In the past, Cameron, worrying about Ian, would go make sure that he wasn’t sitting alone in a huddle, or staring for hours at a Ming bowl, or pouring over some endless mathematical exercise. These days, Cameron knew that Ian used the excuse of not liking crowds to spend more time alone with his wife—in bed. Crafty sod.
“If you truly want in the game, Cameron, I’ll have you look after Mrs. Yardley,” Isabella said. “She volunteered to sit out as we have an odd number, but I know she’d love to play.”
Cameron’s gaze strayed to the green where the count had taken Ainsley’s arm to lead her to the first wicket. “Fine,” Cameron said. “Mrs. Yardley it is.”
“Excellent. She’ll be pleased.” Isabella smiled. She held out a mallet to him. “Think of it as a very slow game of polo. Enjoy yourself, Cam.”
“Oh, I intend to.” Cameron took the mallet and marched determinedly to the lawn. Ainsley Douglas, ensconced with her count, never once looked his way.
Chapter 4
Mrs. Yardley, a very plump, gray-haired woman who could barely move her legs to walk, proved to be intelligent and pleasant. Cameron flirted with her mildly as he carried her mallet and folding chair and settled her in at each wicket. She stated that she appreciated Isabella pairing her with the black sheep of the Mackenzie family—a lady of her years and girth had only so much excitement in life.
Cameron leaned on his mallet, trying to stave off his headache as the tedious game commenced tediously. He’d drunk far too much last night, and while he’d felt better riding this morning, his head was still thick with his hangover.
Ainsley, on the other hand, looked fresh and bright, every gleaming hair in place. Cameron had liked her much better mussed. On his bed last night he’d wanted to spread her golden hair in his hands, drag it over her bare breasts, kiss the lips that talked back to him so saucily. He let his senses drift to the scent of her, the feel of her beneath him, the taste of her mouth when he’d pushed the key into it.
“Ah,” Mrs. Yardley said. “I see a spring lassie catching a laddie’s eyes.”
Cameron opened his eyes and frowned as the count tried to guide Ainsley’s hands on her mallet. There was no need for the count to instruct her—Ainsley had already racked up a number of points with her competent strokes.
“It’s autumn,” Cameron said. The trees at the bottom of the park blazed scarlet and gold, mixed with the deeper black green of the pines.
“But a beautiful lady always means spring in the heart.”
“I mean that it’s autumn for me.” Cameron watched Ainsley as she bent to tap her ball with precision. The sight of Ainsley’s hands firmly gripping her mallet made him dizzy.
“Nonsense. You’ve lived only half as long as I have, and it’s a long time through the next half of your life. Such a strange marriage Mrs. Douglas made. John Douglas was in his fifties, she barely eighteen. I imagine it was a family arrangement, but I can’t imagine what sort of arrangement. Douglas never had much money, and he left Ainsley almost destitute, poor thing. I tell you all this for a reason, Lord Cameron.”
Because she’d noted Cameron’s obsessive interest with Ainsley Douglas. Hell, the whole house party would see it if they weren’t busy trying to be noticed themselves.
“She’s young,” Cameron said. “She can remarry.”
“True, she is young and still quite lovely, but she’s shut away from company much of the time. Her Majesty keeps Mrs. Douglas tucked by her side—she’s become quite the favorite, and Mrs. Douglas needs the money the post with the queen brings. Ainsley’s oldest brother helps her, but he has a family of his own, and Ainsley rather feels the pinch of living in his back spare room. Ainsley’s mother had been one of the queen’s favorites before she lost that pleasure by marrying beneath her. Mr. McBride was not who the queen had in mind for poor, dear Jeanette. But all that was forgotten when the queen met Ainsley. She was enchanted with Ainsley and insisted on bringing her into the household. The post was a godsend. Ainsley’s brother is kind, but she was utterly dependent on him. Of course she took it.”
All of which explained Ainsley’s obsessive determination to retrieve the disgraceful letter from the clutches of the evil Lord Cameron before he showed it to anyone. Ainsley couldn’t afford to lose her position with the queen.
“But the poor girl is never seen out and about during the Season,” Mrs. Yardley went on. “Or any other time for that matter. The queen likes to keep her close. By the time Ainsley is allowed a holiday, she’s too exhausted for much of a social life. She stays with her brother during her meager days off—kind people, as I said, but stuffy. Family suppers and reading aloud. Playing the piano if they’re feeling truly frivolous. Patrick and his wife are a bit overprotective, have always been, but then Patrick and Rona raised Ainsley and her three other brothers when their parents died. I’m happy that Isabella plucks Ainsley out once in a while, even if only for a week.” Cameron felt Mrs. Yardley’s keen eyes on him. “Are you listening, my lord? I’m not babbling to fill the time, you know.”
Cameron couldn’t look away from Ainsley, her head bent to the count’s as they discussed their next play. “Yes, I’m listening.”
“I wasn’t born old, my lord. I recognize when a man wants a woman. And you’re not a monster, despite the reputation you try to maintain. Ainsley needs a bit of excitement in her life, poor lamb. She was a very lively young woman and then suddenly had to become a drudge.”
She didn’t seem drudging now. Ainsley was laughing, her laughter sparkling across the green. Her smile was all for the count, and something dangerous stirred inside Cameron.
“Forgive me, my lord,” Mrs. Yardley said. “I don’t have much to do these days but observe my fellow men—and women—and I do have great experience in who fits with whom. Why not make a match of it? What on earth else do you intend to do with the rest of your life?”
“Much as I do now, I imagine.” Cameron rubbed his upper lip as Ainsley patted the count’s arm in praise. “Horses take much attention, and the racing calendar fills the year.”
“So I hear. But happiness is a different thing. It’s worth a little effort.”
“I made that effort once.” Too damn bloody much effort.
“Yes, dear, I knew your wife.”
A glance at Mrs. Yardley told Cameron she’d known some of the truth about Lady Elizabeth. The memory of Elizabeth’s beautiful face, her mad eyes as she came at him, ready to strike, made his body tighten. Old pain, old darkness dimmed the bright morning.
Cameron heard Ainsley’s laughter again, and he opened his eyes, the visions dissolving.
“If you knew my wife, then you’ll understand why I view marriage as a miserable existence,” Cameron said, still watching Ainsley. “I won’t enter it again.”
“It can be a miserable existence, I don’t deny that. But with the right person, it can be the best existence in the world. Trust me, I know.”
“It’s our turn,” Cameron said curtly. “Are you up for a go?”
Mrs. Yardley smiled. “I’m rather tired, my lord. You take my turn for me.”
Cameron felt the paper of the stolen letter crackle in his pocket and watched Ainsley smile at the count.
“You’re a wise woman, Mrs. Yardley.” He lowered the mallet he’d rested on his shoulder and approached their waiting ball.
“I know that, dear,” Mrs. Yardley said behind him.