“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 lover, 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.
Changing the decision into one of marrying him was ridiculously easy. She belonged to this man—she was eloping with him. She could do anything she wanted with him.
Ainsley leaned back, encouraging him down with her, and he ended up on top of her on the seat. His weight on hers made her heart hammer with excitement. Ainsley dared stroke his back down to his hips to cup his tight backside under the plaid.
The door slammed open. Ainsley tried to scramble up, but Cameron pushed her protectively behind him while he prepared to lambaste the intruder.
Daniel banged the door shut and more or less fell onto the opposite seat. He grinned at Ainsley, ignoring his father. “So you’re here at last, are ye? Excellent. Now we’ll have some larks.”
The next morning, Ainsley Douglas stood in the parlor of Hart Mackenzie’s London townhouse and married Lord Cameron Mackenzie by the special license he’d obtained before he’d even gone to Doncaster. The witnesses were Hart’s housekeeper and butler and the vicar’s wife. Daniel stood at his father’s side, smiling like mad.
Ainsley was sandy-eyed as she repeated her vows, because the train had run through the night, arriving in London early that morning.
Before Ainsley could recover from the shock of the vicar pronouncing her and Cameron man and wife, Ainsley was in a train again with Cameron and Daniel, a heavy gold band on her finger, heading for Dover. Cameron wanted to start the Paris trip right away.
Ainsley was happy to leave England, because, though she and Cameron had legally married, their elopement stood to be the scandal of the decade. An affair Ainsley might discreetly conceal, as Eleanor had suggested, but the sudden marriage of the black sheep of the Mackenzie family to a nobody would be all over the newspapers.
Cameron was not only the brother of a duke, he was heir to the title while Hart remained childless. Despite Ainsley’s mother having been a viscount’s daughter, the McBride family was neither prominent nor powerful, nor particularly wealthy. The marriage would be decried as a misalliance and talked about up and down the country. Particular consideration would be given as to by what means Ainsley had duped Lord Cameron, the notorious womanizer who’d vowed never to take another wife, into the marriage. The queen would have apoplexy.
Therefore, Ainsley was happy to board the train and flee to the Continent. Patrick and Rona, when they received her telegram, would be as stunned and bewildered as the queen.
But Eleanor had been right: Ainsley was no longer a dewy-eyed debutante. She was a respectable widow with experience of the world, making choices with a clear head.
Well, an almost clear head, Ainsley thought as Cameron, having settled the tickets, sat down next to her in the compartment. His large body took up most of the seat, not allowing an inch of space between them. With Cameron, it was difficult for her to be sensible.
Daniel went right along with them, beaming at them from his side of the carriage. Cameron’s usual practice was to leave Daniel with Angelo in Berkshire until Michaelmas term began, when Daniel would return to school. It was the arrangement they had every year, Angelo not wanting to leave England and his family behind, Cameron not trusting anyone else with his horses while he was away. Traveling abroad was risky for a Romany anyway.
But Daniel had begged to accompany them. Ainsley, seeing the lonely desperation in the lad’s eyes, had taken his side. Cameron, already looking out of his depth, agreed.
They broke the journey in Le Havre, where Cameron booked three rooms in the most expensive hotel, one each for himself, Ainsley, and Daniel. When Ainsley pointed out that, now they were married, they could share a bedroom, Cameron gave her an unfathomable look and told her that the rooms were small and he’d take up too much space.
Ainsley thought she wouldn’t mind Cameron filling the space in her bedchamber, but Cameron didn’t give her a chance to argue. In the restaurant that night, Daniel ate with gusto, and Cameron consumed his meal steadily, like man determined. Ainsley found herself jumpy and without appetite.
Later, as Ainsley brushed her hair for bed, Cameron entered her room, closed the door, and locked it behind him.
Ainsley froze, hairbrush poised. She hadn’t seen Cameron alone since Daniel had burst in on them in the train compartment at Doncaster. As though the young man played chaperone, he’d stuck to them until after supper tonight, when he’d bade them a cheerful good night outside the dining room.
Not to go to bed, Ainsley noted. Daniel had strolled off to the lounge, probably to smoke cigars and play cards. Cameron let him without a word, and Ainsley thought it wisest not to interfere on her first night as Lady Cameron Mackenzie.
Lady Cameron. That would take some getting used to.
“Have you settled in?” she asked in a bright voice.
Cameron came to her, plucked the brush from her hand, and laid it on the table. His mouth was hot on her neck as he began unbuttoning her nightdress.
Ainsley half closed her eyes and leaned back against him. “I think all the buttons tonight, don’t you?”
Cameron bit her cheek. His fingers made swift work of the buttons, and he plunged his hands inside her warm nightgown. “I’ve been dying for you.”
Dying. Yes. Ainsley had been burning for him for weeks. They’d sat upright together on the train to Dover, Daniel across from them, and on the ferry they’d watched England recede from the deck, standing side by side but without touching each other. Agony.
Cameron’s blood went hot at the taste of her, so sweet and delectable. Look at her, with the little half smile, her eyes with that wicked gleam. I’m hurting for you, my wife.
My wife.
Her breasts were heavy in his hands. Ainsley breathed against his mouth while he played with her, then his hand went lower, cupping between her legs to find the curls there damp and hot. Ainsley’s intake of breath excited him, as did the scent of her, warm and aroused.
Cameron reached up and turned down the gaslight. The room dimmed to near darkness, but Cameron wanted that. He had too many scars, too many old hurts, that he didn’t want her to see.
He stood Ainsley up and pulled her nightdress all the way off. Ainsley leaned one hand on the dressing table, his cool, nude lover, waiting to watch her man undress.
Cameron divested himself of coat, cravat, waistcoat, stiff shirt, too many layers between himself and her. He pulled the undershirt from his flesh, jerked socks and shoes from his feet.
Then he hesitated, standing only in his kilt. He could keep the kilt on, because he’d gotten out of the underbreeches before he’d come in. He didn’t mind so much if she saw the scars on the backs of his legs, but there were terrible ones on his buttocks that Cameron wasn’t sure he wanted her to see.
Ainsley hooked her finger around his waistband and tugged. “Now then, laddie, don’t be bashful.”
Cameron dissolved into laughter. Cameron Mackenzie had never been called bashful in his life.
What the hell
? He unpinned the kilt and let it drop, at the same time he sat down on the chair. It was a delicate chair, a lady’s dressing room chair, and Cameron felt its slender legs wobble.
Ainsley gave him a sly smile as she ran her fingers up his long and already throbbing shaft. Cameron groaned at the fire that raced up his cock. Dying for you wasn’t much of an exaggeration.
Cameron clasped her waist and pulled her down to him, fitting her to him and the chair. Ainsley half closed her eyes, her smile becoming a moue of passion as Cameron guided himself into her.
Ah, back where I belong. The position shoved him deep inside her, Ainsley closing around him like a fist. And like a fist, she squeezed.
Cameron eased his hands to her hips, kissing her neck, taking the flesh in his teeth. He suckled, and she made a soft noise in her throat. Cameron suckled harder, marking her. Mine. Forsaking all others. Damn, it had felt good to say those words.
Ainsley rocked on him, her body instinctively wanting to join with his as much as it could. Cameron guided her to the movement that would give them both the most satisfaction.
Her breasts flattened against his chest, nipples pressing him with pleasing friction. She kissed his mouth, the kisses clumsy with passion.
“That’s the way,” Cameron whispered. He nibbled her earlobe. “That’s the way to love me, my Ainsley.”
Her answer was a soft noise of pleasure.
“You’re so tight and wet,” he said. “Wicked Ainsley, so wet for her lover.”
Her little, “Umm,” made his heart beat wildly.
They rocked together, the chair creaking its protest, Ainsley’s legs wrapped firmly around him. Cameron braced his bare toes in the carpet, stroked hands through Ainsley’s silk swath of hair, and lost himself.
He was going to finish too soon. Cameron groaned with it, not ready, wanting to rock here with her far into the night. But his body was too excited, Ainsley too soft and beautiful. The scent of woman, and loving, undid him.
Ainsley’s breath started to come faster as she reached her peak, her hips rocking in a rhythm that didn’t have to be taught.
The Many Sins of Lord Cameron Page 19
