Cameron leaned to the bassinet to kiss his daughter's cheek. "Ye've managed to have the house in uproar, haven't you, love?" he asked her softly. "Just like your brother used to." He tickled Gavina's cheek, and Gavina stirred but didn't wake.

Ainsley drew a breath. "You're right, Daniel. Take her up to bed. I suppose she'll be safe enough in her cot. She won't get out of that."

"Actually, I used to . . ." Daniel broke off. "Ah. Never mind. Off to bed you go, my sweet little sister. Good night, stepmama." He leaned around Cameron and gave Ainsley a noisy kiss on her cheek.

"Do stop calling me that, Danny."

"Right you are. Good night, Father."

He went out with his usual energy. Achilles, awakened, trotted after them, tail moving. Daniel closed the door behind them, and quiet fell.

Cameron gathered Ainsley into his arms again. His heat came to her, and she heard the firm beating of his heart.

An ordinary man might say, Come to bed, love. Everything will be fine in the morning. But Cameron wasn't ordinary. She knew she wouldn't love him so much if he were.

Ainsley raised her head and kissed him.

His lips firmed against hers, the worry and fear in him changing to desperation. Ainsley tasted his hunger, the terror he'd shared with her.

Their child was safe, unharmed. This was a time to celebrate, not weep.

Ainsley wrapped her fingers around the lapels of his soft dressing gown and pulled it open. She found him bare inside, as she'd suspected, warm and still damp from his bath.

She skimmed her hands down his torso, his heartbeat quickening. His tight abdomen met her touch, his waist narrowing to his hips and the thickness of his cock.

"Don't." Cameron raised his head, gold gleaming from between half-closed eyelids. He seized her wrist, fingers shaking as he kept himself from gripping too hard. "Don't, unless you want me to . . ."

"She's safe," Ainsley whispered. "I want to rejoice."

Cameron smoothed her hair, his touch strengthening as he cradled her head in his hand. "Then we will," he said, voice rasping.

He dragged her to him, his next kiss anything but tender. Cameron opened her mouth, pressing her back. Ainsley tasted the need in him, the desire to hold on.

Her husband lifted her into his arms and laid her across the bed, coming down on top of her. A mad light gleamed in his eyes.

"Too confounded many buttons," he growled before he ripped her nightgown open from neck to waist.

Ainsley delved inside his dressing gown, wanting his skin touching hers. She loved the weight of his body on hers, comforting, protecting. Never hurting her. Cameron never would.

Cameron shed his dressing gown in impatient jerks and furrowed her hair with his hand. Pulling her head back, he kissed her--hard--and at the same time entered her.

His hands on her body were strong, kisses on her lips, her flesh, as strong. He loved her with firm, sure strokes, Ainsley opening to him, body rising to his.

Cameron loved her in silence tonight, speaking only with his body, his kisses, nips, touches. He stirred fire deep inside her to wash out the pain, the fear, the worry of everything to come.

He loved her until they were both crying out, peaking together, then falling again to the valley of peace, warmth, quietude. Cameron kissed her with the slow kisses of afterglow, their bodies sweating in the warm room.

"I love you, little mouse," Cameron said softly.

Then he gave her the sweetest gift he had to give--he curled up around her, pulled the covers over them, and went easily to sleep with her.

*** *** ***

Ian entered the sitting room of the suite he shared with Beth, looking forward to his warm bed and his wife in his arms. This last week with its chaos of preparations, the house swarming, and more and more people arriving had kept him unnerved. Ian had gown better at dealing with people around him, but that didn't mean he liked it.

Poor Gavina going missing tonight had given him something practical to do, a problem to solve. Ian was much better at that. Finding Achilles, her favorite dog, had seemed the obvious thing to do.

Cameron had looked intensely relieved when she was found, and in this instance, Ian found empathy. If one of his children had disappeared, Ian would have been frantic. Any thought of harm to Jamie or Belle made him physically ill. Ian had spent the last hour up in the nursery, watching his little boy and girl, until Nanny Westlock and Daniel, carrying in Gavina, had chased him out.

No matter. Ian would see the babies tomorrow. If the weather was fine, he'd take them out riding. Jamie was already a good rider, and Belle was learning quickly.

His thoughts dissolved when he beheld Beth sitting on the carved old-fashioned sofa, a book in her lap. The blue satin gown she'd worn for dinner was now rumpled and dust-stained, but it hugged her waist and bared an enticing glimpse of bosom. The bustle made her sit on the edge of the sofa, her satin skirts nearly hidden by the large book.

Ian recognized one of his texts on Ming bowls. He remembered the broken bowl and felt a pang of loss. It had been beautiful, and he'd only been able to hold it a few short moments.

But the bowl was nowhere near as beautiful as his wife, who looked up at him with sensual blue eyes, and said, "Oh. I didn't see you come in."

Which made no sense to Ian. Of course she hadn't seen him--she'd been looking at the book. She might have heard him come in; seen him, no.

"I will take the babies riding tomorrow," Ian said, sitting down close to her. Her scent, familiar to him now, and so dear, began easing him, and his thoughts cleared. "Come with us." A ride to the folly high on the hill, winter sunshine, his wife and children snuggling at his side . . .