Yer story.
Charlie reached out her hand, feeling goosebumps rush up her arms as she touched the strange, swirly air.
Nobody else’s.
With an intake of breath, Charlie stepped through.
Chapter 2
Niall Campbell plasteredhis most charming smile onto his face, although in reality, he wanted to scowl like a thunderhead. Hereallydid not want to be here.
Get on with it,he told himself.The sooner you get what you need, the sooner you can make excuses and leave.
The woman before him—Lady Somethingorother— smiled demurely and furiously waved her lace fan in her face as though overcome by sudden warmth. They were the latest fashion among Edinburgh’s elite, along with meaningless balls like this one, a place to show off your wealth and build alliances while plotting to stab those allies in the back.
Niall let none of his true feelings show on his face. Quite the opposite, in fact. He flashed a dashing grin, bowed over the lady’s hand, and kissed it.
“A pleasure to see yer beauty, as always,” he murmured, gazing at her until she flushed scarlet and began fanning herself once more.
“My Lord Campbell, ye are quite the flatterer.”
Niall glanced beyond her shoulder. “Ah, here comes yer lord husband. I will leave ye in his capable hands. Good evening, madam.”
He stepped away, smoothly losing himself amidst the throng of people that filled the room. The room itself was bedecked in the latest style—just like its guests—all copied from the English Court. Edinburgh’s finest might rail and rant about the proposed political union with England, but that didn’t stop them from trying to outdo each other when it came to emulating their larger, more powerful neighbor.
Niall navigated his way through the crowd, passing beneath the candle-filled chandeliers that hung from the gilded ceiling, casting dancing shadows across the polished floor. He moved with an ease that belied his discomfort, his hand brushing past the silk dresses of gossiping women and the stiff brocade waistcoats of their preening husbands. The sounds of a lively reel filled the room, the musicians playing with fervent zeal that was all but lost beneath the hum of conversation.
The scent of perfume and sweat hung heavy in the air, mingling with the smell of roasting meats wafting from the kitchens. Servants wove through the crowd, their trays laden with goblets filled to the brim with mead and whisky. From one corner of the room, a group of men roared with laughter at a bawdy joke and a group of women giggled behind their fans.
Through it all, Niall maintained his composure, his face a mask of polite interest as he moved, ready with a smile or a cordial nod for any who greeted him. But his attention was not on any of them. Instead, it was cast in a wide net, eyes and ears alert for any clue that would lead him to his quarry.
His gaze drifted to where Lady Murray—their hostess—was holding court.
Niall snagged a drink from a passing servant and sipped from his goblet, surreptitiously watching Lady Murray over the top of it.
She was a big, buxom woman with a booming laugh and a pile of golden ringlets on top of her head. On her fourth husband, rumor was that she’d had a hand in the demise of the first three, but only a fool would mention that to her face. With a wit as sharp as glass and an ambition only outdone by her wealth, Lady Murray was the real danger in this room—if the rumors were to be believed.
