“I want this off.”
“It will be a great relief to me too,” Ainsley said as she kissed him.
“It will come off. All of it. I want you bare for me, Ainsley.”
She gave him a little smile. “And I want to see what you wear under your kilt.” Ainsley wriggled her hips, which stroked his cock.
“Little devil.”
“I’m not an innocent debutante. I’ve heard much about Mackenzies and their kilts.”
“I like you not being an innocent debutante.” He kissed her lips again. “I’m going to thoroughly debauch you.”
“Oh, heavens.” She smiled and tapped her fist to his chest. “Oh no, you wicked thing, you mustn’t.”
Cameron nipped her mouth. “Vixen.” A man could fall in love with you.
That troubling thought was broken by the chime of the little gilt clock next to them. Cameron wanted to throw it across the room.
Ainsley struggled up, her smile gone. “I have to go.”
Cameron deserted the chair and pressed her back into it. “You will stay in this room. I’ll make the exchange.”
Ainsley popped off the chair. “Don’t be daft. It has to be me. Phyllida’s instructions were very clear. ‘Only you, Mrs. Douglas, not Lord Cameron,’ she said.”
Cameron sat her back down again. “I’ll get those damned letters, every single page of them. You’re right that Phyllida Chase is a viper. She’ll try to cheat you. She doesn’t trust me, but she knows she can’t cheat me.”
He saw thoughts dancing through her gray eyes, Ainsley calculating the risks. “We should go together,” she said.
“I’m not letting you out of this room, not at one of Rowlindson’s blasted soirees. He’s a bad man, Ainsley.”
Ainsley slanted him a smile that made his blood hot. “But that’s what everyone says about you, Lord Cameron.”
Cameron smiled right back at her. “I am a bad man, very bad, but in a different way. I want to ravish you until we’re both senseless with it, and then I want to do it all over again.”
She flushed at his candor, but she didn’t flutter and faint. Not Ainsley.
“I know you’re right about Phyllida, but the letters . . .” She looked unhappy. “You must promise me you won’t look at them but bring them straight back to me.”
“I have no interest in the letters.” Cameron leaned over her, stroking his gaze to the shadow between her breasts. “Is that where you’re hiding the money?”
Ainsley reached deep into the corset and dragged out the wad of banknotes. “That’s all of it.”
Cameron took the notes, warm from her body, lucky things. “I didn’t expect they would get lost down there.” He pressed a brief kiss to her mouth and straightened up. “Stay here. I’ll return with the letters, and we’ll go home in my carriage.”
Ainsley nodded again. She looked delectable, edible even, in that oversized wig, her gray eyes sultry through the mask. She looked like the best of harlots, half innocent, half seductive, the sort of woman in high demand in upper- class brothels.
The sort of woman Rowlindson best liked to photograph being pawed over by one or two brutes of males. Ainsley might declare she wasn’t an innocent, but she had no idea about the things Rowlindson and his friends could get up to.
The beast in Cameron awoke, the violent, dangerous thing Cameron tried with alcohol, women, and horseracing to keep at bay. But tonight the beast found a place to direct its anger, and Cameron smiled. He’d had seen the look in Rowlindson’s eyes when the man had watched Ainsley descend the stairs. Cameron could enjoy himself breaking Rowlindson’s neck, and maybe Phyllida’s. After Cameron retrieved the blasted letters.
“Wait.” Ainsley bounced out of the chair. She jerked Cameron’s handkerchief from his pocket and started dabbing at his lips. “You have lip color on your face.”
Cameron gave her a hot smile. “I want to see it all over my body.”
Ainsley blushed. Beautiful, beautiful Ainsley.
Cameron kissed her again then took the handkerchief and wiped the rest of the scarlet paint from his mouth as he made himself turn from her and leave the room.
When the door clicked shut, Ainsley blew out her breath and collapsed back into the fragile chair.
Any other woman watching a gentleman who interested her going off to meet his former lover might be apprehensive, but Ainsley felt only relief. If anyone could make certain Phyllida handed over the letters, it would be Cameron Mackenzie. He wasn’t a subtle man—he’d get the letters whether Phyllida wanted to give them up or not.
Ainsley was warm all over, warmer than she’d been in a long while. And excited and worried and just a little bit scared about what she intended to do.
Even before Cameron had started kissing her in this little room, Ainsley had decided she’d allow herself one night with him before she returned to Balmoral. One glorious night of being Lord Cameron Mackenzie’s lover, and then she’d retreat and become plain Ainsley Douglas again, dutiful sister and reliable confidante of the queen.
She was older and wiser and far more knowledgeable than when she’d been fresh out of finishing school, she reasoned. She’d go into the liaison, as Phyllida had said she had, with eyes wide open. Ainsley would be cautious but, for one night, she’d be happy in Cameron’s arms, and treasure the romance of it for the rest of her life.
First, she had to wait for Cameron to return the with letters. Ainsley sweated as the clock wound to one fifteen—marked with a little chime—then on to one twenty. At one thirty, she gave up and jumped from the chair, but before she could start for the door, it opened to admit Lord Rowlindson.
He’s a bad man, Ainsley, Cameron had said with quiet certainty. What did it say about a gentleman when someone like Cameron, black sheep of the notorious Mackenzie family, derided him?
Lord Rowlindson didn’t look very dangerous at the moment. He stood with his hand on the door handle and sent Ainsley a look of concern. “Gisele, is it? Is everything all right?”
Ainsley plopped down in the chair again, fanning her face with her hand. “The crowd was rather overwhelming. I decided it a good idea to sit quietly.”
“I thought I saw Lord Cameron leaving this room.”
“You did.” Ainsley looked him straight in the eye. “He was showing me where I could sit quietly.”
Lord Rowlindson’s expression turned worried. He came all the way into the room and closed the door.
“Gisele, I must give you this advice for your own good. Beware of Cameron Mackenzie. He might be charm itself when he needs to be, but he’s not to be trusted. In truth, he’s a hard and ruthless man. He uses his ladies until they are desperate for what he gives them, and then he discards them. I would hate to see that happen to you.”
A little chill went through her. “I appreciate your concern, my lord. I truly do. But I will be well.” Now, do, please, go away.
He didn’t. “Forgive my prying. It’s simply that I don’t wish to see someone as young as yourself hurt. Please, stay and enjoy my soiree. Or, if you do not like crowds, we can adjourn to my private study. I have a friend, he’s quite a gentleman, and very discreet, who might join us—or not, as you wish. Do you enjoy photography?”
What had that to do with anything? “I really don’t know much about it, except to have my portrait done. But that was a long time ago.” After her wedding, in hastily sewn wedding attire, standing next to John Douglas. Ainsley had not worn the wedding finery to the brief ceremony; there hadn’t been time.
“It’s rather a hobby of mine,” Rowlindson said. “I’d enjoy teaching you about it.”
Ainsley still wasn’t certain Rowlindson was dangerous, but he was decidedly odd. “Perhaps another time.”