it.
Besides, Cameron might have demanded an answer then and there, and Ainsley’s mind whirled with the question. He wanted her to flee to the Continent with him, as Phyllida had done with her tenor, and Ainsley hadn’t the faintest idea what to tell him.
If she did go with Cameron, how on earth would she explain it to Patrick and Rona? As she’d tried to tell Cameron, she didn’t so much worry about scandal but who she would hurt by it. If I were alone in the world, I’d tell scandal to go hang and do as I pleased.
But Cameron was tempting Ainsley. It wasn’t simply lust for the bedchamber that made her long for him— there was his smile, the warmth in his eyes, the way he worried over Jasmine, the way he’d helped lame Mrs. Yardley so very gently across the croquet green. Ainsley wanted all of Cameron, the whole man.
“I’m thinking of going to Paris, ma’am,” Ainsley said.
The queen blinked. “Next summer, with your family? Of course, you must. Paris is lovely in the summer.”
“No, I mean in a few weeks.”
“Nonsense, my dear, you can’t possibly. We have the ghillies ball at the end of the month and so much to do after that, and then Christmas.”
Ainsley bit the inside of her mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”
To the queen, nothing was more interesting or important than royal entertainments, and Ainsley knew that Victoria would not want Ainsley to leave her side. Victoria smiled at Ainsley now.
“Play for me, dear,” the queen said. “You soothe me.”
She had her hands around her box, the queen’s plump face serene now that she’s regained the evidence of her secret love. Ainsley hid a sigh, went to the piano, and started to play.
Two days later, Ainsley walked into a long drawing room and found Lord Cameron Mackenzie standing in it, his back to her while he warmed his hands at the fireplace.
Before she could choose between running away and facing him squarely, Cameron turned around. His sharp gaze moved up and down her, and he didn’t disguise the fact that he was angry. Very angry.
“I left you a note,” Ainsley said faintly.
“Damn your note. Shut the door.”
Ainsley walked across the room to him without obeying about the door. “What are you doing here?”
And why did he look so wonderful in his worn riding kilt and muddy boots?
“I came to visit my mistress.”
Ainsley stopped. “Oh.”
“I meant you, Ainsley.”
Ainsley’s breath came pouring back. “I’m not your mistress.”
“My lover, then.” Cameron sat on a sofa without inviting her to sit first, removed a flask from his coat pocket, and took a long sip.
Ainsley seated herself on a nearby chair. “You make us sound like characters in a farce. I’ll wager you didn’t tell her majesty that you were here to visit your mistress.”
Cameron shrugged and took another sip. “She asked for my advice on a horse, and I decided to give it to her in person.”
“Very clever.”
“The queen likes to talk about horses.”
Ainsley nodded. “She does. I told you I’d give you my decision after the St. Leger. I need time to think.”
Cameron crossed his booted feet. “I’ve changed my mind. I want my answer now.”
“Does that mean you’ve come here to carry me off? They do have guards and things.”
“No, damn you. I came here to persuade you.”
“You are an arrogant man, Cameron Mackenzie.”
Cameron thrust the flask back into his pocket. “I’m a damned impatient man. I don’t understand why the devil you insisted on rushing back here to be the queen’s best servant.”
Ainsley spread her hands. “I need the money. I’m not a rich woman, and my brother can’t be expected to keep me forever.”
“I told you, I’ll give you all the money you need.” Cameron flicked his gaze up and down her frock. “I hate you in black. Why do you keep wearing it?”
“It is what I wear when I’m working for the queen,” Ainsley said. “And I wear it because John Douglas was a kind, caring man, and he deserves not to be forgotten.”
“Kind and caring. The opposite of Cameron Mackenzie.”
Something in his eyes stemmed her anger. “You can be kind and caring. I’ve seen you.”
“Why did you marry John Douglas in the first place? No one seems to understand why, not your closest friends, not even Isabella.”
Ainsley did not want to talk about John with Cameron. “You were enticing her to gossip and speculation, were you?”
“I have to, mouse, because you won’t answer a straight question. But tell me this.” Cameron held her gaze with his. “Were you carrying his child?”
Chapter 17
Ainsley’s breath went away again. “What?”
“I saw the marks on your abdomen, Ainsley. I understand what they mean. You had a baby.”
No one knew. Only Patrick and Rona, and John. Even Ainsley’s three other brothers, nowhere near Rome at the time of Ainsley’s hasty marriage, hadn’t known the full story.
Ainsley rose from her chair, walked across the room, and closed and locked the door. Cameron watched her, not moving, as she returned to her seat.
“The child lived for a day,” she said in a quiet voice. “But she wasn’t John’s.”
Cameron sat perfectly still. “Whose, then?”
“I met a young man in Rome. I fell in love with him and allowed him to seduce me. I thought he’d rejoice that I was having his child and marry me.” She wondered that she’d ever been so naive. “That’s when he told me he was already married, and even had two children of his own.”
Cameron stared at her while red fury rose inside him.
Ainsley—beautiful, fiery, innocent Ainsley—used and discarded by a gigolo. “Who was he?” he asked.
Ainsley glanced up at him, cheeks red. “It was a long time ago, and I’m certain he gave me a false name. I was so very young and stupid, and I believed every word he told me.”
“Damn it, Ainsley . . .”
Cameron wanted to rage. He wanted to race to the Continent, find the blackguard and throttle him. The selfish fool had ruined Ainsley’s life before she’d even tasted the world.
“This is why you married an old man and buried yourself,” he said.
Her smile was sad, full of regret. “Patrick and Rona had taken me to Rome to expand my mind with art and music. Training me to be the wife of a cultured man. And then . . .”
The look on Patrick’s face when Ainsley had told him . . . she cringed from the memory even now. But Patrick, her good brother, had put aside his disappointment and taken care of her.
Ainsley remembered her nights of weeping, from shame, over betrayal of her young, fragile love, plus the knowledge that her brother was pairing her with a man nearly three times her age to save her reputation.
Patrick was kind, but he was firm, and he knew, very realistically, what the world was like. Rona, though sympathetic, had stood solidly with Patrick. Ainsley must marry John Douglas, and marry him quickly. And she must show the world that she was happy with her choice.
John Douglas had come to the house Patrick had rented in Rome, a tall man whose fair hair had gone to
