The Many Sins of Lord Cameron

“They were your mother’s?”

“Yes. The only thing I have from her, really. I’ve always regretted that I never knew her.”

The sadness in her voice tugged at him. Cameron’s own mother had been a terrified creature admonished to stay away from her own sons. She’d died right after Cam had turned eighteen, while he was away at university, from a fall, he’d been told.

Hart had related the truth to Cameron later, that their father had killed her, shaking her so hard when he fought with her that he broke her neck. Hart had deduced this over time—the only witness had been Ian, and their father had locked ten- year-old Ian into an asylum even before the funeral, in case the very truthful Ian blurted out what really had happened.

Cameron had nothing of his mother’s, his father having rid the house of everything belonging to her after her death. The way Ainsley mentioned her regret in not meeting her mother did something to his heart.

Ainsley cut off the discussion by opening the door of another establishment, where a well-dressed shop assistant smiled up at them. Ainsley looked at Cameron in surprise when he followed her in.

“This is a dressmaker’s,” she said.

“I know what it is. I take it you’re here for a wardrobe, not baked bread. And put down that umbrella before you spear someone with it.”

Ainsley let the assistant take the umbrella, but she quailed as Cameron followed her straight into the back room. Madame Claire gave him a welcoming smile. “Now then, your lordship.”

Isabella waved at him from her comfortable chair. “Oh, Cameron, excellent. Just who we need.”

Cool as he pleased, Cameron rid himself of his greatcoat, seated himself in an armchair, and accepted the glass of port the assistant brought for him.

“You look very comfortable,” Ainsley said.

“I’m a good customer.”

Which meant Cameron sent his mistresses here. Ainsley slapped open one of the fashion books and busied herself looking at the colorful dresses inside, not seeing a line of them.

“We’re fitting out Ainsley,” Isabella said. “I want her to be radiant.”

Ainsley sat still, her throat dry, while Isabella showed Cameron the fabrics that she’d chosen and told him what each were for. Cameron voiced his approval at her choices and seemed to know all about gussets and half sleeves and fichus. Ainsley might not even be in the room.

“I’d like to see her in red,” Cameron said.

“Not with her coloring,” Isabella answered. “Bright red will wash out her skin instead of enhancing it, and her eyes will be lost.”

“Not bright red. Dark. Very dark. And velvet. A cozy winter dress.”

Madame Claire brightened. “His lordship has exquisite taste. I have just the thing.”

Ainsley should shout, protest, tell them to stop. She could only watch, half dazed, as Madame Claire returned with a swath of red velvet so dark its shimmer was black.

Cameron rose, took the velvet from Madame Claire, and approached Ainsley with it. Ainsley jumped to her feet, half afraid he would simply throw the cloth over her head if she remained seated on the stool.

Cameron cradled her face with the folds, the velvet soft as down against Ainsley’s skin. “You see?” Cameron said to Isabella.

“Yes, that’s excellent.” Isabella clasped her hands. “You have a wonderful eye, Cam. She’ll be beautiful in that.”

Ainsley couldn’t speak. Cameron’s hands were firm through the velvet, all his strength from working his horses now softened to caress Ainsley.

She caught sight of Beth watching beyond Cameron. The look in Beth’s blue eyes was knowing, understanding. Beth had been ensnared by a handsome, irresistible Mackenzie, and she knew full well that Ainsley had been ensnared by one too.

More rain the next afternoon meant indoor entertainment at Kilmorgan, so Isabella arranged a scavenger hunt. She and Beth and Ainsley drew up the lists of items to obtain and handed them out to the guests. Those who had no interest in the game retired to the card room in the main wing and proceeded to win and lose fortunes.

Daniel scoffed at the rather tame scavenger hunt and enticed Ainsley into the billiards room for a game. Isabella, relieved to have Daniel out from underfoot, released them both.

“Isabella says your brothers taught you to play,” Daniel said to Ainsley. “I don’t quite believe a girl can do it.”

“No? Then prepare to be amazed, my boy.”

Ainsley let Daniel bring out the cues and red and white balls, while she fingered the note in her pocket that Phyllida Chase’s maid had brought her that morning.

Phyllida wanted the money tomorrow night, she said. Rowlindson, Hart’s nearest neighbor, will host a fancy-dress ball on the morrow, Friday evening. Meet me in the conservatory of his home at one o’clock in the morning, and we will make the exchange there. Only you, Mrs. Douglas, not Lord Cameron.

Ainsley had read the note in exasperation. Really, why did the woman have to be so clandestine? All Phyllida had to do was visit Ainsley in her bedchamber, and they’d finish the matter.

But, very well, Ainsley would meet Phyllida at the fancy dress ball. Ainsley hadn’t even been invited to the dratted ball, and Isabella hadn’t mentioned it. But later that morning, Morag had given her a hand-delivered note from Lord Rowlindson’s secretary that included an invitation. Phyllida was certainly thorough. Morag was even now putting together a costume for Ainsley.

As Daniel set up the balls, Ian Mackenzie walked into the room and shut the door behind him. Ian never spoke much to Ainsley, but he’d become comfortable with her during her visits to Isabella, which meant he didn’t avoid her. But he didn’t seek her out either; he simply accepted her presence as he did his family’s.