Ainsley grinned. “She doesn’t want you taking away her toy. Danny, get me a bit of oats.”

While Daniel trotted off, Ainsley ducked in around Angelo and lifted the end of the unraveled bow. She quietly began to roll up the ribbon, ending at the piece Jasmine still held. Daniel thrust a handful of oats over the stall door, and Ainsley caught them in her bare palm and offered them to Jasmine.

Jasmine’s nostrils widened as she whuffed a warm breath over Ainsley’s hand. Then came the velvet nose, the wet tongue, and touch of teeth as Jasmine dropped the ribbon for the unexpected treat. Ainsley folded the rest of the ribbon and thrust it into her pocket as Jasmine crunched oats.

Once the oats were gone, Ainsley made to leave the stall, but Jasmine suddenly swung her hindquarters around, blocking the way out.

Ainsley patted the mare’s side, unafraid. “Move, you daft beastie.”

Jasmine decided she didn’t want to budge. She kept crunching the oats in her mouth, pinning Ainsley between her and the corner of the stall.

“I’d say she likes you, ma’am,” Angelo said.

He slid into the stall and made soft clicking noises between his teeth. Jasmine paid absolutely no attention. She turned to nuzzle Ainsley, making Ainsley have to back up against the wall.

It was a fine thing to be liked and trusted by a horse, quite another to be held captive by her. Ainsley tried to step around her keeping her movements slow, but Jasmine turned again, pressing Ainsley back. The dogs barking outside and Daniel’s worried voice weren’t helping.

Then Jasmine shied, swinging her hindquarters toward Ainsley as a heavy tread sounded in the stable yard. Ainsley dove aside in case the horse decided to kick, but Jasmine wasn’t intent on kicking.

She bolted through the half-open door and ran for freedom, shoving aside Angelo, Daniel, the dogs, and the large form of Cameron Mackenzie, who was bearing down upon them.


Chapter 9


“What th’ devil did ye think you were doing?” Cameron shouted at her in the dark of the stable yard.

Angelo, sliding bareback onto another of the horses, rode quietly out in pursuit of Jasmine. Daniel and the dogs followed Angelo on foot, while a stable boy hurriedly saddled a horse for Cameron.

Cameron’s big hands clamped Ainsley’s shoulders, but her annoyance at being manhandled was mitigated by the fact that Cameron had every right to be angry. Jasmine was a racer worth a lot of money and had been entrusted to Cameron’s care. The Scottish wilderness was full of holes to break Jasmine’s legs, icy streams to carry her away, bogs to swallow her.

“Don’t blame Angelo,” Ainsley said quickly. “Or Daniel. I left the door open.”

“Oh, no worries there, lass, I blame all three of ye. Angelo had no business letting you in, and Danny had no business bringing you out here at all.” His anger wiped away any English veneer he might have—he was an enraged Highlander ready to reach for his claymore.

“I believe the horse didn’t spook until a large Scotsman came charging in to see what we were up to.”

Cameron’s eyes flashed. “I never thought you’d be daft enough to crawl around a stall with a half-crazy racehorse!”

“I had to get my ribbon back.”

Cameron let go of her, but his rage didn’t lessen. “Ribbon—what the devil are ye talking about?”

“She was eating my hair ribbon. I didn’t think you wanted her to choke on it.”

He stared at Ainsley’s bare head. “What possessed you t’ give it to her in the first place?”

“I didn’t give it to her. She has a long neck and strong teeth.”

Cameron’s palm pressed where Jasmine had ripped a lock from Ainsley’s hair. His voice softened a notch. “Are you all right, lass?”

“I’m fine. My brother Patrick had a horse who regularly took chunks out of anyone near her. I still have the teeth marks to prove it. If she couldn’t reach your flesh, she’d happily chomp on your hat or coat, skirt or shirt. Jasmine only pulled out my hair ribbon.”

Cameron didn’t appear to be listening. He caressed Ainsley’s hair with a gentle hand. “Jasmine’s gotten away from Angelo before,” he said. “No horse gets away from Angelo. The little sweetheart is giving us a lot of bother.”

“Shouldn’t you be running after her?”

“I wanted to make sure ye were all right, first.”

Ainsley’s heart sped at the gentleness in his voice. “Not to mention shout at me.”

“And shout at you.” His eyes sparkled again. “Do ye always walk into a horse’s stall so fearlessly?”

“Since I was three and liked to stand under their bellies.”

“Good Lord, lass, I pity your parents.”

“Brothers. My parents died when I was very young. My oldest brother was already twenty and looked after the lot of us. Pity poor dear Patrick. I drove him mad. Still do.”

“I don’t doubt.” Cameron’s voice had lost its anger, his hand continuing to caress.

Ainsley wanted to step to him, to absorb more of his heat against the chill wind that cut across the meadow. In her rather lonely existence the last six years, she’d never been so warm as this night.

“You’d better go find your horse,” she said.

“She’s not mine. She’s only borrowed.”

“All the more reason.”

“Angelo’s the best horseman and tracker in the world, and I’m not finished with ye yet.”

Why did the words make her shiver with pleasure? “No?”

The stable boy was approaching, leading the horse he’d saddled. Cameron slid his big hand behind Ainsley’s neck and scooped her up to him for a fiery kiss.

It was a kiss filled with promise, one that told her he hadn’t forgotten what he’d started in his study, nor his intention to finish it.

Cameron released her, turned as the stable lad reached them, and swung up on the horse with easy grace.

Ainsley folded her arms against the sudden cold as Cameron rode off into the night, the stable lad waving him away.

It took the rest of the night to catch the bloody horse. By the time Cameron led Jasmine in, lathered, scratched by bramble—and if he didn’t know better, smug—the sun was up, and his two trainers were already out with horses on lounge lines. Cameron rubbed down Jasmine himself, and Angelo watered her as Cameron quit the stables for the house.

He bathed, dressed in fresh clothes, and went to the sunny room in Mac’s wing where a private breakfast was served for the family. It was only eight, but during a house party, Isabella and Beth rose early to coordinate the activities for the day.

These breakfasts involved whatever family members were awake and hungry—brothers, sisters-in-law, Daniel, valets, dogs. When Cameron entered, Isabella and Beth were already chattering about the day’s schedule. Mac sat close to Isabella, reading a paper and stealing his hand to his wife’s whenever he could. Ian ate slowly and steadily, listening to Beth and no one else. Ian’s valet, Curry, ate with gusto, the former pickpocket still reveling in the fact that he now lived the high life. Angelo was absent, the man deciding to remain in the stables with Jasmine, as were Daniel, Hart, and Mac’s pugilist valet, Bellamy.

Curry jumped up to serve Cameron, but Cameron waved the little man back to his chair and helped himself to eggs and sausages, bannocks and coffee. He plunked the plate and cup to his usual place across from Isabella and snatched part of the racing newspaper from Mac.

Without looking at it, he said to Isabella, “Tell me everything you know about Mrs. Douglas.”

Isabella’s brows rose in surprise, then she smiled. “And why are you so interested in Ainsley Douglas?”

“Because she’s busy corrupting my son, my valet, and my horses. I want to know what I am up against.”

Cameron didn’t miss Beth’s sudden smile and Mac’s knowing grin.

“I wondered when you’d confess,” Mac said. “I noticed the way you looked at her when you saw her in Isabella’s front parlor last year.”

“Was she in Isabella’s parlor last year?” Cameron asked.

Cameron knew damn well she had been, though he’d seen her for only a moment. He’d walked into Isabella’s London parlor, bent on helping Isabella and Mac through a crisis, and seen Ainsley there looking sweet as you please. She’d flushed as she’d moved fluidly past him and out the door, skirts pressed to the side as though fearing they’d touch him.

Mac only chuckled. “Cam, old man, you’re going to be snared as thoroughly as the rest of us.”

A pot of honey for the bannocks reposed near Cameron’s plate, and he lifted the dripper, letting the honey trickle back into the bowl. “Talk,” he said to Isabella.

Isabella rested her elbows on the table and planted her chin on her hands. “Let me see, Ainsley’s father was a McBride, her mother the only daughter of Viscount Aberdere. Ainsley’s mother and father both died of typhoid in India when Ainsley and her youngest brother were just babies.”

“She told me that her oldest brother raised her,” Cameron said.

“He did. Patrick McBride was already twenty. He got Ainsley and her three other brothers out of India and all the way back to the family home in Scotland. Patrick married soon after that, and he and his wife, Rona, brought up the others. They sent Ainsley to Miss Pringle’s Select Academy, wanting to make a lady of her. That’s where I met her, and we became fast friends.”

“Partners in crime,” Mac added. “Mrs. Douglas taught my dear wife how to pick locks and climb into and out of windows.”

“Ooh,” Curry said. “Sounds interestin’.”

“I never mastered the art,” Isabella said. “Not like Ainsley. She was our ringleader for midnight feasts and practical jokes. We were quite awful.”