to the floor.
“Hart, no.”
Hart retrieved the note and tucked it under the string that bound the seedcake. “For your father, for research on his next book.”
Without bothering to hurry, he took out a small gold case, extracted a pristine card, and held it out to her. When Eleanor wouldn’t reach for it, Hart tucked it into the decolletage of her high-collared dress.
The heat of his fingers tore through her, and Eleanor realized at that moment that she would burn for this man for the rest of her life.
“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 facade 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
