"Why? Because fathers are supposed to be downing ale while the womenfolk carry on at home? Balls to that. I raised Danny on my own--I should know better than anyone that babies need your eyes on them all the time."
Ainsley heard the pain in his voice, the self-reproach. "I was arguing with Mrs. Desmond about the color of the tablecloths, when Nanny Westlock sent down word she didn't have Gavina. The color of the tablecloths. When my daughter . . ." Ainsley broke off, pressing a trembling hand to her mouth.
"Come here." Cameron pulled her against him, letting her head rest on his shoulder. His great strength came to her through his touch, and the heat beneath the dressing gown told her he was bare inside it. "Ye can't castigate yourself, love. Hart has an entire household of servants and nannies who were supposed to be looking after the children, not to mention my three brothers, their wives, and their servants. Someone should have seen her go, but none did. Danny's the only one guiltless in this--he was on the train."
"But I'm her mother," Ainsley said. "A bad mother."
"Stop." Cameron rumpled her hair. "You're hurting, love, I know, and not only about this."
Cameron knew her so well. He always had, even when he'd played the rakehell trying lure her--one woman out of many--into his bed. Cameron had understood when she'd told him about losing her first daughter. He'd been the only person in the world with whom Ainsley had been able to talk about that Gavina, the only one who'd held her until the pain lessened enough for her to bear.
Her terrible dread tonight was that any child given to her would come to harm, that God's plan for Ainsley didn't include her being a mother. Ainsley wasn't a stoic enough Scots to accept such a thing. She burned with fear, knowing that losing this Gavina would open a wound from which she might never recover.
"I can't stop thinking about her . . . out there alone . . . cold." Tears wet the soft velvet of Cameron's dressing gown.
"She wasn't cold, and she wasn't alone. She hadn't wandered aimlessly, she'd fixed on a purpose, a stubborn purpose, like the Mackenzie she is. Achilles went with her and protected her. He's going to be spoiled rotten after this . . ."
Ainsley had to smile as she looked across the carpet to the dog curled up by the fire. Everyone had certainly made a big fuss of Achilles when Daniel explained to all what had happened. Achilles was the hero of the hour, and Daniel suggested they fashion some kind of medal for him. The dog had been given a royal feast in the kitchen, but he'd followed Ainsley and Gavina back to Cameron's bedchamber, still guarding Gavina.
Cameron's arms came around Ainsley again, holding her close. "Hush now," he said, his voice gentle. "Hush, little mouse."
He'd called her that since the night he'd found her hiding in his bedchamber--this very one. Ainsley had been there for a perfectly good reason, in her opinion, nothing to do with Cameron. Cameron had caught her, growled at her, teased her, confused her, seduced her, then protected her and made her fall wildly in love with him.
Gavina was their love too, the little girl sweet and whole."As much as you're trying to make me feel better," Ainsley said. "I won't cease to blame myself."
"We're both to blame." Cameron's chest rumbled with his words. "The poor lass is cursed with us as parents. But it turned out all right, and we'll all three go on. She's taught us how diligent we need to be."
Ainsley raised her head. "Meaning she'll try it again. And again."
"Of course she will. She belongs to this family." Cameron tugged a lock of hair at his forehead. "Ye see these gray strands? That's all Daniel, that is. Had them before I was twenty-five."
Ainsley had to smile. "I imagine he was a handful."
"A handful, a fistful, an armful, an earful. Thank God I had brothers to help me and that they started getting married. I've been a rotten father, but Danny's muddled through."
"You're not a rotten father." Ainsley slid her hands to his shoulders. "Daniel has become a remarkable young man."
"Good God, don't tell him that."
"Don't tell me what?" Daniel swung the door open and walked inside, his wide smile broadcasting that he'd heard the last. "Are you crying, dearest stepmama? No need. We're all here, and safe."
"You walk into a bedchamber without knocking, Daniel Mackenzie?" Ainsley said, pretending indignation. "One with your father in it?"
"I knew there was no danger of embarrassing you as long as Gavina was here, not to mention the snoring dog. I came to fetch my baby sister, by the way. Nanny Westlock is demanding her return to the nursery, where she belongs. Her words, not mine. I offered to come down for her, so you wouldn't have to face the wrath of a nanny whose schedule has been disregarded. You may thank me with an extra helping of pud at Christmas dinner."
Daniel reached for the bassinet, which lifted from its stand by whicker handles.
"Perhaps she should stay here for the night," Ainsley said.
Daniel raised his brows. "Oh, so ye want to break that news to Miss Westlock, do you? She's in a rare temper as it is, blaming herself for losing track of Gavina. Every one of the maids and all the footmen are beating themselves blue for it too. The majordomo and Mrs. Desmond are each trying to outdo each other in self-blame, because they're responsible for all the rest of the servants. The only one sleeping well tonight is Gavina. And Achilles. And maybe Eleanor. She almost dropped in her tracks from exhaustion, and Hart carried her up to bed. Hart's very angry, you can be sure. Oh, he blames himself too."