to do, I’ve been told.”
“I will take you to his canal boat, and we’ll have his family glide us from the Thames to the Avon and back again, but after I get you warm.”
Cameron was kneeling before her, tugging off her stockings, the rest of her body bare. Ainsley wondered when that had happened, and then Cameron lifted her in his arms and deposited her into the hot water.
The water burned, stung, and felt so good. Ainsley sank back, letting the heat dull her senses.
She wasn’t afraid of horses—she wasn’t, she told herself. They were beasts that did what beasts did—but never had she come so close to dying because of one. If Angelo had been one moment too slow . . .
“Bloody Pierson,” Cameron was growling. “I didn’t ask him to bring that damned stallion. I was ready to kill him. If you’d been hurt, I would have killed him. I couldn’t have stopped myself.”
Ainsley put a dripping hand on her husband’s arm. Cameron’s shirt was already wet, and he impatiently pulled it off.
Ainsley rubbed her head on Cameron’s bare shoulder, liking how warm and solid it was. This strong, beautiful man belonged to her. The vicar in London had made her say so. With my body, I thee worship.
Cameron let her go but only to take up the cake of soap and begin washing her all over. Soap got on him as he scrubbed her back and arms, slid soapy hands to her belly.
“Get in with me,” Ainsley suggested.
Cameron grunted a laugh. “I’m too big.”
“We should have a large bathtub built then. One big enough for two. In our new bathroom. You really should hire some builders to start modernizing.”
“Hush.” Cameron nipped her ear. “Let me tend to you, love.”
Ainsley liked being tended to. Cameron slid his hands around her waist again, gliding soap up under her breasts, and Ainsley leaned back in happiness.
“I love you,” she murmured.
She probably shouldn’t have said that—would he want such sentiments? But there was nothing she could do about it. She did love him, and that was that.
Cameron ended her speculations by kissing her.
She tasted fierceness in him, the rage and fear he’d been holding back. He let it go in the kiss, mouth shaking. Cameron half lifted Ainsley out of the tub, and water sloshed over the sides and over him.
“My Ainsley,” he whispered between kisses. “Mine.”
Yes, Ainsley tried to say. Yours.
Cameron’s breath heated her flesh better than the hot water. Hard, blunt fingers slid across her body, which was still slick with soap. Cameron opened her mouth with his, kisses hard and biting.
He scooped her all the way out of the water. Cradling her against him, Cameron carried Ainsley to the bed, where he started to rub her dry with towels the maid had left warming by the fire. Ainsley’s skin warmed, the friction of the towels good.
She especially liked the towel against her nipples, which began to tighten. Cameron leaned down and took a dusky point into his mouth, and Ainsley groaned. She leaned back onto the bed as Cameron teased the nipple with the tip of his tongue and suckled her again.
Ainsley pulled on the towel that he’d wrapped between her legs. She closed her eyes and let out another sigh, more friction in a wickedly sensual place.
Cameron’s eyes darkened. He took the ends of the towel from her and pulled it himself, little tugs that stroked across her female places. A noise of pleasure escaped her. Cameron kept up the pressure, and Ainsley gave in to it, her fears dissolving.
Cameron wielded the towel masterfully. The mattress was soft on her back, Cameron’s warm body over hers. He was heavy on her, his solid chest pressing hers, the towel between them. Cameron tugged the towel again, and the hot fire sent her over the top.
Ainsley wrapped her legs around him, wet feet against his boots. She couldn’t stop the noises that came from her mouth, her groans and cries loud in the gloom of the dying afternoon.
When Cameron lifted away from her, taking the towel with him, Ainsley whimpered. Cameron’s mouth was pressed into a firm line, his brows drawn down. He stripped off the rest of his clothes and stepped into the still-full tub. Standing up, he scooped water and soap over himself, washing away the dirt from the stables.
Ainsley lifted herself on her elbows and enjoyed the sight. Cameron’s body gleamed with water, and soap clung to his chest, shoulders, and long, dark erection.
He rinsed himself, casually lifting his balls to wash away the soap there. Soap suds chased themselves down his legs, then Cameron bent down to rinse his hands and scrub water o
ver his face.
He stepped out, snatching up another towel to rub himself dry. Ainsley watched him come for her, her tall god of a husband, water darkening his hair and dripping to his broad shoulders. His hands, forearms, neck, and face were deeply tanned, as were his lower legs, the skin that the kilt covered more pale.
Ainsley assumed Cameron would lift her out of the bed to make love to her on a chair or the long sofa, or on the floor in front of the built-up fire. But Cameron tossed the towel away and pressed Ainsley back into the mattress.
Cameron licked her mouth, his damp, warm body so wonderfully heavy on hers. “I almost lost you,” he said, voice harsh. “I never want to lose you. Never.”
Ainsley’s heart beat thick and fast. He’ll tire of her in a sixmonth, she’d heard people say in Paris and again in Monte Carlo.
Cameron didn’t look tired of her now. He feathered kisses to her chin and neck before he moved down to her breasts. He suckled her, his mouth hot and wet, then parted her legs and slid himself into her.
The towel had rubbed her hot, but when Cameron thrust into her, all was wet and slick.
He stopped, their faces together, and Cameron looked into her eyes. She saw so much need there, and pain, so much loneliness. Fear. The powerful, dangerous Lord Cameron Mackenzie was afraid.
Ainsley couldn’t speak, the sensation of him stiff inside her robbing her of words. She responded to his stark fear the only way she could, by loving him.
Cameron moved slowly, the first thrust followed by another equally as slow. He was so big, but she loved the feeling of him inside her. The wide bed was at her back, and Cameron’s warm, solid body was on top of hers. As always, he held himself back, muscles bunching as he took his weight on his fists.
Nothing existed but the heat of Cameron’s skin against hers, his arousal spreading her wonderfully, his damp hair trickling water to her cheek. They rocked together, back and forth, Cameron moving faster now and then faster.
Finally he was driving into her in desperation, their bodies slick together, the joining fierce. Wild waves of climax rolled over Ainsley and lifted her into him. Cameron grunted with it, and Ainsley’s pleasure rang through the room.
“My Ainsley,” Cameron whispered brokenly. “I can’t lose you. Never. Never, never. . .” His words moved with his body, Cameron losing control. “My sweet, tight, beautiful wife.”
Ainsley cried his name, loving the sound of it. Cameron kept on, their bodies coming together, Cameron’s words drifting into groans.
Then they were falling together, body to body, into the wide, comforting embrace of the marriage bed.
Cameron caressed Ainsley’s skin, wondering again at how incredibly soft she was. Ainsley was a strong woman, but there was nothing coarse about her. Her skin was like satin, sleek now with perspiration and water from the bath.
He’d almost lost her today. When Cameron had watched the stallion swing his huge body right for Ainsley, and Ainsley stranded in that corner, his entire world had died.
He’d known he’d never reach her in time. He’d have to stand and watch the woman he loved be trampled to death, all because Cameron Mackenzie had coveted a horse. Only Angelo’s quickness had saved her, a deed Cameron could never repay.
Cameron had screamed at Lord Pierson, but he knew blame lay at his own feet. If he hadn’t bullied Pierson into bringing back Jasmine, Ainsley would never have been standing there, crooning over Jasmine, while a ton of dangerous horseflesh did its best to kill her.
Cameron’s hand shook as he tucked the covers around her, and Ainsley smiled sleepily. The smile he might never have seen again, because of his selfishness.
When Pierson had shouted that he’d remove Jasmine as well as the stallion, the decision to let them go had been easy. Ainsley was worth far more than a damned horse, and she always would be.
Ainsley’s smile remained, though her eyes drifted closed. Cameron felt his own body relax, the crash of exhaustion after panic, coupled with intense loving. His eyelids grew heavy, everything in him willing him to let go, descend into oblivion, sleep . . .
Panic touched him. Cameron started to slide from the bed, but Ainsley’s eyes snapped open. She caught his hand.
“No, not yet,” she said in alarm.
Cameron kissed her forehead. “I have to go, sweet. I don’t want to hurt you.” He wasn’t certain he could trust his own reflexes tonight, even with Ainsley.
Ainsley’s grip tightened. “Please, not yet. I’m still shaky. Just until I fall asleep. Please.”
Cameron saw the stark fear in her face. Ainsley might protest that she was fine, that all was well, that Angelo had been in time, but Cameron saw that the incident had scared the hell out of her.
She was asking for his comfort. Even while a cold finger of dread stole down Cameron’s spine, he knew he couldn’t walk away from her, not now. At this moment, when he had to choose between her peace of mind and his, he chose Ainsley’s.
Without a word, Cameron nodded.
Ainsley visibly relaxed. Cameron pulled the covers over them both, curling into the warmth of her and drawing her back against him. Ainsley closed her eyes, sweetly trusting.
Cameron waited while the fire crackled and the window darkened with coming night. Ainsley slid into sleep while he held her, her body moving gently with her even, slow breaths.
He could leave now. Cameron could slide out of bed and pad to the door, slipping to his own room to crawl into bed and welcome exhausted sleep.
He didn’t move. The silence of the room was soothing, as was the hiss of the burning coals and the rising wind that flowed under the house’s eaves. He and Ainsley were safe together in this nest, warm and comforting each other. Stillness, that was what Cameron needed. Stillness to be with Ainsley.
His body relaxed as the room grew darker. Soon Cameron knew nothing but Ainsley’s warmth, her presence, her scent. Then, oblivion.
Ainsley opened her eyes to sunlight and found herself nose-to-nose with her husband. Cameron lay on his side, cheek on the pillow, the covers kicked off in the stuffy room. His eyes were closed, his hair a mess. A faint snore issued from his slightly open mouth.
Lord Cameron Mackenzie was sleeping with her.
Chapter 25
Ainsley rose on her elbow to study him. Cameron lay like a recumbent beast, arms curled under his pillow, bare legs splayed. Morning sunlight pooled on the backs of his thighs, curls of wiry hair dusting his skin between the scars.
She’d not seen his body laid out for her like this before, showing plainly where his skin had been broken and gouged. Scars snaked from his thighs up and over his buttocks, dipping between the tight mounds of his backside. At the cleave, the skin had been scraped away entirely.
Cameron must have lain very much like this that horrible day about which Count Durand had taunted him—facedown, sprawled in sleep. Ainsley wondered how long it had taken for Cameron to feel safe sleeping in this position again, even behind the bedroom door he locked every night. A long time, she thought.
Now he slept hard, body limp, even the lines that marked the corners of his eyes smoothing to nothing.
Ainsley didn’t touch him. She lay down again, watching her husband until the sunshine soothed her back into warm sleep.
Something brushed Cameron’s thigh, and he jerked his eyes open. The room was bright with sunlight, close from the overly stoked fire. Cameron lay in a warm tangle of sheets and blankets with Ainsley snuggled up to him. The thing that had bumped him was Ainsley’s knee.
Her softly scented form nestled against his, her warmth like an embrace. Sunlight touched her spill of yellow gold hair and the lashes that lay against her skin. One plump arm cradled her head, the other rested across her body, hand on the mattress.
She was profoundly beautiful.
The realization worked into Cameron’s brain that although Ainsley had startled him awake, he hadn’t reacted. He hadn’t swung fists or tried to shove her away from him. He’d awakened to peace, to
this moment in the warmth and brightness of her bedroom.
Ainsley slept on, unaware, and a strange stillness crept over Cameron. One by one, his fears untwined and released him.
Here in bed with Ainsley, he was safe from the beast that lingered within him, safe from the cruelty of others. He must have instinctively gentled his reaction to her, knowing that, even in his sleep, he needed to protect her. Something about Ainsley’s touch, her scent, had soothed him and kept him still.
Cameron let out his breath, his relief so vast that the world seemed too small to contain it. Ainsley was doing it again, awakening him, banishing the gray, letting him live.
He reached out and smoothed her hair, fingers shaking.
Ainsley made a little noise in her throat, and her eyes fluttered open.
She regarded him a moment in sleepy confusion, then her warm smile blossomed.
“Cam,” she whispered. “You stayed.”
Cameron skimmed his hand down her bare side, cupping the breast that was warm from the covers. “I decided that there is an advantage to waking up with you.”
Her smile turned sly. “Oh, yes?”
Cameron stroked her lips apart with his tongue. Ainsley nibbled his lower lip, and Cameron’s hardness throbbed.
“A decided advantage,” she said.
Cameron rolled on top of her. “I’m taking full advantage.”
Ainsley’s smile widened as Cameron easily slid inside her. “I see that,” she said.
Cameron silenced her by starting to love her with renewed vigor, in the safety and heat of her bed.
“Angelo.”
Angelo finished unfastening the girth of the horse he’d been riding and pulled off the saddle. He carried the saddle to a hook in the wall, folding up the stirrups, leaving it to be cleaned once the horse was taken care of.
Cameron watched Angelo pick up a curry comb and start on the haltered horse’s sweaty hide. The prize racer half closed his eyes in enjoyment.
Angelo said nothing, waiting as usual to see what Cameron had on his mind. He went on rubbing the stiff metal brush in a circular motion, loosening dirt and hair and sweat from the horse’s back.
The Many Sins of Lord Cameron hp-3 Page 24
