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
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
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