The Many Sins of Lord Cameron
Page 66
Never go, never. I need this. I need you.
He pulled Ainsley down to him and they drowsed in afterglow, warm by the fire. He pressed his cheek to Ainsley’s hair as she skimmed her fingers across his chest, both of them exhausted by passion.
He didn’t let himself think much as they cuddled together. This moment was too important for stray thoughts. There was only Ainsley, and himself, and now.
Cameron rested with her until the window lightened to gray. Ainsley slept against his chest as he held her, her breath on his skin.
Finally, he rose and carried her to the bed, Ainsley still sleeping. He laid her down and covered her as tenderly as he’d used to with Daniel, when the lad had been a boy in a cot.
Ainsley’s eyes fluttered open. “Stay with me,” she whispered. “Please, Cam.”
Chapter 21
She hadn’t asked him that in a while. Cameron was already hard and hot for her again, but something dark twisted inside him, tendrils wrapping him so tightly he couldn’t breathe.
Ainsley’s eyes held longing, but Cameron was already moving from the bed, shaking his head.
“Eleanor Ramsay explained to me what your wife did to you,” Ainsley said behind him. “I understand why you don’t let yourself sleep in the same room with a woman.”
Cameron turned around. Ainsley was sitting up, the sheet pulled to her chin, watching him.
“With anyone,” Cameron said. “And Eleanor didn’t tell you all of it.”
No one knew but Cam. Cameron hadn’t been able to confess every truth, even to Hart, and he didn’t want to tell beautiful, unmarred Ainsley that his wife had not only beaten him with that poker, but on two occasions had tried to rape him with it.
He remembered the incidents with clarity, even though so much time had passed. The wash of pain that had jerked him out of deep slumber, Elizabeth’s laughter, more pain, blood, his own screams. He’d flung Elizabeth away, and still she’d laughed.
He’d started allowing himself to sleep only when he was alone, behind a locked door. But damned if Elizabeth hadn’t tricked a servant into letting her into Cameron’s chamber late one night so she could go at Cameron again. The only thing that had worked after that was posting a guard, both on his own door and Elizabeth’s. She’d railed about that too.
The darkness cleared a little to let him see Ainsley’s gray eyes, shining in the equally gray dawn.
“It’s not just what she did to me,” Cameron said with difficulty. “It’s what I might do to you. If you woke me suddenly, I might strike out and hurt you.”
He could tell she didn’t understand. Cameron went back to the bed and leaned down to her, resting his fists on the mattress.
“Daniel woke me up once, when he was about ten years old,” he said. “I threw him across the room. My own son. I could have killed him.”
The horror of that moment had never gone away. Daniel had lain still on the floor, unconscious, while Cameron had rushed to him, lifted his limp body in his arms. Resilient, Daniel hadn’t been badly hurt, thank God. Daniel had later said, cheerfully, that it had been his own fault. He’d forgotten that his dad was a little crazy.
Daniel taking the blame for the incident had kicked Cameron in the gut. Then Angelo had tried to blame himself for not realizing that Daniel had crept upstairs to his father’s bedroom. Cameron had wanted to shout at both of them, and ended up moving to a hotel, no longer trusting himself around those he cared about.
“Was Daniel all right?” Ainsley asked.
“Aye, but that’s not the point, is it?” Cameron’s fists tightened. “He was only a little boy. I could have hurt him. Do ye think I want to wake up and see I’ve done the same to you?”
Ainsley stared up at him, eyes unreadable. Cameron would never understand her. Just when he thought he knew Ainsley, the lively young woman who picked locks and ran about Paris in pursuit of cake, she decided to bring him off him in public, then tried to pry out the secrets of his soul.
“Perhaps if you grew used to it,” she began.
“Damn it, have ye heard nothing? There’s something wrong with me, understand? I can’t even think about settling down to sleep with you without the world going black. That’s why I wake up tossing people about. The blackness doesn’t let me go until it’s too late.”
Ainsley listened in silence. She was supposed to be afraid of him, of the terrifying, raging thing inside him. Some women enjoyed being afraid of Cameron, liking the danger, but they didn’t truly understand what Cameron was capable of. Cameron had never let them know.
He swung away and snatched up his clothes.
“I positively hate this woman,” Ainsley said behind him. “Your wife, I mean.”
Cameron gave a bitter laugh as he pulled on his trousers. “I’m glad you do. She wrecked me. She wanted her revenge, and now she has it.”
“Cam . . .”
Cameron shook his head. “No more talking. Go to sleep.”
He turned his back on the beautiful woman he’d do anything in the world for, shrugged on his shirt, and banged out.
Behind him, Ainsley hugged her knees, wiping tears on the sheet. “I do hope it is hot where you are, Lady Elizabeth Cavendish,” she whispered. “Very, very hot.”
Ainsley walked into Cameron’s bedroom the next evening while his Parisian valet readied him for another night of restaurants and cabarets. Cam glanced at the afternoon dress Ainsley still wore and frowned.
He pulled Ainsley down to him and they drowsed in afterglow, warm by the fire. He pressed his cheek to Ainsley’s hair as she skimmed her fingers across his chest, both of them exhausted by passion.
He didn’t let himself think much as they cuddled together. This moment was too important for stray thoughts. There was only Ainsley, and himself, and now.
Cameron rested with her until the window lightened to gray. Ainsley slept against his chest as he held her, her breath on his skin.
Finally, he rose and carried her to the bed, Ainsley still sleeping. He laid her down and covered her as tenderly as he’d used to with Daniel, when the lad had been a boy in a cot.
Ainsley’s eyes fluttered open. “Stay with me,” she whispered. “Please, Cam.”
Chapter 21
She hadn’t asked him that in a while. Cameron was already hard and hot for her again, but something dark twisted inside him, tendrils wrapping him so tightly he couldn’t breathe.
Ainsley’s eyes held longing, but Cameron was already moving from the bed, shaking his head.
“Eleanor Ramsay explained to me what your wife did to you,” Ainsley said behind him. “I understand why you don’t let yourself sleep in the same room with a woman.”
Cameron turned around. Ainsley was sitting up, the sheet pulled to her chin, watching him.
“With anyone,” Cameron said. “And Eleanor didn’t tell you all of it.”
No one knew but Cam. Cameron hadn’t been able to confess every truth, even to Hart, and he didn’t want to tell beautiful, unmarred Ainsley that his wife had not only beaten him with that poker, but on two occasions had tried to rape him with it.
He remembered the incidents with clarity, even though so much time had passed. The wash of pain that had jerked him out of deep slumber, Elizabeth’s laughter, more pain, blood, his own screams. He’d flung Elizabeth away, and still she’d laughed.
He’d started allowing himself to sleep only when he was alone, behind a locked door. But damned if Elizabeth hadn’t tricked a servant into letting her into Cameron’s chamber late one night so she could go at Cameron again. The only thing that had worked after that was posting a guard, both on his own door and Elizabeth’s. She’d railed about that too.
The darkness cleared a little to let him see Ainsley’s gray eyes, shining in the equally gray dawn.
“It’s not just what she did to me,” Cameron said with difficulty. “It’s what I might do to you. If you woke me suddenly, I might strike out and hurt you.”
He could tell she didn’t understand. Cameron went back to the bed and leaned down to her, resting his fists on the mattress.
“Daniel woke me up once, when he was about ten years old,” he said. “I threw him across the room. My own son. I could have killed him.”
The horror of that moment had never gone away. Daniel had lain still on the floor, unconscious, while Cameron had rushed to him, lifted his limp body in his arms. Resilient, Daniel hadn’t been badly hurt, thank God. Daniel had later said, cheerfully, that it had been his own fault. He’d forgotten that his dad was a little crazy.
Daniel taking the blame for the incident had kicked Cameron in the gut. Then Angelo had tried to blame himself for not realizing that Daniel had crept upstairs to his father’s bedroom. Cameron had wanted to shout at both of them, and ended up moving to a hotel, no longer trusting himself around those he cared about.
“Was Daniel all right?” Ainsley asked.
“Aye, but that’s not the point, is it?” Cameron’s fists tightened. “He was only a little boy. I could have hurt him. Do ye think I want to wake up and see I’ve done the same to you?”
Ainsley stared up at him, eyes unreadable. Cameron would never understand her. Just when he thought he knew Ainsley, the lively young woman who picked locks and ran about Paris in pursuit of cake, she decided to bring him off him in public, then tried to pry out the secrets of his soul.
“Perhaps if you grew used to it,” she began.
“Damn it, have ye heard nothing? There’s something wrong with me, understand? I can’t even think about settling down to sleep with you without the world going black. That’s why I wake up tossing people about. The blackness doesn’t let me go until it’s too late.”
Ainsley listened in silence. She was supposed to be afraid of him, of the terrifying, raging thing inside him. Some women enjoyed being afraid of Cameron, liking the danger, but they didn’t truly understand what Cameron was capable of. Cameron had never let them know.
He swung away and snatched up his clothes.
“I positively hate this woman,” Ainsley said behind him. “Your wife, I mean.”
Cameron gave a bitter laugh as he pulled on his trousers. “I’m glad you do. She wrecked me. She wanted her revenge, and now she has it.”
“Cam . . .”
Cameron shook his head. “No more talking. Go to sleep.”
He turned his back on the beautiful woman he’d do anything in the world for, shrugged on his shirt, and banged out.
Behind him, Ainsley hugged her knees, wiping tears on the sheet. “I do hope it is hot where you are, Lady Elizabeth Cavendish,” she whispered. “Very, very hot.”
Ainsley walked into Cameron’s bedroom the next evening while his Parisian valet readied him for another night of restaurants and cabarets. Cam glanced at the afternoon dress Ainsley still wore and frowned.
