Hart didn’t dance, but Hart never did. He liked to put people together and then stand back and watch them, like a general surveying his troops. Hart spied Cameron entering and moved to him, dressed in cool finery and a kilt, Mackenzie malt in his hand.

“Where did you disappear to tonight?” Hart asked.

Cameron shrugged. “Bored.” No reason to mention Ainsley to Hart.

“Isabella is complaining about having to shoulder much of the burden of this thing.” Hart gestured with his whiskey at the crowd. “And when Isabella complains, Mac is the very devil.”

As distracted as he was, Cameron took time to laugh at the exasperation in Hart’s voice. Hart lived to orchestrate things, and Isabella and Beth were happy to help him. But Hart had discovered quickly that his brothers’ wives weren’t docile creatures he could bend to his will. And when Beth and Isabella weren’t happy, Ian and Mac became walls of angry protection.

A quick scan of the room told Cameron that Ian and Beth were missing. “Beth’s not helping tonight?”

“The crowd at the fireworks unnerved Ian. He retired with Beth.”

Cameron met Hart’s golden gaze, which held the same skeptical amusement Cam felt. “Of course he did,” Cam said. “Ian Mackenzie is a bloody genius.”

“I can’t force him to stay downstairs,” Hart said.

No, when Ian wanted to do a thing, neither God nor all his angels could prevent it. Only Beth could, and Beth generally took Ian’s side.

Ainsley and Daniel rushed in, hand in hand, to join the dancing. Ainsley had changed into a gown of subdued Douglas plaid, more black than anything else, and wore a big plaid bow in her hair. Mac opened the circle to welcome them. Mac liked Ainsley, telling Cameron that it was refreshing to talk to a lady who used to rob the school pantry of cake and divide the spoils among her friends.

Daniel threw himself into the dance with enthusiasm if not grace. He dragged Ainsley around the circle until she laughed, and he twirled her hard when the circle broke off into couples. Ainsley’s silvery laughter drifted over the music, her smile lighting the room.

Cameron watched her supple waist bending as she danced, imagined his own arm around it. Cam would turn Ainsley in the dance and keep his arm around her, pulling her up for a slow, burning kiss.

He felt Hart’s eagle gaze on him, and he scowled. “Mind your own damn business.”

Hart took a sip of whiskey. “You might be interested to know that I saw Mrs. Douglas pick open the lock of the Chases’ suite the other night and sashay right in when she thought no one was looking. Chase and I are in agreement about the German question, but I don’t want things discussed too soon, especially not with the queen.”

Hart worried about Germany’s steady advances in industry, viewing them as a potential threat to Britain, while many of his fellow politicians assumed that Germany was their strongest ally. Cameron, his attention buried in racing, paid little attention to those details, but Hart was no fool, and Cam trusted Hart’s instincts.

“It has nothing to do with the German question,” Cameron said.

Hart’s gaze sharpened. “Then you know what she was looking for. Interesting. Enlighten me.”

Cameron looked back at Ainsley—dancing, happy, smiling—and knew in that instant that he would never betray her to Hart. Cam 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.