Cameron’s hand shook as he tucked the covers around her, and Ainsley smiled sleepily. The smile he might never have seen again, because of his selfishness.

When Pierson had shouted that he’d remove Jasmine as well as the stallion, the decision to let them go had been easy. Ainsley was worth far more than a damned horse, and she always would be.

Ainsley’s smile remained, though her eyes drifted closed. Cameron felt his own body relax, the crash of exhaustion after panic, coupled with intense loving. His eyelids grew heavy, everything in him willing him to let go, descend into oblivion, sleep . . .

Panic touched him. Cameron started to slide from the bed, but Ainsley’s eyes snapped open. She caught his hand.

“No, not yet,” she said in alarm.

Cameron kissed her forehead. “I have to go, sweet. I don’t want to hurt you.” He wasn’t certain he could trust his own reflexes tonight, even with Ainsley.

Ainsley’s grip tightened. “Please, not yet. I’m still shaky. Just until I fall asleep. Please.”

Cameron saw the stark fear in her face. Ainsley might protest that she was fine, that all was well, that Angelo had been in time, but Cameron saw that the incident had scared the hell out of her.

She was asking for his comfort. Even while a cold finger of dread stole down Cameron’s spine, he knew he couldn’t walk away from her, not now. At this moment, when he had to choose between her peace of mind and his, he chose Ainsley’s.

Without a word, Cameron nodded.

Ainsley visibly relaxed. Cameron pulled the covers over them both, curling into the warmth of her and drawing her back against him. Ainsley closed her eyes, sweetly trusting.

Cameron waited while the fire crackled and the window darkened with coming night. Ainsley slid into sleep while he held her, her body moving gently with her even, slow breaths.

He could leave now. Cameron could slide out of bed and pad to the door, slipping to his own room to crawl into bed and welcome exhausted sleep.

He didn’t move. The silence of the room was soothing, as was the hiss of the burning coals and the rising wind that flowed under the house’s eaves. He and Ainsley were safe together in this nest, warm and comforting each other. Stillness, that was what Cameron needed. Stillness to be with Ainsley.

His body relaxed as the room grew darker. Soon Cameron knew nothing but Ainsley’s warmth, her presence, her scent. Then, oblivion.

Ainsley opened her eyes to sunlight and found herself nose-to-nose with her husband. Cameron lay on his side, cheek on the pillow, the covers kicked off in the stuffy room. His eyes were closed, his hair a mess. A faint snore issued from his slightly open mouth.

Lord Cameron Mackenzie was sleeping with her.


Chapter 25


Ainsley rose on her elbow to study him. Cameron lay like a recumbent beast, arms curled under his pillow, bare legs splayed. Morning sunlight pooled on the backs of his thighs, curls of wiry hair dusting his skin between the scars.

She’d not seen his body laid out for her like this before, showing plainly where his skin had been broken and gouged. Scars snaked from his thighs up and over his buttocks, dipping between the tight mounds of his backside. At the cleave, the skin had been scraped away entirely.

Cameron must have lain very much like this that horrible day about which Count Durand had taunted him—facedown, sprawled in sleep. Ainsley wondered how long it had taken for Cameron to feel safe sleeping in this position again, even behind the bedroom door he locked every night. A long time, she thought.

Now he slept hard, body limp, even the lines that marked the corners of his eyes smoothing to nothing.

Ainsley didn’t touch him. She lay down again, watching her husband until the sunshine soothed her back into warm sleep.

Something brushed Cameron’s thigh, and he jerked his eyes open. The room was bright with sunlight, close from the overly stoked fire. Cameron lay in a warm tangle of sheets and blankets with Ainsley snuggled up to him. The thing that had bumped him was Ainsley’s knee.

Her softly scented form nestled against his, her warmth like an embrace. Sunlight touched her spill of yellow gold hair and the lashes that lay against her skin. One plump arm cradled her head, the other rested across her body, hand on the mattress.

She was profoundly beautiful.

The realization worked into Cameron’s brain that although Ainsley had startled him awake, he hadn’t reacted. He hadn’t swung fists or tried to shove her away from him. He’d awakened to peace, to this moment in the warmth and brightness of her bedroom.

Ainsley slept on, unaware, and a strange stillness crept over Cameron. One by one, his fears untwined and released him.

Here in bed with Ainsley, he was safe from the beast that lingered within him, safe from the cruelty of others. He must have instinctively gentled his reaction to her, knowing that, even in his sleep, he needed to protect her. Something about Ainsley’s touch, her scent, had soothed him and kept him still.

Cameron let out his breath, his relief so vast that the world seemed too small to contain it. Ainsley was doing it again, awakening him, banishing the gray, letting him live.

He reached out and smoothed her hair, fingers shaking.

Ainsley made a little noise in her throat, and her eyes fluttered open.

She regarded him a moment in sleepy confusion, then her warm smile blossomed.

“Cam,” she whispered. “You stayed.”

Cameron skimmed his hand down her bare side, cupping the breast that was warm from the covers. “I decided that there is an advantage to waking up with you.”

Her smile turned sly. “Oh, yes?”

Cameron stroked her lips apart with his tongue. Ainsley nibbled his lower lip, and Cameron’s hardness throbbed.

“A decided advantage,” she said.

Cameron rolled on top of her. “I’m taking full advantage.”

Ainsley’s smile widened as Cameron easily slid inside her. “I see that,” she said.

Cameron silenced her by starting to love her with renewed vigor, in the safety and heat of her bed.

“Angelo.”

Angelo finished unfastening the girth of the horse he’d been riding and pulled off the saddle. He carried the saddle to a hook in the wall, folding up the stirrups, leaving it to be cleaned once the horse was taken care of.

Cameron watched Angelo pick up a curry comb and start on the haltered horse’s sweaty hide. The prize racer half closed his eyes in enjoyment.

Angelo said nothing, waiting as usual to see what Cameron had on his mind. He went on rubbing the stiff metal brush in a circular motion, loosening dirt and hair and sweat from the horse’s back.

“I want to give you all the money in the world, Angelo,” Cam said. “I want to make you King of England. Hell, a Romany would make a damn sight better king than the Saxe-Coburgs.”

Angelo flashed him a grin. “Please don’t. I wouldn’t like staying indoors all day.”

“All the money in the world, though. You deserve it.”

“Money is good to keep the belly full and the fire warm,” Angelo conceded. “But it’s more fun to steal it.”

“Don’t make light of this. You saved Ainsley’s life, yesterday. That’s worth everything I have.”

Angelo kept the curry comb moving. “I was close enough to do something, is all. I know how you think, so I know you’re blaming yourself, but I saw how volatile that stallion was. I should have ignored Pierson and handled him anyway.”

“And Pierson would have you sitting in a magistrate’s court today for horse thieving. We’re well rid of the man. But Ainsley shouldn’t have had to suffer for it.”

“Aye, that’s true enough.” Angelo gave him a quiet look. “Don’t give me your kingdom. I don’t want it, and I know that if it had been my sister or mother or lover in danger, and you’d been close enough, you’d have done the same.”

“Yes.”

Angelo finished currying, tapped the dirt from the comb, and started on the horse’s coat with the softer dandy brush. This one he swept in the direction the horse’s hair grew, and the champion racer, who’d finished first in his year at Newmarket, Epsom, and Doncaster, rocked his weight onto one hip and grunted with pleasure.

“Ainsley wants to see your canal boat,” Cameron said.

Angelo’s grin lit his eyes. “Let me send word to Mother first so she can have a good cleanup. She’d tan my hide if I brought her ladyship on board without warning.”

Cameron, having met Angelo’s mother, understood. Angelo’s mother stood about four and a half feet tall, if that, and ruled Angelo’s vast family with an iron fist.

They left it at that. Angelo understood Cameron’s gratitude, and Cameron knew the man would take it in stride.

Cameron left the stable, still too agitated to ride—horses didn’t need a jerky, anxious rider—and watched from the edge of the paddock as the jockeys did training runs.

He felt rather than heard Daniel stop beside him. Daniel was, if anything, even taller than he’d been when they’d left Kilmorgan, and had filled out still more.

Cameron couldn’t help remembering the child who’d followed him about on spindly legs, demanding to know everything about “the ponies.” Even though Cameron had been offhand with Daniel, he’d always been acutely aware of where his son had been and what he’d been doing at all times, going after him when he went astray, as he’d done in Glasgow. He and his brothers between them had somehow raised him without making too much of a mess of it.

“Well, I’m off,” Daniel said.