The Many Sins of Lord Cameron

“You see? You can say that because you are so very rich, not to mention male. You can get away with much, while I must be a good little woman and follow all the rules.” And didn’t those rules chafe?

“The queen should give you a damned sight more than she does for drudging for her. You are worth more than she understands.”

Ainsley shivered at his dark voice. “You are flattering, and believe me, I adore you flattering me, but I have to be so careful.” She touched the necklace again. “Anyone discovering that you bought this for me will assume me your mistress. Phyllida already believes it.”

Cameron leaned to her, moving his hands to either side of her on the billiards table. His body hemmed her in, his arms a cage.

“Then be my mistress in truth, Ainsley.”

His breath touched her lips as she gasped in surprise, his mouth following. The swift kiss burned like a brand.

“I could give you so much,” he said. “I want to give you so much. Is that so bad a thing?”

So bad a thing? Ainsley clutched the lip of the billiards table and tried to stay upright. No, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to be this man’s lover. She’d lounge in his bed—or wherever he preferred—while he unbuttoned her frock and tasted her skin. Surrender to Cameron would be breathless, a wild, heady freedom.

He was a man who took everything he wanted, whose women were meltingly grateful to him and didn’t mind the strings attached. But then, Cameron’s usual ladies were courtesans, merry widows, and women whose reputations had been soiled long before they took up with him. They had nothing to lose, and Ainsley had everything. And wouldn’t the downfall be heavenly?

But once upon a time, Ainsley had succumbed to a seducer’s skilled touch. She’d hovered on the brink of complete ruin, terrified to confess her sins to the brother who’d been everything to her. She remembered the shock in Patrick’s eyes when she’d at last told him, the gasp of dismay from his upright wife, Rona.

And then Patrick, instead of chucking Ainsley into the street as he could have, had worked quickly and compassionately to save her. Only his and Rona’s intervention, and John Douglas’s kindness, had kept the world from discovering her shame. Patrick, Rona, and John had covered up what Ainsley had done, and Ainsley owed them everything.

“My lord . . .”

“My name is Cameron.”

“Cameron.” Ainsley closed her eyes and drew a breath for strength. “I want to. I very much want to be your lover. But I can’t.” The words dragged out of her, holding all the regret in the world.

“Why the devil not? You live like a servant and dress like a dowd. We’ll go to Paris if you’re worried about what people will say in London. You’ll dress like a queen instead of fetching and carrying for one, and I’ll drape you in jewels that will make this little bauble nothing.”

A vivid image arose, Ainsley in satin gowns the colors Isabella and Cameron had picked out for her, ropes of diamonds around her neck, rubies glittering in her ears. “Would there be sapphires?” she asked wistfully. “They’d go nicely with all those blue frocks.”

Cameron’s smile made her limbs weak. “There can be anything you want. A new gown every day, jewelry to go with it. A fine carriage for you to ride in, pulled by the best horses. I know a man in France who breeds the most amazing carriage horses. You could pick out the ones you liked.”

Of course, he’d give Ainsley the best horses. Horses were to him what diamonds were to most women. Precious, beautiful, worth seeking the best.

“You have fire in you, Ainsley Douglas. Let it out with me.”

She wanted to. She could have this, Cameron’s strong arms around her, the man in him awakening the woman in her. She’d never experienced anyone like him—a virile male who could arouse her simply by whispering her name.

“Please, don’t tempt me like this,” she said.

“I want to tempt you. I want you with every ounce of strength I have, and damn the scandal. Isabella is right—it’s past time you threw off your widow’s weeds and enjoyed your life.”

“It’s not the scandal I’m afraid of.” Ainsley drew a breath, her chest aching. “Believe me, were I alone in the world, I’d tell scandal to go hang and do as I pleased.” She’d realized a long time ago, however, that it wasn’t the scandal that was important, but the people she hurt with the scandal.

Raw pain flickered in Cameron’s eyes, an old hurt that had never gone away. “At least tell me you’ll think about it. Spend the winter with me in Paris. Promise me you will, Ainsley.”

Ainsley bit her lip so she wouldn’t blurt out the word, Yes! She could take what he offered and wring every bit of enjoyment from it before it was over. He’d move on, but she’d have that brief time to remember.

Cameron stilled, reading refusal in her silence, and what she saw in his gaze nearly undid her. Loneliness, years upon years of it, locked away behind the façade of a libertine. Cameron’s rakehell reputation hid a man broken and numbed long ago, a man seeking physical pleasure because he knew he’d obtain nothing else from life.

An offer like this from any other man might have angered and insulted Ainsley, but her eyes welled with sudden tears as Cameron lifted himself away from her.

“Do up your frock,” he said curtly. “The scavengers will be along.”

Ainsley reached for the buttons. “Cameron, I’m sorry.”