The Many Sins of Lord Cameron

“Well,” she said. “Perhaps a small demonstration.”

Cameron rose abruptly from the bed, lifting her up with him, and the sheet fell away. He was naked in the dim light, his c**k long and hard, his wanting unashamed. From Ainsley’s position on the edge of the bed, it was easy to grasp him in her hand, draw him a little to her.

Cameron tensed all over as he felt Ainsley’s sweet lips and tongue brush the tip of his cock. God help me. He’d been about to lay her on the floor and make deep, hard love to her, in retaliation for her sneaking into his room, but she’d turned the tables on him. Again.

She’d not done this before, but she’d seen his erotic drawings and heard the naughty things Cameron whispered into her ears. Ainsley wasn’t naïve, and she obviously wanted to play.

He almost came as he watched her open her lips and then his hardness slide between them. Cameron clenched his fists, his entire body rigid as he held himself back. If he came now, he’d miss this feeling of being inside Ainsley, the feeling of her licking him, nipping him, the wonderful pull when she began to suck.

“Ainsley.” The word was ragged, his breathing hoarse. He put his hand on her head, rocked his hips. “Ainsley. Love. What are you doing to me?”

Happily, she didn’t answer. Ainsley kept her mouth busy with him, her hands steadying herself on his thighs.

“Devil woman,” he whispered. “I am supposed to be making you pay.”

For answer, Ainsley worked him harder. Cameron heard the words spill out of his mouth, naughty syllables that had led to this situation in the first place.

Beautiful, beautiful Ainsley . . . damn it.

He shouted out loud as his seed spilled from his body, and he didn’t want to stop when she demurely pulled away and wiped her lips with her fingertips.

Cameron growled, a bestial sound. When Ainsley merely smiled at him, he swept her up into his arms and carried her across the room, where he proceeded to make deep love to her on the thick rugs before the fire. He loved her so thoroughly that she was fast asleep by the time he carried her back to her own bedroom and left her there.

Lord Pierson delivered Jasmine in the first week of February. Cameron watched him driving up the road at a snail’s pace, following the low-slung cart that contained Jasmine.

Cameron dismounted the horse he’d been riding and tossed his reins to the jockey, who sprang lightly into the saddle. Cam walked out of the paddock to meet the cart and carriage at the stable, but he stopped in surprise when another low-slung cart turned in.

Pierson stepped out of his carriage, making sure his pristine boots didn’t land anywhere muddy or damp. His neatly tailored clothes were a sharp contrast to Cameron’s rough coat and riding breeches.

“Well, Mackenzie,” Pierson said. “I’ve brought her back. You won’t make a pig’s breakfast of it this time, will you?”

Cameron watched the second cart approach and halt. “And what’s in that, then?”

“A stallion. He’s called Raphael’s Angel, and he’s giving me problems. I’d like you to sort him out for me.”

“And why should I do that?”

“For losing me the St. Leger. No one wants Raph’s Angel, but everyone says if anyone can turn him around and make him sellable it’s you. I thought that you’d do it for me as a favor.”

Jasmine’s cart had been taken all the way into the stables. Daniel and Ainsley appeared as if by magic as Angelo started to unload her.

“And I don’t want that Romany anywhere near my horses,” Pierson said loudly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s why she did so poorly.”

Ainsley turning, heard, and opened her mouth. Cameron held up his hand to forestall her.

“There’s nothing wrong with Angelo, and there’s nothing wrong with Jasmine,” Cameron said.

He would rather bash Pierson in the mouth, dump him back in the carriage, and send him home, but Cameron controlled himself. He wanted to train Jasmine—wanted to save her from this bastard—and if he angered Pierson, the man would simply take Jasmine away again.

Cameron turned to gesture Angelo away, but Angelo had already moved from Jasmine, leaving her to one of Pierson’s grooms. Angelo would comply without rancor, which was why Cameron trusted the man.

“Fine,” Cameron said. “Leave them both. I’ll see you at Newmarket.”

Pierson didn’t even gloat. He simply looked down his long nose and turned back to his carriage, ready to rush back to his overly ornate house in Bath.

Ainsley pressed her lips together. She knew what a struggle it was for Cameron not to shout what he thought at Pierson. He’d chosen to hold in his temper for Jasmine’s sake.

Poor Jasmine looked a bit rattled from traveling. Her coat was flecked with lather, and her eyes were wide. A good rubdown and a turnout in a paddock so she could run off her nerves, that’s what she needed.

Pierson’s groom, however, started leading Jasmine straight to a stall in the U-shaped stable yard. Jasmine obviously didn’t want to go. She’d bolt the moment she had the chance, if Ainsley were any judge.

“Let her have a run,” Ainsley said. “Angelo.”

Angelo said nothing, leaning against another stall door to watch.

The groom shook his head. “His lordship’s order, m’lady. He’ll not let us go home until she’s safely locked away.”

“Horses don’t like being locked away.”