“In that case we probably ought to visit Miss Carlisle and her brother again. They’re our best chance of getting the answers we seek, and if I come along I believe we’ve a bigger chance of learning more.” She would speak with Avery alone and find out which stolen work was of greatest value, even though she already feared she might know the answer.
“We can meet at the same place as usual,” Mr. MacNeil suggested. The corner of Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road had become their designated spot whenever Charlotte had errands requiring Mr. MacNeil’s escort. It had prevented him from coming by the house too often and her parents growing suspicious.
“I’ll pick you up at ten if—”
“There you are, Charlotte.” Her mother’s voice prompted her to turn and discover she wasn’t alone. Indeed, she was accompanied by the odious Countess of Warwick. Why the two had to be friends, Charlotte would never comprehend. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, but it’s such a crush it’s near impossible to find anyone who’s not immediately at one’s side. Lady Warwick, if you recall, knows everyone there is to know so when I mentioned your Mr. Wright and she told me she’d never met anyone by that name, I naturally insisted upon an introduction. Thus, here we are.”
Cold unease wrapped itself tightly around Charlotte’s body. Notorious for being a gossip who thrived on discovering scandals, Lady Warwick’s penetrating stare was cause for concern.
“I’m honored to make your acquaintance, my lady,” Mr. MacNeil said with a reassuring gentleness that soothed Charlotte’s nerves.
Lady Warwick swung her eagle-eyed gaze toward him and gave him a proper look. Her eyes narrowed and something akin to confusion assailed her features. “You look awfully familiar. Have we met before?”
“Unlikely,” he said, his voice a notch tighter. “I rarely attend social functions.”
“Hmm…” Lady Warwick scrutinized him until Charlotte felt the need to shift with discomfort. Mr. MacNeil on the other hand didn’t so much as flinch. The countess tapped her fan against her hand in thought. “It will come to me. Yes. I’ve definitely seen you somewhere else though I do think it was a long time ago.”
“As I’ve already implied,” Mr. MacNeil said, “you must be mistaken.”
“No…no… I’m never wrong about this sort of thing.”
Mr. MacNeil turned to Charlotte, his face a mask of inscrutability. “Miss Russell. I do believe our set is about to begin.”
“It is?” She blinked and then mentally kicked herself for not realizing his intent sooner. It was just that when his focus was on her all intelligent thought abandoned her. She rushed to gather her wits. “Ah yes. So it is. If you’ll please excuse us, Mama. Lady Warwick. We’d rather not miss the um…waltz?”
Good heavens. That was what they’d be dancing?
Charlotte braced herself for the very real prospect of soon being held by Mr. MacNeil. She took the arm he offered and started moving away.
“I’ve got it,” Lady Warwick exclaimed with delight.
Everything about Mr. MacNeil slowed and hardened. Muscles strained beneath Charlotte’s fingertips and the air around him shifted as if in preparation for some sort of battle. She glanced at his handsome face and was shocked by what she saw there – an emotion so powerful it gripped her heart and threatened to tear it in two.
He, the strongest most confident man she’d ever known – a man who’d confessed to killing those who’d threated his life – was scared. And something about that terrified Charlotte. But it also instilled in her the need to protect him as he’d protected her.
So she said the only thing she believed might be helpful. “I trust Mr. Wright implicitly, Lady Warwick. If he insists he has never met you before, then I believe he must be correct and that you must be entirely mistaken.”
“Charlotte!” Her mother stared at her in absolute outrage
“I’m sorry, Mama. But this is my future happiness at stake. I shan’t allow anyone to ruin it with attempts to disparage the man I intend to marry.” Thank goodness Mr. MacNeil was as strong as he was for she was gripping his arm as if it were the only thing that could save her from falling right now.
“I was only going to say that he bears a striking resemblance to someone I knew in my youth,” Lady Warwick said with a disgruntled sniff. “He was Scottish too, you know.”
“A lot of people are,” Mr. MacNeil murmured. “Come Miss Russell or we’ll miss our dance.”
“Who was it?” Charlotte heard her mother ask while Mr. MacNeil began drawing her away through the crowd.
“Mr. Bruce Calla—”
Music and chatter swallowed the rest as Mr. MacNeil led Charlotte further away.
“Where are we going?” she asked, almost stumbling as he pulled her through the crowd. “The dance floor is over there.”
He didn’t respond. He just kept on going at a clipped pace until they burst through the French doors and onto the terrace.
The only thought on Blayne’s mind was escape. He needed to get away from that awful woman, away from all these people and their prying eyes, and away from the walls closing in around him. Without slowing his pace, he strode out onto the terrace, and down the steps leading into the garden.
Turning onto a paved path, he inhaled a lungful of crisp clean air. His heartbeats slowed and he finally drew to a halt. But it wasn’t until he heard a feint yelp that he glanced down and saw Miss Russell was with him. Most likely because he was clutching her wrist like a vice.
He unclamped his hand and took a step back. “Forgive me, lass. I didnae realize.”
She rubbed the spot where he’d held her, but rather than look annoyed or hurt, her eyes filled with concern. “What happened back there?”
Clenching his jaw, he stared at her in silence.
A sigh of exasperation filled the air. “You’re obviously keeping something from me.”
He crossed his arms in defiance. “I think I have a right to do so. After all, we’re not really engaged. I’m just yer employee, which means I dinnae owe ye an explanation.”
“You do if it threatens my reputation.”
He laughed. “Lass, every moment ye spend in my company threatens yer reputation. Ye dinnae ken that by now?”
“Because you’re not really a gentleman who’s made a fortune for himself in wine and beer?”
That wasn’t what he’d been referring to, but her suggestion was equally valid. “Ye hired a St. Giles thug, Miss Russell.”
“One who knows how to fit in among the elite.” Even in the darkness surrounding them, he was aware of the curious gaze with which she assessed him. “How is such a thing even possible?”
His heart knocked wildly against his ribs. “I’m a very skilled actor.”
“That’s what I kept telling myself all this time.”
“And it’s the truth. The only truth.”
There was a long pause, and then she quietly said, “I don’t believe that. In fact, your reaction just now suggests the opposite. It suggests you have a secret – that you’re keeping something important from me and—”