Charlie straightened in her chair, squaring her shoulders. “It’ll work,” she said, as much to convince herself as Niall.
He studied her for several heartbeats, then nodded. “Aye. It will.”
***
THE EVENING AIR WAScrisp as Niall stepped into the waiting carriage, the faint scent of damp stone and burning hearth fires drifting in from the city streets. Bryce sat opposite him, his face impassive, while Charlotte settled beside Niall, her fingers smoothing the fabric of her gown in a nervous gesture. Joseph had already slipped away on foot with his men, moving like shadows through the Edinburgh night.
Inside the carriage, the flickering lantern cast long, shifting shadows as they went over the plan one last time.
“Everything is in place?” Niall asked, his voice low.
Bryce nodded. “Aye. The men will be in position before we arrive. Once the signal is given, they’ll move in. Until then, we do nothing but play our part.”
Charlie took a breath. “And our part is to be a spectacle.”
Bryce smirked slightly. “That shouldnae be difficult. Edinburgh has been buzzing with gossip about the two of ye. Ye do realize half the room will think ye’ve brought a harlot to the ball?”
Niall chuckled softly, though he could feel Charlotte stiffen beside him. He turned to her, his voice softer. “Let them think what they will. If it keeps their eyes on us and off the real threat, all the better.”
Charlie exhaled, nodding. “Right. Distraction.”
The carriage rolled to a smooth stop outside Lady Murray’s townhouse, the golden glow from the candle-filled chandeliers spilling from the tall windows. Footmen hurried to open the doors, and as Niall stepped out, the familiar hum of aristocratic chatter filled the air.
The moment they were announced, conversation faltered. Heads turned. Fans twitched in the hands of women eager for gossip. The Campbell brothers, together at a social event? And Niall Campbell escorting the woman who had impersonated Countess Argyle? The speculation would be rampant before the first course was served.
Good. That was exactly what he wanted.
He let a slow, roguish smile spread across his face, affecting the easy arrogance that had become second nature to him as, with deliberate leisure, he guided Charlotte forward, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. He could feel the tension in her posture, but she lifted her chin and moved with confidence.
Scanning the room, his gaze swept across the gathered nobles, searching for the one man he wanted to see more than any other.
Boyd MacAllister.
But he wasn’t in the room. Niall’s jaw tightened. That was unexpected.
Bryce, at his side, caught the shift in his expression. “Trouble?”
“Could be,” Niall muttered. “MacAllister’s not here.”
Charlotte looked up at him. “What does that mean?”
Niall didn’t answer immediately. He wasn’t sure yet. But a deep, uneasy feeling settled in his gut.
Something was wrong.
Niall and Charlotte split from Bryce and began moving through the crowd, weaving between clusters of elegantly dressed guests. The heat of so many bodies, the cloying perfume, and the murmur of gossiping voices pressed in on him. He focused on the room, his instincts sharp, his body tense and ready.
His hand brushed against the knife he had hidden beneath his plaid—a small comfort. He had no intention of letting Charlotte out of his sight, not with danger lurking so close. He could already feel too many eyes on them, guests pausing in their conversations to whisper behind gloved hands, eyes darting toward him and Charlotte before quickly looking away.
A hand clapped down on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Niall turned sharply, already irritated, only to find himself face to face with Lord Buchanan, an aging noble with a fondness for drink and an even greater fondness for reliving the past.
“Campbell! There ye are!” Buchanan boomed, his ruddy face lighting up. “I wondered when we’d have the delight of yer company again! Still getting yerself into trouble, I see?”
Niall forced a tight smile, unwilling to waste time but knowing it would look suspicious to brush him off too quickly. “Aye, my lord, trouble does have a way of finding me.”
Before he could find a polite way to extricate himself, Buchanan’s wife appeared at his side, a thin, sharp-featured woman draped in a gown of heavy brocade. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity as they landed on Charlotte.
“Oh, what a lovely young lady,” she said brightly, seizing Charlotte’s arm. “My dear, ye must come and meet Lady Anstruther. She’s been simply dying to meet the woman who has caused such a stir in Edinburgh.”
