The Many Sins Of Lord Cameron (MacKenzies & McBrides #3)(53)
Author: Jennifer Ashley

They lunched in a café, and Ainsley discovered something else Paris did well—cake. Ainsley loved cake, and the confections of many thin layers separated with chocolate or jam or sugar syrup satisfied her soul. She ate an extra-large piece during their fourth shopping expedition and licked her fork, looking up to see Cameron watching her with amused eyes.

Ainsley shrugged. “I like cake.”

“Paris has the best cakes,” Daniel said, diving into his second slice. “Every café on this boulevard has their own specialty. You could go up and down and try a different one every day.”

Ainsley grinned. “Yes, let’s.”

Cameron only laughed at them, the sound warm. It was the first time he’d laughed since Ainsley had joined him in Doncaster. Ainsley savored the laugh as she savored the last morsel of chocolate cream on her plate.

That night, Cameron took her to another new world, one Ainsley had glimpsed only in newspapers depicting the high life. Cameron himself picked out what she’d wear—a dark red and silver satin confection Isabella had dreamed up that went well with the diamonds Cameron had given her at Kilmorgan.

“It’s hardly matronly,” she said as Cameron laid the diamonds across her bosom and snapped the catch.

Cameron’s gaze met hers in the mirror of her dressing table. “Nothing matronly for you any longer, Ainsley Mackenzie. You are a beautiful woman. I want all to see how beautiful you are, and envy me.”

“I was joking.”

He kissed her neck. “I wasn’t.”

Ainsley found it heady to look so unlike herself as Cameron took her out into the Paris night, plunging her into the whirl of the avant-garde. More so having Cameron beside her in his black coat and Mackenzie plaid kilt. He was a powerful man of raw handsomeness, and now he belonged to her. Ladies looked at her in envy and curiosity, wondering who was the fair-haired nothing who’d snared the very eligible Lord Cameron.

“We must have cake after,” Ainsley said as she sipped champagne at the restaurant Drouant. “That chocolate one with the cream in the middle. I think it’s my favorite, though I’m not certain. I have many more to try.”

Cake was a safe topic. Despite her determination, whenever Ainsley tried to bring up the question of the two of them sharing a bed, Cameron’s eyes would harden, and he’d change the subject. Usually in a bad-tempered way. He’d started doing so if he so much as thought Ainsley would mention the word bed. Their conversations had been reduced to inanities, their lovemaking intense but without words.

“Most women want to rush up and down the boulevards buying jewels and hats,” Cameron said now. “You head straight for the boulangerie.”

Ainsley matched his careless tone. “Perhaps that is because we were allowed only very stingy slices of cake at Miss Pringle’s Academy. I learned that if I wanted cake, I had to steal it.”

“So that is the explanation for your life of crime.”

“The cake was worth stealing, you can be certain. The cook was French, and she knew how to make tortes with the layers and layers of caramel and cream between them. I realize now that she only gave us the barest taste of the joys of France.”

“I’ll take you all over the country so you can try the cake of every region,” Cameron said.

“Truly? That would indeed be splendid—”

Ainsley’s words cut off in a surprised squeak as a woman sat down in the chair next to her and helped herself to Ainsley’s champagne.

“Lady Cameron Mackenzie, I do believe,” Phyllida Chase said, and laughed. “Really, darling, it’s too bad of you.”

Chapter 20

“Oh, don’t look so alarmed.” Phyllida set down the glass, then took an oyster from Cameron’s plate and tipped it down her throat. “I think it wonderful that you’ve gone and eloped with the elusive Lord Cameron. I’m happy for you, even if he did throw me over for a younger woman.”

Her eyes glittered in mirth, the brittleness gone from her laughter. Phyllida Chase’s ice had melted.

“Would you like to join us, Phyllida?” Ainsley asked her coolly. “They’ll bring you your own plate and glass if you ask them.”

Phyllida sent her a sunny smile. “That would be lovely.” She turned and waved through the crowd. “Giorgio, I’m here. I’ve found friends.”

A broad-shouldered, dark-haired man moved past the tables toward them, and Cameron rose to meet him.

Phyllida caught the man’s hand when he reached them. “Look, darling, it’s Lord Cameron and his new wife. Ainsley, this is Giorgio Prario, the famous tenor. Giorgio, love, they’ve invited us to dine with them.”

The Italian man was alarmingly tall, and he stood toe-to- toe with Cameron. But Signor Prario held out his hand in a friendly manner and took Cameron’s in a firm grip. “Yes, the Scottish lord who provided us with the means to remove to a happier place. I thank you.” He bowed to Ainsley. “My lady. I also thank you.”

Ainsley blinked. “Cameron provided you the means?”

The two men sat down and the ready waiters appeared with extra plates and cutlery, glasses and napkins. More champagne was poured, and the maître d’hôtel personally offered them the best from the kitchen. Cameron was a very rich man, and every restaurateur in Paris knew it.

“Money for the letters, darling,” Phyllida said when the waiters finally departed. “You didn’t think I truly cared for what the queen gets up to with her horseman, did you? I only cared that she’d pay dearly to save herself embarrassment.” She beamed at Cameron. “Cam’s generosity gave me the last bit I needed so that Giorgio and I could set up a house here. My husband is busily divorcing me in London, and when that’s all done, Giorgio and I will be married.”

Phyllida radiated happiness. Her smile was wide, her eyes soft, and she looked far younger than the cold, remorseless woman Ainsley had faced in the gardens at Kilmorgan.

“Giorgio is now the most sought-after tenor on the Continent,” Phyllida went on, voice filled with pride. “The crowned heads are all demanding him. He’s giving a concert tomorrow night at the opera house. Darlings, you must come. You’ll understand my infatuation with him when you hear him sing.”

“But, Phyllida,” Ainsley burst out as soon as Phyllida paused for breath. “Why all the scheming with the letters? Why not just tell me what you wanted the money for? I might have been a bit more sympathetic, or even tried to help you get it.”