The Many Sins of Lord Cameron

Chapter 14

He was going to have her, touch her, taste her. Everything he could of her.

Tonight if no other time. He’d do everything he could to persuade her to come away with him, but right now, he was going to enjoy this.

He undid the pretty bow that tied the top of her combinations and slid the lacy fabric from her shoulders. Her breasts came into view, round globes, firm and tight. Not the small breasts of a virgin, but the wonderfully full ones of a woman who’d grown into her body.

Ainsley was as beautiful as Cameron had dreamed. He cupped one breast reverently before he leaned forward and licked it.

He tasted fire, felt her heart beating swiftly. Cameron nuzzled her skin, flicked his tongue to the taut peak of her nipple. She gasped. Cameron touched his tongue to her again, and again, the gasp. Delightful.

“Has no man ever tasted you, Ainsley?”

“No.” The word was breathless. “Not like that.”

“Fools. You taste good.” Cameron licked a circle around the areola. “You’re like the best wine, Ainsley, lass.”

He suckled her gently, then drew one nipple between his teeth. She reclined on the cushioned seat, eyes half closed, breasts bare in the lamplight, legs spread for him. He hadn’t seen so beautiful a sight in a very long time.

Cameron kissed between her breasts, moving his way downward. Her belly was a little soft, a little round, despite the constant cinch of her corset. There were scars here, pink lines on her skin, signs that her abdomen had once been much fuller than this.

He flicked his gaze to her face, and Ainsley stilled. She knew he’d seen and that he understood what he’d seen.

Isabella had never mentioned that Ainsley had borne a child. Where was that child now?

The sorrow in Ainsley’s eyes told him. The baby had not survived.

It was a common thing, even in this day and age, for a child to die at birth or shortly thereafter. But that didn’t mean every death wasn’t mourned, every grief felt. John Douglas had been elderly; perhaps his seed hadn’t been strong.

Cameron remembered his conversation at breakfast with Isabella, her story that Ainsley had gone to the Continent and returned a year later, married, to Isabella’s surprise. There had been no announcement, not even a letter, simply Ainsley McBride returning as Ainsley Douglas. Interesting.

Not that he’d question her about her secrets right now. They all had them, dark secrets of the soul. The only way to deal with them was to live, and forget.

Cameron feathered kisses along the lines, tracing them with his tongue. He enjoyed himself, tasting her skin, inhaling the salt sweet scent of her. He dipped his tongue into her navel, and she let out a laugh.

She pushed at the open placket of his shirt. “Not fair that I’m the only one undressed. I want to see you.”

“No need.” Cameron could feast his eyes on Ainsley all night. When it came time to finish, he didn’t need to bare his scarred body. He rarely undressed all the way for his ladies.

“There is need. My need.” Ainsley lolled against the cushions, bare, delectable, erotic. “I have hidden nothing from you, my Cam.”

My Cam. Damn her.

My Ainsley.

He could give her some but not all, and the carriage was dark enough. Pressing another kiss to her belly, Cameron knelt back and slid off his shirt.

Ainsley held her breath, her heart beating fast and hard. Her Mackenzie male was large, strong, delectable.

She’d only glimpsed his chest before, and now she saw Cameron in full, a huge man, sculpted with muscle, skin glistening with perspiration. Perfect, except for a thin scar that marred where his collarbone joined his right shoulder. Ainsley traced the scar with her fingers, then leaned forward to kiss it, to lick it.

“Ainsley, you do have fire,” he whispered. “I want to feel that fire all around me.”

Ainsley kissed his scar one more time, lifted her face, and lightly kissed the scar on his cheek.

Cameron’s ensuing kiss was hard, hot, taking. Strong fingers undid the buttons that held her pantalets closed, and the cotton moved down her legs.

Ainsley thought he’d lift her around him there and then, but Cameron pressed her again to the cushions. He parted her legs and bowed over her lap.

And then his mouth. Ainsley jerked as Cameron closed lips and tongue over her most intimate place. Her legs came up, knees bending as her feet rested on the seat. She was open all the way to him, but she felt no shame, only heat and a burning need.

The carriage listed, but Cameron didn’t stop. Ainsley furrowed his hair as he went on, his strokes and pulls harder. She hurt for him, she wanted him, and the friction of his tongue was glorious, glorious. His mouth was hot, tongue skilled and swift, the burn of his whiskers on her thighs wicked.

She was coming apart, the noises she made muffled by the cushioned walls. Cameron went on and on, and Ainsley couldn’t see or hear or breathe. The only thing in the world was Cameron’s mouth on her, the bulk of his warmth so close to her, the dark fire spreading through her.

“Cam, please!”

Ainsley didn’t know what she begged for, she only knew she wanted him against her, with her, inside her. Always.

Cameron raised his head and dabbed his lips with his fingers. “Sweet Ainsley. Has no one ever done that either?”

She shook her head, beyond speech.

“All men are fools,” he said. “To pass you by when they could have this.” Cameron stroked his fingers through the curls between her legs. “You’re sweet and wet for me, my Ainsley. Wet and ready.”

He pulled aside the folds of his kilt, and no, he wore nothing beneath it. Only him, his shaft long and dark.

The drapes of the plaid got in Ainsley’s way, but she easily found him. She smiled as she closed her hand around him, not hiding her pleasure at how hot and hard and so very big he was. Cameron was a large man, large all the way down.

Cameron groaned as Ainsley squeezed, her tightly controlled man coming undone for her. He studied her with half-closed eyes, his cheekbones flushed. Enjoying what she did to him, and letting himself enjoy it.

“You are quite . . . long,” she said. “Have you ever measured it?”

A glint flashed in Cameron’s eyes. “No.”

“I must fetch a tape measure then.”

Cameron seized her wrist in an impossibly strong grip. “You are not going anywhere or fetching anything. Not now.”

He removed her hand from him and drew her up off the seat.

The wool of his kilt prickled her as Cameron moved between her thighs. His tip touched her opening, and Ainsley ached with need. Her body wanted to squeeze, wanted to pull him in, to have him all the way.

“Not too fast, love,” Cameron said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Ainsley shook her head. She was past caring, past remembering what pain was. “I’m ready.” She’d been ready for six years.

“Stop me if I hurt you. Promise me.”

His eyes held anguish mixed with need, and Ainsley realized that her answer was very, very important to him.

She nodded. “I promise.”

Cameron relaxed, as though Ainsley had said the right thing. He cradled her in his strong arms her, held her gaze with his, and slid inside.

I belong here.

I belong inside this beautiful woman who tastes like dreams.

Cameron’s thoughts scattered, and all he could feel was Ainsley, her heat and her scent. Deeper, deeper into her. Ainsley, I need you.

His breath came fast, the noises in his throat hoarse, Cameron who never lost control.

Cameron couldn’t afford to lose control, never, ever. But Ainsley was stealing him. She was tight, so damn tight, and he was sliding into her so deep he never wanted to come out.

He kissed her throat, feeling her groans with his lips. He kissed her face, up under her hair. Ainsley was making beautiful noises, and Cameron kissed her throat again. He felt the slight scrape of her fingernails on his back, Ainsley not even knowing she scratched him.

“Ainsley.” Saying her name was joy.

Cameron couldn’t move inside her much in this position, but their bodies were tight against each other’s, the feeling raw. Later, he’d take her on cushions on the floor of her chamber, and then he’d be able to move. Stroking into and out of beautiful Ainsley. The thought excited him beyond measure.

But right now was good too. Ainsley touched his face, looking straight into his eyes with her beautiful gray ones. She was around him, part of him, and he was part of her.

Ainsley couldn’t believe what she was feeling. Cameron was thick and firm inside her, spreading her, yet there was no pain, only rightness. He held her so gently, but his body had such power that it undid her.

If she’d known there would be this joy, six years ago, Ainsley would not have waited so long. “I’d have found you,” she heard herself saying. “Chased you through London like a fool, and begged you to do this.”

Cameron’s smile was hot. “Wicked, wicked lady. I’ll give you everything you want, do anything to you. All you have to do is ask.”

He moved inside her, and Ainsley gave in to the bright, hard feeling. “Would you do this for me?” She moaned as he sent forth another burning thrust. “Any time I wanted? If I went to Paris with you?”

“Hell, yes.” His voice was dark. “Again, and again, every damned night. I know pleasure, Ainsley, and I’ll show you every bit you ever dreamed of.”

She sucked in a breath as he pressed even tighter into her, spreading her so wide. “This seems adequate.”

“There’s so, so much more, Ainsley, love.” He cupped her head in his large hand, his breath tangling with hers. “So much more. But—God—now. You’re beautiful. My Ainsley. Always mine.”

Cameron felt the finish coming—too soon, too damned, damned soon. But Ainsley was squeezing him hard, sending little pulses of pleasure up and down his cock. Nature, damnably controlling, wanted him to bury his seed deep inside her. Now.

“No.” He fought it. No, no, no, I don’t want to stop. I never want to stop.

“Cameron.” It was a whispered groan. “Cam, I feel so good. What do I . . .” Words vanished as Ainsley’s climax took her, her sweet feminine sounds undoing him.

Cameron let out a savage growl. He lowered Ainsley quickly to the seat and slid out of her, his cock protesting all the way. He yanked a handkerchief from the coat behind him, wrapped it around his hardness, and spilled his seed into the innocent cloth.

Ainsley couldn’t catch her breath. She lay limply against the cushions, clutching the lip of the seat so she wouldn’t slide off.

Cameron remained unmoving on the carpeted floor, head bowed, handkerchief pressed to himself, his chest swiftly rising and falling.

“Cameron, are you all right?”

He raised his head and gave her a wide, hot smile. Cameron rose over her, fists on either side of her, caging her on the seat.

“Am I all right?” His Highland accent rang through. “Of course I’m all right, lass. I’m better than I’ve ever been.”

“But you—”

“Pulled out of ye? Aye, so I won’t give ye a babe.”

“Oh. Yes.” Ainsley wasn’t certain whether she felt grateful or disappointed. “It was—”

“Far too soon.” His smile broadened. “I know. I want more. I want ye all night, love.”

“Cameron, stop interrupting me.” She sat up to him, met the dark golden eyes that held so much warmth. “I wanted to say that it was beautiful.”

“But far too quick. I want ye the rest of the night.”

“Yes.” Ainsley dissolved into a smile. “I think that would be quite an excellent thing.”

Cameron looked her up and down, his eyes taking in everything, a man liking what he saw. “You’re beautiful, lass.”

His look was like a touch, his words burning. She laughed nervously. “A bit long in the tooth.”

“Ye stop that, now. When I saw ye tonight, Ainsley, when you looked up at me through that mask and ran your tongue over your red-painted mouth, I wanted you so hard. I’d have taken you right there on the stairs if I could have. I showed bloody good restraint not even kissing you until I got you into the anteroom.”

Ainsley stretched, her body pliant. “So I had to hide my face with a mask to gain your attention?”

“Careful with me, woman. I’m barely stopping myself ravishing you all over again.”

Cameron growled and swept a kiss across her mouth. Ainsley splayed her hands against his chest, feeling his heart pounding as swiftly as hers. She loved how large he was, how powerful. How safe she felt with the cushions at her back, and Cameron’s body between her and the world.

“Damn you, Ainsley,” he said. “You are the most enticing, beddable, sensual woman I have ever seen. I want to lie with you all night and all the next day. I want to do things to you and have you do them to me. There are cruder words for what I want, but I’m trying to keep in mind that you’re a lady.”

Ainsley’s heart tripped, but she smiled. “Now you have me curious. Tell me, Cameron. I’m not a fainting flower.”

Cameron put his mouth to her ear. The blunt syllables tapped through her—fuck . . . suck. . . cunny . . . cock. Ainsley felt a lightness in her limbs, a floating sensation that was warm and freeing.

Cameron raised his head, his smile so hot she thought she’d slide from the seat. “Is that what ye wanted to hear?” he asked.

“I don’t regret the question,” Ainsley said breathlessly.

“Good.” Cameron licked between her breasts. He tugged her legs around him again, but instead of pushing inside her, he held her close, the two of them entwined, face to face.

Ainsley kissed him as he kissed her, both of them tasting, licking, nipping, exploring. So many different sensations under her tongue—the sandpaper roughness of his whiskers; the smoothness that was his scar; the hot, wet point of his mouth; firm, masterful lips.

She kissed his cheek, smoothed his eyes closed with kisses, nibbled her way down his throat. Cameron murmured in pleasure and did it all back to her.

The carriage hit a hole in the road. Cameron held her so protectively that she never felt the bump, but the carriage abruptly slowed.

“Damn,” Cameron growled.

Ainsley didn’t want to let go of him. “What is the matter?”

Cameron gently unwound himself from her and hauled himself into the seat beside her. “We’re almost home.”

“Oh.” Ainsley fought back a wave of disappointment.

Cameron swept up her combinations and dropped them onto her bare skin, then knocked on the coach’s roof. The coachman, thank heavens, didn’t look down at them through the little peephole to see Ainsley in her naked glory. He merely halted the coach.

“Why are we stopping?” She felt cold without him around her, and she hugged the cotton combinations to her chest. “We haven’t turned into the drive yet, have we?” She hadn’t felt the turn, anyway.

“I’m getting out here.” Cameron slid on his shirt then shrugged on the waistcoat. He paused to kiss her, lingered, kissed her again. “I don’t want to risk us arriving together. I’ll walk across the fields, and you take the coach all the way home. Go upstairs and straight to your bedchamber. I’ll come to you there.”

Ainsley warmed. Again, she saw the gentle caring of this rough, brutish man. Cameron was leaving now to protect her and her reputation, not disappearing into the night, finished, having taken his pleasure.

“In my chamber?” she asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to be in yours?” His wing of the house was almost deserted, while Ainsley was housed in a corner of the very busy guest wing.

Cameron draped his cravat around his neck but didn’t tie it. “Easier for me to explain why I’m in the guest wing if anyone happens along.”

Ainsley opened her mouth to protest, but Cameron growled. “Can you do nothing without arguing, woman?”

“Not really. I’m not used to following orders without question.”

“The Queen of England must put up with much, then. Turn around.”

Ainsley decided to do that without asking him why, and Cameron laced up her corset. He did it with quick competence, as skilled as any lady’s maid.

Cameron turned her around and kissed her again, this kiss lingering and slow. “You’re a beautiful, beautiful woman, Ainsley Douglas. And I want to drink you down.”

And wouldn’t Ainsley love that? She touched his face. “Soon.”

“Very soon.” Another kiss, and Cameron snatched up his coat and opened the door.

A rush of cold air filled the coach, blocked a little by Cameron’s body as he descended. “Damned soon,” he said.

He flickered his tongue, promising and sensual, and then he slammed the door, and was gone.

Before Ainsley could draw a ragged breath, the coach lurched forward, and she scrambled for her bodice and skirts. Outside she heard Cameron go, his cheerful whistle cutting the night.

Cameron paced his bedchamber, poured himself whiskey, paced some more, and drank, his eye on the clock. McNab lay sprawled on Cameron’s bed, the dog fully at home. McNab thumped his tail the first few times Cameron passed; then his eyes drooped and he began to snore. It was like a rusty saw, that snore.

Cameron drank and walked, his focus nowhere. He had to give Ainsley enough time get herself upstairs, give her maid a chance to fuss as she undressed Ainsley and put her to bed. Another quarter of an hour perhaps. His blood burned with impatience.

Again and again he felt the warmth of Ainsley around him, heard her laughter. Her astonishment when she’d reached climax told him she’d never had an orgasm before. Cameron couldn’t help but smile in triumph to know he’d been the first to make her feel it.

He knew he should be finished with her, having at last obtained what he’d wanted since that night six years ago in this very bedchamber. Challenge completed, the game won. He should at least be finished for the night, sated and sleepy, ready to make plans for the morning’s training. But he paced and wanted Ainsley again. Not just tonight but night after night.

He’d convince her to come to Paris with him. She had nothing to look forward to—more drudgery to the queen and duty to her brother and sister-in-law, hidden away until she became faded and forgotten.

Ainsley was too vibrant to be forgotten. Cameron would take her to Paris then Monaco. He’d dress her in the most costly gowns, give her jewels that would make every other woman on the Continent ill with envy. He’d take her to the finest restaurants and best theatres and let her enjoy herself. Then they’d retreat to the townhouse he leased in the best district and watch the city lights.

Ainsley was a delight to be with—she threw herself wholeheartedly into whatever she did, whether it was helping Isabella organize guests for Hart or fetching compromising letters for the Queen of England.

Cameron would watch her take Paris by storm. She’d grace his side at glittering Parisian soirees, stand at his elbow at the gaming tables in Monte Carlo. She was a beautiful, enticing woman, and Cameron wanted to be with her as much as he could.

“Devil take it all. She makes me insane. And damn it to hell, I can’t stop wanting her.”

McNab opened one eye, saw that nothing very interesting was happening, and closed it again.

The dog came alert a moment later at the same time Cameron heard hurried footsteps in the corridor. McNab gave one hopeful woof, then someone pounded on the door.

Damn it, I told her to stay put.

“Sir,” Angelo called through the door. “It’s Jasmine. I think you’d better come.”