She looked at him with startled gray eyes. Did she know how sensual she was? She could make a man long to see those eyes regarding him sleepily across a pillow, and Cameron did not like women in his bed. Bed was for sleeping. Alone. Safer that way for all concerned.

Ainsley faced the billiards table, her breathing still rapid. Her stupid bustle was in his way now, loops of wire that kept her skirt stuck out behind her. An idiotic fashion. Whatever fool had designed bustles had obviously had no interest in women.

Cameron made do by standing half at her side, his thigh against her hip. The next time he stood thus with Ainsley, he vowed that the bustle would be gone.

Cameron pressed a kiss to her cheek as he undid the first button. Ainsley stayed true to the game, no maidenly flutters or begging off. She’d finished the bidding and would stick to the bargain. Brave, beautiful woman.

Her eyes drifted closed as Cameron undid the second button and then the third, her body relaxing against his. He kissed the corner of her mouth, and her faint noise of longing made his cockstand ache.

By button eight, Cameron was kissing her neck, tasting her—salty tang over the faint bite of lemons. One day soon, Cameron would peel away her clothes and lick her entire body. Then he’d kneel before her and drink and drink, while her toes curled into the carpet, her hands tangled his hair, and she made those precious sighs of pleasure.

Ten, eleven, twelve. Cameron touched her bosom, heady heat inside her corset. He’d have the corset off her next time too.

“Thirteen,” he whispered. “Fourteen.” He dipped one hand into his pocket and opened button number fifteen one-handed. “Don’t move.”

Ainsley stood very still, eyes closed. Cameron breathed her scent, kissed her skin one more time, and then slid the necklace he’d taken from his pocket around her throat, closing the tiny clasp in back.

Ainsley’s eyes popped open. She stared in amazement at the strand of diamonds that now lay across her chest and then up at him. Her bodice gaped enticingly, breasts lifting above a corset with small, decorative bows on the front.

“What is this?” she asked.

Cameron made his tone careless. “I bought it at that jeweler’s in Edinburgh after you and Isabella and Beth left. I thought it would go well with your new finery.”

Ainsley looked at him in pure astonishment. No squealing excitement that most of Cam’s women succumbed to when he bought them jewels, no sly looks of promised payment later. Ainsley Douglas was dumbfounded.

“Why?” she asked.

“What do you mean why? I saw the damned necklace, and thought you’d like it.”

“I do like it.” Ainsley fingered the diamonds. “It’s beautiful. But . . .” Her expression held longing, loneliness, and a sudden hurt that surprised him. “I can’t accept it.”

“Why the devil not?”

Cameron looked so angry—at her. He who’d interfered with Ainsley’s business with Phyllida and had taken over her session at the dressmaker’s, the man who wanted to give Ainsley money without collateral and bought her jewelry as he would for his doxy, now looked angry at her.

“Because, my dear Cameron, you know how people like tittle-tattle. There would be much speculation on why you gave me this necklace.”

“Why does anyone have to know I gave it to you?”

Ainsley wanted to laugh. “Because you’re not exactly discreet.”

“Bugger discretion. It’s a waste of time.”

“You see? You can say that because you are so very rich, not to mention male. You can get away with much, while I must be a good little woman and follow all the rules.” And didn’t those rules chafe?

“The queen should give you a damned sight more than she does for drudging for her. You are worth more than she understands.”

Ainsley shivered at his dark voice. “You are flattering, and believe me, I adore you flattering me, but I have to be so careful.” She touched the necklace again. “Anyone discovering that you bought this for me will assume me your mistress. Phyllida already believes it.”

Cameron leaned to her, moving his hands to either side of her on the billiards table. His body hemmed her in, his arms a cage.

“Then be my mistress in truth, Ainsley.”

His breath touched her lips as she gasped in surprise, his mouth following. The swift kiss burned like a brand.

“I could give you so much,” he said. “I want to give you so much. Is that so bad a thing?”

So bad a thing? Ainsley clutched the lip of the billiards table and tried to stay upright. No, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to be this man’s lover. She’d lounge in his bed—or wherever he preferred—while he unbuttoned her frock and tasted her skin. Surrender to Cameron would be breathless, a wild, heady freedom.

He was a man who took everything he wanted, whose women were meltingly grateful to him and didn’t mind the strings attached. But then, Cameron’s usual ladies were courtesans, merry widows, and women whose reputations had been soiled long before they took up with him. They had nothing to lose, and Ainsley had everything. And wouldn’t the downfall be heavenly?

But once upon a time, Ainsley had succumbed to a seducer’s skilled touch. She’d hovered on the brink of complete ruin, terrified to confess her sins to the brother who’d been everything to her. She remembered the shock in Patrick’s eyes when she’d at last told him, the gasp of dismay from his upright wife, Rona.

And then Patrick, instead of chucking Ainsley into the street as he could have, had worked quickly and compassionately to save her. Only his and Rona’s intervention, and John Douglas’s kindness, had kept the world from discovering her shame. Patrick, Rona, and John had covered up what Ainsley had done, and Ainsley owed them everything.

“My lord . . .”

“My name is Cameron.”

“Cameron.” Ainsley closed her eyes and drew a breath for strength. “I want to. I very much want to be your lover. But I can’t.” The words dragged out of her, holding all the regret in the world.

“Why the devil not? You live like a servant and dress like a dowd. We’ll go to Paris if you’re worried about what people will say in London. You’ll dress like a queen instead of fetching and carrying for one, and I’ll drape you in jewels that will make this little bauble nothing.”

A vivid image arose, Ainsley in satin gowns the colors Isabella and Cameron had picked out for her, ropes of diamonds around her neck, rubies glittering in her ears. “Would there be sapphires?” she asked wistfully. “They’d go nicely with all those blue frocks.”

Cameron’s smile made her limbs weak. “There can be anything you want. A new gown every day, jewelry to go with it. A fine carriage for you to ride in, pulled by the best horses. I know a man in France who breeds the most amazing carriage horses. You could pick out the ones you liked.”

Of course, he’d give Ainsley the best horses. Horses were to him what diamonds were to most women. Precious, beautiful, worth seeking the best.

“You have fire in you, Ainsley Douglas. Let it out with me.”

She wanted to. She could have this, Cameron’s strong arms around her, the man in him awakening the woman in her. She’d never experienced anyone like him—a virile male who could arouse her simply by whispering her name.

“Please, don’t tempt me like this,” she said.

“I want to tempt you. I want you with every ounce of strength I have, and damn the scandal. Isabella is right—it’s past time you threw off your widow’s weeds and enjoyed your life.”

“It’s not the scandal I’m afraid of.” Ainsley drew a breath, her chest aching. “Believe me, were I alone in the world, I’d tell scandal to go hang and do as I pleased.” She’d realized a long time ago, however, that it wasn’t the scandal that was important, but the people she hurt with the scandal.

Raw pain flickered in Cameron’s eyes, an old hurt that had never gone away. “At least tell me you’ll think about it. Spend the winter with me in Paris. Promise me you will, Ainsley.”

Ainsley bit her lip so she wouldn’t blurt out the word, Yes! She could take what he offered and wring every bit of enjoyment from it before it was over. He’d move on, but she’d have that brief time to remember.

Cameron stilled, reading refusal in her silence, and what she saw in his gaze nearly undid her. Loneliness, years upon years of it, locked away behind the façade of a libertine. Cameron’s rakehell reputation hid a man broken and numbed long ago, a man seeking physical pleasure because he knew he’d obtain nothing else from life.

An offer like this from any other man might have angered and insulted Ainsley, but her eyes welled with sudden tears as Cameron lifted himself away from her.

“Do up your frock,” he said curtly. “The scavengers will be along.”

Ainsley reached for the buttons. “Cameron, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. If you don’t want to, you don’t.”

To her surprise, she realized she’d hurt him. For her, the decision was whether or not to break her brother’s heart all over again, but Cameron must see only a woman not wanting to be with him.

She touched his sleeve. “My hesitation has nothing to do with you, Cam. Of not liking you, I mean. I like you very well, and I’m sorry that I constantly make you angry. Regardless of all this, I hope that we can continue as friends.”

“Friends?” With breathless suddenness, Ainsley found herself caged against the billiards table again. “I don’t want to be friends with you, Ainsley Douglas. I want to be your lover. I want to bury myself inside you, I want to find out whether you taste as good all the way down, I want to feel you squeezing me, and I want to hear your cries as you take me inside you.”