Happily, she didn’t answer. Ainsley kept her mouth busy with him, her hands steadying herself on his thighs.
“Devil woman,” he whispered. “I am supposed to be making you pay.”
For answer, Ainsley worked him harder. Cameron heard the words spill out of his mouth, naughty syllables that had led to this situation in the first place.
Beautiful, beautiful Ainsley . . . damn it.
He shouted out loud as his seed spilled from his body, and he didn’t want to stop when she demurely pulled away and wiped her lips with her fingertips.
Cameron growled, a bestial sound. When Ainsley merely smiled at him, he swept her up into his arms and carried her across the room, where he proceeded to make deep love to her on the thick rugs before the fire. He loved her so thoroughly that she was fast asleep by the time he carried her back to her own bedroom and left her there.
Lord Pierson delivered Jasmine in the first week of February. Cameron watched him driving up the road at a snail’s pace, following the low-slung cart that contained Jasmine.
Cameron dismounted the horse he’d been riding and tossed his reins to the jockey, who sprang lightly into the saddle. Cam walked out of the paddock to meet the cart and carriage at the stable, but he stopped in surprise when another low-slung cart turned in.
Pierson stepped out of his carriage, making sure his pristine boots didn’t land anywhere muddy or damp. His neatly tailored clothes were a sharp contrast to Cameron’s rough coat and riding breeches.
“Well, Mackenzie,” Pierson said. “I’ve brought her back. You won’t make a pig’s breakfast of it this time, will you?”
Cameron watched the second cart approach and halt. “And what’s in that, then?”
“A stallion. He’s called Raphael’s Angel, and he’s giving me problems. I’d like you to sort him out for me.”
“And why should I do that?”
“For losing me the St. Leger. No one wants Raph’s Angel, but everyone says if anyone can turn him around and make him sellable it’s you. I thought that you’d do it for me as a favor.”
Jasmine’s cart had been taken all the way into the stables. Daniel and Ainsley appeared as if by magic as Angelo started to unload her.
“And I don’t want that Romany anywhere near my horses,” Pierson said loudly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s why she did so poorly.”
Ainsley turning, heard, and opened her mouth. Cameron held up his hand to forestall her.
“There’s nothing wrong with Angelo, and there’s nothing wrong with Jasmine,” Cameron said.
He would rather bash Pierson in the mouth, dump him back in the carriage, and send him home, but Cameron controlled himself. He wanted to train Jasmine—wanted to save her from this bastard—and if he angered Pierson, the man would simply take Jasmine away again.
Cameron turned to gesture Angelo away, but Angelo had already moved from Jasmine, leaving her to one of Pierson’s grooms. Angelo would comply without rancor, which was why Cameron trusted the man.
“Fine,” Cameron said. “Leave them both. I’ll see you at Newmarket.”
Pierson didn’t even gloat. He simply looked down his long nose and turned back to his carriage, ready to rush back to his overly ornate house in Bath.
Ainsley pressed her lips together. She knew what a struggle it was for Cameron not to shout what he thought at Pierson. He’d chosen to hold in his temper for Jasmine’s sake.
Poor Jasmine looked a bit rattled from traveling. Her coat was flecked with lather, and her eyes were wide. A good rubdown and a turnout in a paddock so she could run off her nerves, that’s what she needed.
Pierson’s groom, however, started leading Jasmine straight to a stall in the U-shaped stable yard. Jasmine obviously didn’t want to go. She’d bolt the moment she had the chance, if Ainsley were any judge.
“Let her have a run,” Ainsley said. “Angelo.”
Angelo said nothing, leaning against another stall door to watch.
The groom shook his head. “His lordship’s order, m’lady. He’ll not let us go home until she’s safely locked away.”
“Horses don’t like being locked away.”
Ainsley had learned that as a child, and she’d seen it watching Cameron every day. If you had a nervous horse, you let them wander about the paddock and investigate the scary new landmarks, preferably with a horse who was calm and sedate. The new horse needed to feel safe, needed time to get used to things.
The groom sighed. “Well, Lord Pierson likes it, and I like me job, so in she goes, begging your pardon, m’lady.”
Ainsley folded her arms and let him go. What happened after Lord Pierson left would be different.
Jasmine didn’t fight the groom, though she danced nervously. All would have been well, except for the stallion.
He didn’t want to be shut up for the night. As soon as Raphael’s Angel was backed out of his cart, he snorted and danced and threw off the two grooms trying to keep him quiet. Cameron started for him, and Angelo clenched his fists as he watched, not daring to interfere.
Jasmine heard the stallion and looked back to see what was happening. Not in fear, but with the calculating eye of a mischievous child.
“Watch her,” Ainsley warned.
The groom gave her an irritated scowl. She, a mere lady of the manor, was presuming to tell an experienced groom how to handle horses.
The stallion danced out of reach, spied Jasmine, and headed toward her. Jasmine swung her hindquarters around and flicked up her tail—the horse equivalent of a lady sashaying her hips at a randy gentleman.
The stallion let out a low, rumbling neigh and ran for her, two thousand pounds of black horse barreling into the narrow yard. Stable hands scrambled out of the way, and Ainsley danced aside as Jasmine, at the last minute, got the jitters.
Jasmine threw up her head, breaking the halter rope, and whirled around, frantically looking for a way out. The stallion charged to pen her in, and both horses swung straight toward Ainsley.
Chapter 24
Ainsley’s world slowed. She saw Angelo’s eyes widen, the groom lunge for the stallion. Jasmine’s sweaty brown hide coming too close, the mare’s back undulating as she bucked. The stallion, a huge wall of horseflesh, ducked Jasmine’s flailing hooves, and swerved directly at Ainsley.
Ainsley heard her own shout, felt herself raise her arms, her attempt at scaring them off. Then the acrid odor of excited horse, the forequarters and flying hooves of the stallion, his huge chest, his hot breath, wide red nostrils, white-rimmed eyes.