The Many Sins Of Lord Cameron (MacKenzies & McBrides #3)(34)
Author: Jennifer Ashley

First, she had to wait for Cameron to return the with letters. Ainsley sweated as the clock wound to one fifteen—marked with a little chime—then on to one twenty. At one thirty, she gave up and jumped from the chair, but before she could start for the door, it opened to admit Lord Rowlindson.

He’s a bad man, Ainsley, Cameron had said with quiet certainty. What did it say about a gentleman when someone like Cameron, black sheep of the notorious Mackenzie family, derided him?

Lord Rowlindson didn’t look very dangerous at the moment. He stood with his hand on the door handle and sent Ainsley a look of concern. “Gisele, is it? Is everything all right?”

Ainsley plopped down in the chair again, fanning her face with her hand. “The crowd was rather overwhelming. I decided it a good idea to sit quietly.”

“I thought I saw Lord Cameron leaving this room.”

“You did.” Ainsley looked him straight in the eye. “He was showing me where I could sit quietly.”

Lord Rowlindson’s expression turned worried. He came all the way into the room and closed the door.

“Gisele, I must give you this advice for your own good. Beware of Cameron Mackenzie. He might be charm itself when he needs to be, but he’s not to be trusted. In truth, he’s a hard and ruthless man. He uses his ladies until they are desperate for what he gives them, and then he discards them. I would hate to see that happen to you.”

A little chill went through her. “I appreciate your concern, my lord. I truly do. But I will be well.” Now, do, please, go away.

He didn’t. “Forgive my prying. It’s simply that I don’t wish to see someone as young as yourself hurt. Please, stay and enjoy my soiree. Or, if you do not like crowds, we can adjourn to my private study. I have a friend, he’s quite a gentleman, and very discreet, who might join us—or not, as you wish. Do you enjoy photography?”

What had that to do with anything? “I really don’t know much about it, except to have my portrait done. But that was a long time ago.” After her wedding, in hastily sewn wedding attire, standing next to John Douglas. Ainsley had not worn the wedding finery to the brief ceremony; there hadn’t been time.

“It’s rather a hobby of mine,” Rowlindson said. “I’d enjoy teaching you about it.”

Ainsley still wasn’t certain Rowlindson was dangerous, but he was decidedly odd. “Perhaps another time.”

“I always show new guests my pictures—rather a treat for me. And then I could take a photograph of you.”

Definitely odd. “No, thank you, my lord. I will be returning home directly.”

Rowlindson let out a breath. “If you must. My carriage is at your disposal. Shall I fetch it?”

“No, no.” Ainsley fanned herself again. “I’ve made other arrangements. I’ll sit until the servant fetches me.”

Rowlindson watched her for a moment, then, to her vast relief, gave her a nod. “A wise idea. But if you need help, or my carriage to get you home, you must send for me immediately. Promise?”

“Oh, yes, my lord. I will. You are so kind.” For heaven’s sake, go!

“And heed my advice about Lord Cameron. No matter how he might tempt you.”

Rather too late for that. “Yes, indeed. I thank you for your warning.”

Rowlindson’s mouth softened into a smile. “Perhaps you and I can speak on a later occasion. May I send you word, through Mrs. Chase?”

“I’m not sure that would be proper,” Ainsley said, trying to sound prim.

Her worry about propriety seemed to delight him. “I will be most discreet. Good evening, Gisele.”

Rowlindson gave her a final nod, opened the door, and at long last, left her alone.

Ainsley made herself wait an excruciating ten minutes, giving Rowlindson time to get himself back upstairs, before she slipped out of her costume’s clunky shoes and crept out of the room in her stocking feet.

Phyllida was late, as usual. Cameron waited in the shadows, and sure enough, not until half past one did Phyllida casually stroll into the conservatory. She was dressed as her idea of an Egyptian queen: long, straight sheath that showed off every curve of her body, eyes painted black, gold jewelry dripping from her arms, neck, ankles, and ears.

She paused on the walkway, looking around for Ainsley. Cameron stepped from behind the screen of vines. “Phyllida.”

She gasped in a satisfying way, then she flushed. “Devil take it, Cam, what do you want? I told you I’d only make the exchange with Mrs. Douglas.”

Cameron slid the roll of money from his pocket, and Phyllida’s gaze turned sharp with greed.

“Is it fifteen hundred?” she asked. “As promised?”

“As promised. You give me the letters and never bother Ainsley again.”

Her painted eyes went wide with delight. “You call her by her Christian name now, do you? How quickly things progress.”

“Do you have the damned letters or don’t you?”

“This is delicious. Mousy Ainsley Douglas and the decadent Lord Cameron Mackenzie. How the ton will delight.”

Cameron felt rage building inside him. “Say one word about her, and I’ll throttle you.”

“You were always so violent. Did I ever tell you how exciting that was?”

“The letters, Phyllida.”

Phyllida’s gaze flicked beyond Cameron, and her face lit with genuine pleasure, an expression Cameron had never seen on her before.

“There you are, darling. Please, come and protect me from Lord Cameron’s threats. You know what I told you about the Mackenzies.”

Cameron turned to see the last person he expected: a tall, black-haired young man with the dusky skin and dark eyes of a southern Italian. Cameron thought he vaguely recognized him from the stage. Opera, perhaps.

“Apologize to the lady,” the Italian said. His accent was very slight, his English good. “I know she was your lover, but that is finished now.”

“I agree,” Cameron said. “It is finished. Phyllida, who the devil is this?”

“None of your business,” Phyllida said crisply. “He is here to see that I don’t get cheated.” She turned back to the Italian. “Darling, did you bring the letters?”

Cameron closed his fist around the money, not about to let Phyllida take it until she gave over the precious documents. The Italian reached into his pocket and brought out a stack of folded papers.

“Is that all of them?” Cameron eyed them. “Ainsley said there were six.”