Chapter 11
Cameron looked at Ainsley, her color high, her eyes sparkling with righteous anger, and he wanted her. He’d take her on the billiards table, on the chair near it, or the settee, he didn’t much care. He wanted to kiss the lips parted in indignation, run kisses down the chest that rose with agitated breath. Cam wanted to bury himself inside the woman who’s said with such outrage, I’d like to give her a good talking-to.
He could imagine Ainsley, with her frank eyes and bold stare, telling Lady Elizabeth Cavendish exactly what she thought of her. Elizabeth, the rich, spoiled daughter of an aristocrat, as wild and bright as a tropical bird, wouldn’t have stood a chance against Ainsley. Ainsley was more like a sparrow—a matter-of-fact woman, more interested in the practical matter at hand than displaying her plumage.
No, not a sparrow. That was too plain for someone like Ainsley. Ainsley was deeply beautiful, with beauty that shone from the depths of her. Cameron wanted to learn that loveliness, every single inch of it.
“I know such things are none of my business,” Ainsley was saying, her voice like fine wine to his senses. “I should have stopped Daniel when he began, but I admit to a morbid curiosity about your late wife. If any of what Daniel said is true, I am sorry.”
She was sorry, that was the thing. Other women might pretend that Daniel must be making things up, or be disgusted—at Elizabeth, at Cameron, at Daniel for telling the tale. But not Ainsley. She saw the truth for what it was.
There were reasons Cameron hadn’t divorced Elizabeth, all of which had to do with Daniel. He’d realized early on that Elizabeth couldn’t be trusted not to try to rid herself of her baby, and so Cameron kept her close, much to her fury. Elizabeth had claimed repeatedly that the child wasn’t Cameron’s, and Cameron knew there was a risk that she told the truth. Elizabeth had had a string of lovers, some regular, some brief encounters. But Cam had been willing to risk it. Elizabeth had been wrong—Daniel was a Mackenzie all right.
Cameron knew now that he should have sent Elizabeth away as soon as she’d given birth to Daniel, but he’d been young and sentimental. He’d truly believed that once Elizabeth had a son to care for, she would change. But she hadn’t; she’d only sunk into a strange melancholy, her rages growing worse, and she’d started trying to hurt Daniel.
Cameron had the strangest feeling that Ainsley, if he explained all this to her, would understand.
“I’m not here to talk about my wife,” he said.
Ainsley’s eyes were filled with anger for him. “Very well, what did you come here to talk about?”
Cameron touched the top button of her dull gray afternoon dress and forced his voice to soften. “I came to ask how many buttons you’ll undo for me today.”
Ainsley’s sharp intake of breath pressed her bosom against the very buttons Cameron wanted to undo. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes starry, Ainsley at her most beautiful.
“I thought you’d forgotten about that game,” she said.
“I never forget games. Or what’s owed me.”
He stepped closer still, inhaling her sweet scent. Current fashion dictated that women’s skirts were worn tight against thighs and legs, and Cameron took full advantage, standing right against her. When she opened her bodice, he’d be able to peer into her soft cleavage.
He again touched the top button, which was a little bar of onyx. “How many buttons, Mrs. Douglas?”
“It was ten last time. This time, I think, I should only go a half dozen.”
Cameron frowned. “Why?”
“Because we’re indoors with people barging about the house looking for odds and ends. Billiard balls were on a few lists for the scavenger hunt.”
“Twenty,” Cameron said firmly.
Ainsley choked. “Twenty?”
“Twenty buttons will put me here.” He ran his finger down her bodice almost to her waist.
Cameron felt her heart pounding behind the stiffness of her corset. “Not fair,” she said. “These buttons are more widely spaced than the last set.”
“I’m not interested in what your dressmaker designed. I’m interested in how many I can open.”
“Very well, twelve. My final offer.”
“Not final at all.”
The billiards table stopped Ainsley from stepping back. All Cameron had to do was lift her, and he’d have her lying flat upon it. They’d tear the cloth and exasperate Hart’s housekeeper, but replacing the damn thing would be worth having Ainsley.
“I will concede fourteen,” she said.
“Twenty.”
“Lord Cameron, if someone bursts in here, I will never have time to do up twenty buttons.”
“Then we’ll lock the door.”
Ainsley’s eyes widened. “Good lord, no. I’d have a devil of a time explaining why I was behind a locked door with the notorious Lord Cameron Mackenzie. Leave the door unlocked, and they’ll think we were scavenging.”
Cameron smiled, putting as much sin into it as he knew how. “I’m getting impatient, Mrs. Douglas. Twenty buttons.”
“Fifteen.”
Cameron let his smile turn triumphant. “Done.”
She flushed. “Oh, very well. Fifteen. But let us be quick.”
“Turn around.”
She looked at him with startled gray eyes. Did she know how sensual she was? She could make a man long to see those eyes regarding him sleepily across a pillow, and Cameron did not like women in his bed. Bed was for sleeping. Alone. Safer that way for all concerned.
Ainsley faced the billiards table, her breathing still rapid. Her stupid bustle was in his way now, loops of wire that kept her skirt stuck out behind her. An idiotic fashion. Whatever fool had designed bustles had obviously had no interest in women.
Cameron made do by standing half at her side, his thigh against her hip. The next time he stood thus with Ainsley, he vowed that the bustle would be gone.
Cameron pressed a kiss to her cheek as he undid the first button. Ainsley stayed true to the game, no maidenly flutters or begging off. She’d finished the bidding and would stick to the bargain. Brave, beautiful woman.
Her eyes drifted closed as Cameron undid the second button and then the third, her body relaxing against his. He kissed the corner of her mouth, and her faint noise of longing made his cockstand ache.
By button eight, Cameron was kissing her neck, tasting her—salty tang over the faint bite of lemons. One day soon, Cameron would peel away her clothes and lick her entire body. Then he’d kneel before her and drink and drink, while her toes curled into the carpet, her hands tangled his hair, and she made those precious sighs of pleasure.
Ten, eleven, twelve. Cameron touched her bosom, heady heat inside her corset. He’d have the corset off her next time too.
“Thirteen,” he whispered. “Fourteen.” He dipped one hand into his pocket and opened button number fifteen one-handed. “Don’t move.”
Ainsley stood very still, eyes closed. Cameron breathed her scent, kissed her skin one more time, and then slid the necklace he’d taken from his pocket around her throat, closing the tiny clasp in back.
Ainsley’s eyes popped open. She stared in amazement at the strand of diamonds that now lay across her chest and then up at him. Her bodice gaped enticingly, breasts lifting above a corset with small, decorative bows on the front.
“What is this?” she asked.
Cameron made his tone careless. “I bought it at that jeweler’s in Edinburgh after you and Isabella and Beth left. I thought it would go well with your new finery.”
Ainsley looked at him in pure astonishment. No squealing excitement that most of Cam’s women succumbed to when he bought them jewels, no sly looks of promised payment later. Ainsley Douglas was dumbfounded.