“Still, I think Eleanor will win, no matter what,” Ainsley said. “Now, let’s go see Jasmine.”

Daniel dropped Ainsley’s arm and ran ahead, bounding down the stairs. Behind them, the remaining Mackenzies continued their noise, also flinging about wagers on Hart’s intended. Ian’s voice rose above them all. “Thirty on Eleanor,” he said. “She’ll say yes.”

Ainsley laughed. “Poor Hart.”

“His own fault. He dropped the news on purpose when everyone was excited about Jasmine. He meant for us to treat it in fun, not something deadly serious. But Hart’s deadly serious.”

Ainsley knew he was. “I’m tempted to warn Eleanor,” she said. “But no, they need to work it out for themselves.”

“As we have.”

“Hmm.” Ainsley looked at her broad-shouldered, handsome husband, in black coat and Mackenzie kilt, and craved him with a bright suddenness.

“Cam,” she said. “They’ll wait for us in the paddock, won’t they?”

“Probably. Unless Danny grabs the trophy.”

“Good.” Ainsley side-stepped and tugged Cameron with her under the shadow of the grandstand.

“What is it, vixen?” Cameron asked as they ducked out of sight. “Do you want to tell me a secret?”

“Ask you a question, rather.” Ainsley touched the top button of her placket. “How many buttons can you open, my lord, before we have to go and rescue the trophy?”

His eyes darkened. “Little devil.”

Ainsley laughed as Cameron swept her against him, mouth hard on hers, while his agile fingers began to unbutton her dress.