He released her, his eyes glittering with anger, but not at her. "Louisa," he whispered.

Louisa tightened her grip on his coat, wanting to come against him again, needing to feel his strong body against hers. He slid a hand under her hair . . .

A crowd of laughing, flushed dancers poured from the ballroom and headed down the hall for the mistletoe in the middle. Daniel's voice rose over the others--"Don't all rush at once. It's only a little wager."

Fellows released Louisa and faded from her. One moment, she saw him in the shadows of the staircase, the next, he was gone.

Louisa put her hand to her hair and gulped deep breaths. The imprint of his mouth lingered on her lips, the bite of his fingers on her back. She could barely stand, her legs weak and hot.

But the others were coming. Louisa pasted on a smile and moved on shaking legs to meld with the crowd and pretend she'd been part of it all along.

*** *** *** "Don't disappoint me, Dad," Daniel said the next day.

Cameron shot his son a half-teasing, half-annoyed look and moved to the middle of the ballroom.

Garlands still hung the walls, draped the windows, and dripped from the chandeliers. Gone were the orchestra, dancers' finery, and footmen circulating with champagne; in their place were men in kilts, women in plaid gowns, the English guests in casual clothes that indicated they'd next take a tramp in the garden. The footmen, who had the day off, lounged with the maids on the other side of the room, and tea, coffee, and champagne had been set up on a long table for the guests to serve themselves.

Ainsley pressed her hands together and tried not to obviously ogle her husband. Cameron had stripped down to shirtsleeves, kilt, wool socks and soft shoes. Bellamy wore the same except he had close-fitting breeches rather than a kilt.

Cameron, with his athletic, tall body, was a fine specimen, and Ainsley tried not to think too hard about what that body looked like under his clothing. Other ladies of the party cast glances at the men and whispered, Cameron drawing as many gazes as Bellamy.

At one time, Ainsley would have burned with jealousy. Cameron had made it known, however, that his rakehell days were over. No more mistresses, a different one every six-month, no more trysts with other men's wives. He was married, and happily so. Besides, Eleanor, in charge of the guest lists, had the good taste not to invite any ladies who'd once shared a bed with Cameron Mackenzie.

Cameron's Christmas gift to her revealed his more thoughtful side--a beautiful ebony and mother-of-

pearl box in which to keep Ainsley's embroidery things. Cam had expressed puzzlement at first that Ainsley made things when she could afford to buy them, but he'd come to understand that the act of embroidering was special to her. He'd been equally pleased with the gift she'd given him--a horse blanket she'd sewn herself for his favorite horse, Jasmine. Their private exchange of gifts had been a most satisfying occasion.

David Fleming had agreed to referee the match before he returned to England in pursuit of Ian's Ming bowl. Daniel was busy coordinating the many wagers, which he'd gathered with ruthless efficiency. Hart, when he'd agreed that Bellamy and Cameron could have the match, had stipulated that it should be for amusement only, no wagering.

Hart must have known everyone would ignore him. Ainsley had placed a nice sum on her husband, but she knew the servants had bet heavily on Bellamy.

Perhaps too heavily. Some of them looked worried as they waited anxiously for the event to begin.

Bellamy, however, was in fine form. Though he'd not fought in years, he'd managed to keep his strength and steadiness. Against a skilled opponent Daniel's age, Bellamy might come to grief, but he and Cameron, both in their thirties, both honed from exercise, and both experienced, were well matched.

"Gentlemen," David said, standing between them. "You'll box until I call time in each round. Then you'll break apart until I call time again. If a man falls and stays down for a count of ten, he will be considered defeated. Shake hands, make it a fair fight."

Cameron and Bellamy shook, each confident, each wishing the other well. Then they broke apart.

"Very well, then," David said. "Gentlemen. Fight."


* * * * *

Chapter Thirteen

The room exploded with noise.

The two men began by circling each other, looking for a weakness, a chance to get in the first hit.

Ainsley held her breath, suddenly nervous. It was one thing to imagine her husband in a splendid fight, another to wait for an equally large man to strike him.

Bellamy punched first. He did it with quick efficiency, but Cameron was ready and blocked the blow.

Cameron sidestepped and came back into place, throwing a sudden jab at Bellamy's jaw. Bellamy blocked that and countered, which Cameron blocked in turn.

They stepped apart but swiftly came together again, each having the measure of the other. The punches began in earnest, Bellamy with a powerful, straight fist, Cameron moving under his guard and getting in a quick jab. Shouting escalated as the match moved from polite entertainment to serious combat.

Ainsley could see Bellamy's professionalism--his emotionless expression, his watchfulness, the way he avoided what looked like easy openings. Cameron didn't have as much experience in the ring, but he'd taken lessons from professional trainers, as many gentlemen did, and he'd fought at university and in impromptu matches in England, Scotland, France, and other parts of the Continent.

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!"