“Not a crime. Merely a little deception.”

Before Patrick could answer, Angelo came out on deck, followed by a diminutive woman dressed in soot black, her head covered with a scarf. She peered from the deck to Patrick and Ainsley with vibrant eyes.

“Well?” she said in a loud, heavily accented voice. “Why are they just standing there? Help them on you lazy louts!”

The man with the pipe sprang to his feet and vaulted over the side to pick up Ainsley’s valise.

“My lady,” Angelo said, teeth flashing in a grin. “And sir. My mother.”

The woman reached for Ainsley as Ainsley stepped across to the deck. “Welcome, my dear. Goodness, your hair is very yellow. It ain’t dyed, is it?”

Patrick gave her a shocked look. “It’s pure Scottish gold, madam.”

“Humph, I thought Scottish gold was whiskey.” Her look softened for Ainsley. “You’re quite beautiful, my dear. His lordship has come to his senses at last, I see. Now you come over here and sit down with me. I’ve made a nice space for you to settle while you watch the world float by.”

Patrick stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket as he followed Ainsley and the woman across the deck. The Romany with the pipe carried Ainsley’s and Patrick’s valises below, and Angelo cast off the ropes.

“I hope it doesn’t rock too much,” Patrick said as he sat down, the children eyeing him with curiosity. “You know how deucedly sick I get on boats.”

When Ainsley’s coach stopped, a week later, at Waterbury Grange in Berkshire, the carriage door was wrenched open for her by none other than Hart Mackenzie.

“Your Grace,” Ainsley said in surprise as Hart reached in and swung her to the ground. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking after the family.” The duke nodded at Patrick, who remained in the coach clutching his hat. “Where’s Angelo?”

“Following,” Ainsley said. “Where’s Cam?”

“Snarling at all and sundry.” Hart fixed Ainsley with a sharp stare. “You haven’t written him. Not lately.”

Ainsley reached for her valise. “I couldn’t. First, I’ve been living on a canal boat, and we never stopped near enough to a village where I could mail a letter. Second, I have a surprise for Cameron, and I knew I’d never contain myself if I wrote him. My pen would betray me.”

Hart clearly didn’t believe the last part, but he led her to the house without further admonishment. Patrick, assisted by a footman, climbed down and followed, and servants swarmed to the coach to unload their baggage.

Ainsley broke away from Hart when they reached the house and its wide front hall.

“Cam,” she shouted, dropping her valise. “I’m home.”

She heard a squeal as Isabella ran out of the parlor, arms outstretched. Isabella was nicely round with her pregnancy, so soft to hug. Mac came from the parlor after her, and Beth, also pleased and plump, hurried down the stairs with Ian and Daniel.

Daniel swept Ainsley into a strong hug. “I knew you’d come back. Didn’t I say so? Dad!” he bellowed up the stairs as he set Ainsley on her feet. “It’s Ainsley!”

“He knows, lad.” Mac laughed. “I think the whole county knows.”

Cameron clattered in through the back passage, the entrance he used when returning from the stables, and everyone went silent.

Cameron halted on the flagstones when he saw Ainsley, his boots and riding breeches splattered with mud. It was all Ainsley could do not to rush to him, her tall, strong horseman with the topaz eyes.

“Hello, Cam,” she said.

Cameron’s scarred cheek moved, but the rest of him remained still.

“I’ve brought my brother with me. Cam, this is Patrick McBride.”

Patrick made a little bow. “How do you do, your lordship?”

Cameron dragged his gaze to Patrick, made a stiff, polite nod, then moved right back to Ainsley.

Hart laid his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Mr. McBride, why don’t we wet your throat with a little Mackenzie malt?”

Patrick brightened and followed Hart into the parlor, where Hart pointedly closed the doors. The others began to fade up the stairs or outside, Beth taking Ian’s arm and walking him out the front.

Only Daniel remained, stubbornly, by the foot of the stairs. “Don’t say anything stupid, Dad.”

“Daniel,” Cameron said.

“Stay all you like, Danny.” Ainsley removed her hat and tossed it to a table, then fished inside her valise and removed some papers. “I do apologize, Cameron, for taking so long to come home. But Lord Pierson is a bloody stubborn man. He took some convincing. Patrick did remarkably well, I thought. He ought to have gone on the stage.”

Cameron unfolded his arms, finding it difficult to focus on anything but Ainsley’s smile. “Pierson?”

“Angelo floated Patrick and me down to Bath, where Patrick visited Lord Pierson and convinced him to sell Jasmine. To sell her to Patrick, I mean. I stayed in the canal boat, so that Lord Pierson wouldn’t see me and recognize me, and Patrick did everything. He was quite wonderful. Do you know that canal boats can glide as smoothly as silk? I found it very relaxing. Although, Angelo’s nieces and nephews know how make the boat rock so it will slosh about in the water. They taught me.”

“Ainsley.” Cameron cut through the heady flow of her chatter. “Are you telling me that you . . . convinced Pierson . . . to sell you Jasmine?”

“Patrick did. I gave Patrick the money, and he pretended to be a rich businessman interested in horses. Patrick almost fainted when I told him how much to offer for Jasmine, but I was firm. Patrick told Lord Pierson that he was new to racing, which is true, and that he’d heard that Lord Pierson might have a horse for sale, also true. Lord Pierson almost licked Patrick’s shoes, he told me. Lord Pierson showed him Jasmine, and Patrick took a shine to her. Again, true, because Patrick agrees that she is a wonderful horse. Jasmine perked right up when she saw me when Patrick brought her down to the canal. I think she knew that she was on her way home. To her real home, I mean. Here.”

Ainsley looked so damned pleased with herself, and Cameron could only look at her and bathe in her smile.

Daniel laughed. “And Pierson fell for it?”

“Lord Pierson was happy to sell Jasmine to Patrick McBride, the rather naïve businessman.” Ainsley approached Cameron, the bundle of papers in her hand. “The next morning, Patrick McBride sold Night-Blooming Jasmine to me—for one pound sterling. We had it legally drawn up and everything.” She pressed the papers to Cameron’s chest. “And, now, my Lord Cameron, I give her to you.”

Cameron stared at the pale ivory sheets against his coat. “Why?”

“Because you want her so much,” Ainsley said.

Cameron was so stunned he could barely breathe. He wanted to reach for her and pull her to him, to crush her to his body and never let her go.

He couldn’t move.

A crunch of wheels outside interrupted, and Cameron heard a familiar piercing whinny. Ainsley whirled from him in excitement. “She’s here.”

Cameron grabbed Ainsley’s hand. She couldn’t go. Not now. Not yet.

Daniel laughed and raced outside, calling to Angelo as he went.

Cameron tugged Ainsley back to him, relaxing as she came. She was home, with him, where she belonged. His world took on color again.

“You can’t be angry at me for buying Jasmine.” Ainsley’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “I can always send her back, you know.”

“I’m not angry with you, devil woman. I’m madly in love with you.”

Ainsley looked startled, then her smile blossomed. “Are you? That’s splendid, because I love you too, Cameron Mackenzie.”

The words went straight to his heart.

The papers fell, unheeded, to the floor as Cameron kissed her. He needed the taste of her, needed it every day of his life. Ainsley’s lips were hot, her mouth wonderful. She slid her hands down his back, working under his coat to cup him in his tight riding breeches.

“Vixen,” Cameron said against her mouth.

“The others are giving us a moment alone. We may as well take advantage of it.”

“No.” Cameron’s voice went savage. “I want you for far more than a moment. I want to take you slowly, for a long time, in a place where no one will interrupt us.”

“We’d better try your bedroom, then. That door has a stout lock, and as far as I know, I’m the only one who knows how to pick it.”

Before she finished, Cameron had her in his arms, carrying her up the stairs. He wanted to hurry, but he couldn’t resist stopping on the landing to kiss her, nibble her neck, nip at her lips.

When the bedroom door slammed behind them, Cameron set Ainsley on her feet and began stripping off her clothes.

“Never go away again,” he said. “Whenever you leave this house, I go with you. I can’t stand to be away from you. Understand?”

He peeled away her layers—pelisse and bodice, skirt and petticoat, bustle and corset, combinations and stockings. Ainsley’s beautiful body came into view, dusky nipples tight, the brush of gold hair between her thighs sweetly damp. She was so beautiful that Cameron ached with it.

“I shouldn’t travel very far anyway,” Ainsley said as Cameron wrenched off his own clothes, his nude wife looking so demure. “I shall grow quite stout soon, but I can look upon it as an excuse to eat as much cake as I please.”

Cameron flung off his shirt and stripped out of his underwear. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Daniel’s little brother or sister. I wasn’t certain before I left, so I didn’t want to mention it, but I became much more certain during my visit to the queen. Her doctor confirmed it.”

Cameron stopped. Ainsley smiled that secret smile, her cheeks flushed, while she stood before him stark naked. Lovely, impossible Ainsley.