Steven McBride stood at Ainsley's elbow. Her youngest brother had seen much true fighting in the army, in bloody battles in India and the Middle East. All Ainsley's brothers save Patrick had spent time in the army, shaped by their years far from home. Elliot had left the army to run a business in India before his capture, Sinclair had sold his commission to marry and take up a profession, but Steven would likely be a career officer.
"Oh, good move," Steven said when Cameron landed a punch on Bellamy's jaw. "Nice feint."
"Come on then, Bellamy," Curry's voice rose over the noise. "I've got me Christmas wages on you. 'E's only a lordship. Ye can take 'im."
"After him, Dad!" Daniel yelled. "Did ye nae see that coming? Block. Block. "
The cacophony rose, the family and guests yelling for Cameron, the servants for Bellamy. Not all the guests shouted for Cam, Ainsley noted. Some had bet on the sure thing of the professional pugilist.
Ainsley heard herself shouting right along with everyone else, bouncing on her toes as her husband landed punch after punch, driving Bellamy across the room. Cameron paid for it as soon as Bellamy recovered and retaliated. Cameron danced back on light feet, Bellamy following him, fists flying.
The duke's grand ballroom--the very room in which Eleanor and Hart had married--became a back-
street boxing ring, the guests abandoning their politeness, the Scots servants shouting insults at their masters with good-natured vigor.
"Now, then, your lordship, are you going to let yourself be beat by a Sassenach?" "Aye, he's good with a horse, but not with a fist." "We're counting on you, Bellamy, even if ye are a bloody Englishman."
Cameron wore a slight smile as he fought. He loved this, Ainsley saw. He was a physical man, leaving the thinking problems like mathematics and business to Ian and Hart. He loved horses, women, fighting, gambling. And now Ainsley and his daughter--with all his might. Cameron didn't hold back on anything.
"What's he doing?" Steven said in her ear.
Ainsley studied Cameron, who was busily avoiding Bellamy's blows. "What do you mean?"
"He's . . . it's as if he's trying to lose."
Ainsley didn't understand what Steven saw, but Steven must know what he was talking about. To Ainsley, Cameron was blocking and punching, wheeling and dancing, just as Bellamy was.
David called time for the first round, and the two broke apart. Daniel sped in to give his father a sip of water, a cloth for his face. The rest period didn't last long, and the fight resumed.
Again, Ainsley saw nothing but two men doing their best to pummel each other, but Steven told her differently. "Ah, a fine hit. Looks like Cam was waiting for that opening. Good man. But he could have ended it just then, and he didn't."
"Perhaps he wants us to have a good show," Ainsley said.
"Maybe he's worried about the servants losing their pay packets."
True. Both servants and guests had started betting thick and fast as soon as the fight was announced.
It would be just like Cameron to let Bellamy win the fight and spare the servants losing their wages.
Hart's guests could stand the loss, but the servants, some of whom contributed their packets to large families, could not. Cameron would think it fitting to provide entertainment and make sure Hart's staff took money from the duke's guests.
Cam was a generous man beneath his hard exterior, something Ainsley had understood soon after she'd come to know him. He never boasted, and was often underhanded or reckless in his generosity, but his big heart encompassed all.
I love you, Cameron Mackenzie. He'd showed a side of himself to Ainsley that no one else knew about. Their secret.
Bellamy beat Cameron across the floor again, the servants screaming for their favorite. Ainsley cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Cam! I love you!"
Cameron's grin widened, but the acknowledgment cost him a blow. Bellamy landed one on his face, and Cameron tripped. The crowd on his side of the room groaned.
Cameron regained his feet without falling and countered with a punch to Bellamy's jaw. Bellamy's head snapped back, and now the servants groaned.
Cameron waited, fists ready, for Bellamy to come at him again, but Bellamy staggered. Ainsley watched him in surprise. The punch hadn't been hard, Cameron still trying to find his balance. Ainsley had seen that even without Steven's confirmation.
Bellamy took a step back, faltered, took another step to catch himself, and then he fell backward, his eyes rolling up into his head. As the shouting rose, Bellamy landed on the parquet floor with a loud whump.
David, startled, came forward and began to count him out.
"Aw, Bellamy," Curry shouted. "You bastard. Get up, will ye?"
Bellamy stirred, but David reached ten while Bellamy lay on the floor, not attempting to rise.
"Cameron Mackenzie, winner," David said, a bewildered note in his voice.
The Mackenzie guests shouted their victory. The servants groaned and booed. Cameron stood with hands on his hips, staring down at Bellamy while Mac knelt beside his valet to minister to him.
A woman darted out of the crowd--Esme, who'd been given a job here at Bellamy's insistence--and fell to her knees at Bellamy's side. Bellamy's eyes swam open as Esme bent over him and lifted his bruised head into her lap. Bellamy smiled up at her, looking happy.
Ainsley went to Cameron, and he put a shaking arm around her shoulders. "Damn him," he said. "He went down so a lady would be all over him w' sympathy, the crafty beggar. That was my plan."
"I know." Ainsley wrapped her arm around him, feeling his body shudder with reaction to the fight, its abrupt end, his hurts. "You're a wonderful man."
Cameron ruffled her hair with a shaking hand. "What do you mean, you know? How? Did it show?"
"Steven told me you were pulling your punches, trying to let Bellamy win. I knew it was the sort of thing you'd do."
"Damn and blast." Cameron wiped sweat from his eyes. "He would have beaten me fair, even if I hadn't held back. He's a hell of a fighter."
The servants on the other side of the room surrounded Bellamy, their fallen champion. A few shot Cameron evil looks.
"They do not look happy," Cam said. "They'll put sand in my soup, I shouldn't wonder."
"Can you blame them? They've lost money they couldn't afford to."
"No, they haven't." Cameron released Ainsley and called to his son, who was crowing that his father had beaten a London champion.
"Good fighting, Dad," Daniel said when he'd loped over.
"If you say so. I want you to cancel all the bets. Give everyone their money back."
"What?" Daniel blinked, mouth open. "I can't do that. I'll be mobbed."
"You'll lose your percentage, you mean," Cameron growled at him. "No one loses today," he said in a loud voice to the rest of the room. Talking ceased, heads turned to see what the winner was saying.
"Daniel is returning your money. Bet on my horses. It's safer."
As surprised then angry murmurs rose from the guests, Cameron lifted his hand.
"The money is returned, or I can go to the duke and tell him his orders about betting were ignored. Ye can argue with Hart, or ye can take your money and be done."
The murmurs ceased, and guests drifted off, annoyed, but the servants cheered. "Thank ye, sir," one shouted, and "'E's a proper gent, I always said," came from Curry.
Daniel sighed and drew a pouch out of his sporran. "You'll ruin me, Dad."