Phyllida pouted. “Now, that’s not fair.”

“I’m not interested in fair. I’m interested in you leaving Mrs. Douglas the hell alone.”

“Goodness, what do you see in that little termagant? Very well, but have Mrs. Douglas give the money to me.”

“Why?” Cameron narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Because I don’t trust you. Mrs. Douglas is a paid toady, but at least she’s an honest toady. She will make a fair exchange without doing anything underhanded.”

“You had better not be underhanded,” Cameron said. “If you try anything, I’ll throttle those letters out of you. Understand?”

Phyllida smiled. “That’s what I’ve always loved about you, Cam. You’re not afraid to be forceful.”

“Just give her the letters,” Cameron growled and walked away from her, not missing her delighted laughter behind him.

The fiddles and drums were loud inside the ballroom. Some English guests grimaced or openly mocked the music, but the Scottish guests had formed circles to dance in Highland delight.

In the center of the ballroom Isabella and Mac led a circle. Although Isabella was English born and bred, she had taken to all things Scottish with a vengeance.

In Mackenzie plaid, her red hair twined with roses, Isabella swayed in the circle. Next to her was Mac, who was a damn good dancer. He led the wide circle in and out, feet moving in quick rhythm, but his eyes were for Isabella.

The look Mac gave Isabella when he looped his arm around her waist to turn her was so damn loving. Mac and Isabella had struggled a long time for their happy ending, and Cameron was glad to see them have it.

Hart didn’t dance, but Hart never did. He liked to put people together and then stand back and watch them, like a general surveying his troops. Hart spied Cameron entering and moved to him, dressed in cool finery and a kilt, Mackenzie malt in his hand.

“Where did you disappear to tonight?” Hart asked.

Cameron shrugged. “Bored.” No reason to mention Ainsley to Hart.

“Isabella is complaining about having to shoulder much of the burden of this thing.” Hart gestured with his whiskey at the crowd. “And when Isabella complains, Mac is the very devil.”

As distracted as he was, Cameron took time to laugh at the exasperation in Hart’s voice. Hart lived to orchestrate things, and Isabella and Beth were happy to help him. But Hart had discovered quickly that his brothers’ wives weren’t docile creatures he could bend to his will. And when Beth and Isabella weren’t happy, Ian and Mac became walls of angry protection.

A quick scan of the room told Cameron that Ian and Beth were missing. “Beth’s not helping tonight?”

“The crowd at the fireworks unnerved Ian. He retired with Beth.”

Cameron met Hart’s golden gaze, which held the same skeptical amusement Cam felt. “Of course he did,” Cam said. “Ian Mackenzie is a bloody genius.”

“I can’t force him to stay downstairs,” Hart said.

No, when Ian wanted to do a thing, neither God nor all his angels could prevent it. Only Beth could, and Beth generally took Ian’s side.

Ainsley and Daniel rushed in, hand in hand, to join the dancing. Ainsley had changed into a gown of subdued Douglas plaid, more black than anything else, and wore a big plaid bow in her hair. Mac opened the circle to welcome them. Mac liked Ainsley, telling Cameron that it was refreshing to talk to a lady who used to rob the school pantry of cake and divide the spoils among her friends.

Daniel threw himself into the dance with enthusiasm if not grace. He dragged Ainsley around the circle until she laughed, and he twirled her hard when the circle broke off into couples. Ainsley’s silvery laughter drifted over the music, her smile lighting the room.

Cameron watched her supple waist bending as she danced, imagined his own arm around it. Cam would turn Ainsley in the dance and keep his arm around her, pulling her up for a slow, burning kiss.

He felt Hart’s eagle gaze on him, and he scowled. “Mind your own damn business.”

Hart took a sip of whiskey. “You might be interested to know that I saw Mrs. Douglas pick open the lock of the Chases’ suite the other night and sashay right in when she thought no one was looking. Chase and I are in agreement about the German question, but I don’t want things discussed too soon, especially not with the queen.”

Hart worried about Germany’s steady advances in industry, viewing them as a potential threat to Britain, while many of his fellow politicians assumed that Germany was their strongest ally. Cameron, his attention buried in racing, paid little attention to those details, but Hart was no fool, and Cam trusted Hart’s instincts.

“It has nothing to do with the German question,” Cameron said.

Hart’s gaze sharpened. “Then you know what she was looking for. Interesting. Enlighten me.”

Cameron looked back at Ainsley—dancing, happy, smiling—and knew in that instant that he would never betray her to Hart. Cam would be as growling and protective of her as Mac and Ian were of Isabella and Beth.

“I can’t tell you,” Cameron said. “But I can assure you it has nothing to do with politics. Just female silliness.”

Hart’s gaze could have cut glass. “Female silliness can hide a wagonload of secrets.”

Cameron met the famous Hart Mackenzie stare with a stubborn stare of his own. “This doesn’t. You’re going to have to trust me, because I’m not saying a bloody word.”

“Cam . . .”

“Not a bloody word. It has nothing to do with your politics.”

Hart’s mouth tightened, but Hart knew exactly how far he could push his brothers. He pushed Cameron least of all, remembering exactly who’d won all those fistfights and scraps they’d had as youths.

But Cameron always forgave Hart for his high-handedness. Hart had saved Cameron’s life after Elizabeth’s death but had never demanded anything in return; they’d never even spoken about it. Hart would do anything to keep the family safe and together. That was why they all lived so well, although Hart would never go into the details of their father’s sudden wish to bestow generous trusts on his younger sons instead of having Hart inherit the entire fortune.

“Fine, I’ll take your word,” Hart said, as the music wound to an end. “Just keep her under control.”

The dancers dispersed to applause. Music began again, and guests moved to the floor to take up the waltz. Cameron looked for Ainsley and Daniel in the milling crowd, but both had vanished.

“That’s her. My father’s prized possession. Although she’s not his possession, which is why he’s all bothered about it.”

The prized possession that Daniel had dragged Ainsley from the ballroom to view was a horse. A three-year-old filly to be precise, and a most beautiful creature.

The horse had slender, delicate-looking legs, but there was power in her body and fire in her eye. She was brown, her coat rich and dark, her mane and tail as dark. The pink lining of her nostrils spoke of fine breeding, and the way she watched Ainsley and Daniel approach told Ainsley that she was perfectly aware of how beautiful she was.

“Night-Blooming Jasmine, I presume,” Ainsley said. The mare had her head over the half door of her box, ears pricked, nostrils expanding as she inhaled Ainsley’s scent. “No, I didn’t bring you sugar, you greedy thing.”

As Ainsley reached out to stroke her, a tall man with black hair materialized from the shadows. Angelo, the Romany who was ostensibly Cameron’s valet, but in reality assisted with all aspects of Cameron’s life, leaned casually on the door of the next stall. “Careful of her, ma’am,” he said, his dark voice holding tones of lands far away. “She’s got the devil in her.”

Ainsley rubbed the end of Jasmine’s nose, smiling at the warm, velvety feel of it and the prickle of her whiskers. “She just wants a bit of attention, don’t you, love?” Ainsley said. “You want someone to tell you how beautiful you are, and how much they appreciate you.” Ainsley rubbed under the horse’s mane, and Jasmine half closed her eyes in enjoyment.

“She does that.” The Romany smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, gaze softening in approval.

Ainsley hadn’t spoken to Angelo before, but she knew that Cameron keeping a Romany as his most trusted companion shocked many people, who were unnerved by Angelo’s appalling lack of manners. Seeing him up close, Ainsley realized that they meant the man’s lack of deference. Angelo obviously didn’t consider aristocrats and the genteel his “betters,” and saw no reason to treat them as any different from himself. Ainsley had to admire Angelo’s utter confidence in who he was and where he stood in the world.

Daniel snorted. “Jasmine’s a runner all right, but she don’t like the bit. Yesterday, she tossed off Dad’s best jockey and ran for the hills. Took them hours to find her.”

Ainsley imagined Lord Cameron’s reaction to that. No wonder he’d been out of sorts when he’d brought Phyllida Chase to his bedroom last night. He’d been a man trying to take his mind off his troubles, and he’d found Ainsley hiding in his window seat instead.

Jasmine nuzzled Ainsley’s plaid hair bow with interest, and then decided to grab it with her teeth. Ainsley stifled a shriek as the bow came off, pulling strands of Ainsley’s hair with it.

Jasmine backed up and shook her head until the bow unraveled into a long ribbon. She snorted playfully and kept shaking her head, dancing away from the ribbon that snaked around her feet. The Mackenzie dogs that had followed Ainsley and Daniel started barking, wanting to play too.

“You’re right, she is a little devil,” Ainsley said. “I’d better get that away from her before she swallows it.”

Angelo’s dark eyes were full of laughter. “Let me.”

But when Angelo opened the stall door, Jasmine lunged at him, ears flat on her head, teeth bared, the ribbon still between them. Angelo said something softly in Romany, but Jasmine ignored him.

Ainsley grinned. “She doesn’t want you taking away her toy. Danny, get me a bit of oats.”

While Daniel trotted off, Ainsley ducked in around Angelo and lifted the end of the unraveled bow. She quietly began to roll up the ribbon, ending at the piece Jasmine still held. Daniel thrust a handful of oats over the stall door, and Ainsley caught them in her bare palm and offered them to Jasmine.

Jasmine’s nostrils widened as she whuffed a warm breath over Ainsley’s hand. Then came the velvet nose, the wet tongue, and touch of teeth as Jasmine dropped the ribbon for the unexpected treat. Ainsley folded the rest of the ribbon and thrust it into her pocket as Jasmine crunched oats.

Once the oats were gone, Ainsley made to leave the stall, but Jasmine suddenly swung her hindquarters around, blocking the way out.

Ainsley patted the mare’s side, unafraid. “Move, you daft beastie.”

Jasmine decided she didn’t want to budge. She kept crunching the oats in her mouth, pinning Ainsley between her and the corner of the stall.

“I’d say she likes you, ma’am,” Angelo said.

He slid into the stall and made soft clicking noises between his teeth. Jasmine paid absolutely no attention. She turned to nuzzle Ainsley, making Ainsley have to back up against the wall.

It was a fine thing to be liked and trusted by a horse, quite another to be held captive by her. Ainsley tried to step around her keeping her movements slow, but Jasmine turned again, pressing Ainsley back. The dogs barking outside and Daniel’s worried voice weren’t helping.

Then Jasmine shied, swinging her hindquarters toward Ainsley as a heavy tread sounded in the stable yard. Ainsley dove aside in case the horse decided to kick, but Jasmine wasn’t intent on kicking.

She bolted through the half-open door and ran for freedom, shoving aside Angelo, Daniel, the dogs, and the large form of Cameron Mackenzie, who was bearing down upon them.


Chapter 9


“What th’ devil did ye think you were doing?” Cameron shouted at her in the dark of the stable yard.

Angelo, sliding bareback onto another of the horses, rode quietly out in pursuit of Jasmine. Daniel and the dogs followed Angelo on foot, while a stable boy hurriedly saddled a horse for Cameron.

Cameron’s big hands clamped Ainsley’s shoulders, but her annoyance at being manhandled was mitigated by the fact that Cameron had every right to be angry. Jasmine was a racer worth a lot of money and had been entrusted to Cameron’s care. The Scottish wilderness was full of holes to break Jasmine’s legs, icy streams to carry her away, bogs to swallow her.