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
“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
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