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“Aye.” Sighing, Camden cupped his nape. It brought him no joy or sense of satisfaction to have succeeded at his assignment. Fellow Scots would lose their lives, and that was never a cause for rejoicing. “And as ye may have deduced already, Montieth is the other rat we’ve been after.”

Sir Walter crinkled his broad brow and set his full mouth into a stern line. “I confess, I still find that galling to accept.” He tapped the paper with a forefinger again. “In all these years I’ve been at this business, it still grieves me to learn of the treachery from those considered loyal. That’s what makes this job so damned impossible.”

Impossible, indeed. For didn’t adversaries each pray to the same God for victory? Things were seldom black and white in life. Even this business with who should be on the throne was several shades of gray. But in the end, order must be kept, or else civilization disintegrated into barbarity and savagery.

“Are you certain about Montieth?” Genuine remorse creasing Sir Walter’s face, he shook his white bewigged head. “He’ll be put to death, you know.”

Why was he so obsessed about Montieth? Surely the list he held contained the names of many other influential people. Possibly individuals more prominent and powerful than the earl.

“Aye, I’m sure.” Brushing a palm over his stubbled jaw, Camden gave a curt nod. “My betrothed heard him. Saw him hand Etherin’ton that list.” He pointed at the paper. “And she kens of a secret compartment in Montieth’s study. I’d vow there is more evidence within.”

“Indeed.” A spark of interest glinted in Sir Walter’s poignant eyes as he refolded the paper. “I should very much like to see the contents. Indeed, I would.” Rocking back on his heels, he grasped his lapel with one hand. “In point of fact…” His voice trailed off, the perceptiveness that made him a master at the game of subterfuge and intrigue turning his eyes flinty. “Hmm.”

What?

He settled that unnerving gaze upon Camden. “How long a journey is it to Edinburgh?”

Edinburgh? Why, for God’s sake?

He didn’t mean to travel there now?

No, surely Sir Walter contemplated leaving after the men had slept.

Which meant, he’d either take Etherington with him, send Camden and Bryston to escort the blackguard to London, or entrust the traitor with his soldiers to do likewise.

The latter wasn’t a good idea, and Camden wouldn’t hesitate to say so. Not with a man as cunning as Etherington.

Camden rolled a shoulder, feigning disinterest. By God, the men were likely half-pished by now. “Three hours, more or less, with ideal road conditions. Faster on horseback, of course.”

But Sir Walter Makepeace always traveled in a very comfortable, very cumbersome coach.

Make that four hours, at least.

With a decisive nod, he announced, “We’re for Edinburgh, Kennedy. Ready your men. We’ll depart at first light.”

Christ.

He’d have to wake Bethea. Perhaps Sir Walter would allow him to remain behind or delay their departure for a few hours. “My betrothed—”

“About that.” Lines bracketing Sir Walter’s mouth and his abundant eyebrows knitted into a single line, he harrumphed. “The poor girl—ward to Roxdale, isn’t she?”

“Aye.” What did it matter to the adviser?

“I cannot do anything about her abduction or the difficulties she’s endured,” Sir Walter said, striding to the door. “But she’s done the Crown a great service, and I can see the blot upon her reputation rectified to a degree.”

How, precisely?

Premonition prickled the length of Camden’s spine.

He detected the unspoken question in Camden’s eyes.

“Come, Kennedy. You disappoint me.” Sir Walter chuckled, genuine jollity lighting his eyes. “The solution is simple. You’ll marry before we depart, and then we’ll spread the tale that, overcome by love and impatience to wed, you eloped with your Miss Glanville.”

Keane will fuckin’ kill me.