The Many Sins of Lord Cameron

He again touched the top button, which was a little bar of onyx. “How many buttons, Mrs. Douglas?”

“It was ten last time. This time, I think, I should only go a half dozen.”

Cameron frowned. “Why?”

“Because we’re indoors with people barging about the house looking for odds and ends. Billiard balls were on a few lists for the scavenger hunt.”

“Twenty,” Cameron said firmly.

Ainsley choked. “Twenty?”

“Twenty buttons will put me here.” He ran his finger down her bodice almost to her waist.

Cameron felt her heart pounding behind the stiffness of her corset. “Not fair,” she said. “These buttons are more widely spaced than the last set.”

“I’m not interested in what your dressmaker designed. I’m interested in how many I can open.”

“Very well, twelve. My final offer.”

“Not final at all.”

The billiards table stopped Ainsley from stepping back. All Cameron had to do was lift her, and he’d have her lying flat upon it. They’d tear the cloth and exasperate Hart’s housekeeper, but replacing the damn thing would be worth having Ainsley.

“I will concede fourteen,” she said.

“Twenty.”

“Lord Cameron, if someone bursts in here, I will never have time to do up twenty buttons.”

“Then we’ll lock the door.”

Ainsley’s eyes widened. “Good lord, no. I’d have a devil of a time explaining why I was behind a locked door with the notorious Lord Cameron Mackenzie. Leave the door unlocked, and they’ll think we were scavenging.”

Cameron smiled, putting as much sin into it as he knew how. “I’m getting impatient, Mrs. Douglas. Twenty buttons.”

“Fifteen.”

Cameron let his smile turn triumphant. “Done.”

She flushed. “Oh, very well. Fifteen. But let us be quick.”

“Turn around.”

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, br**sts 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.”