It was as simple as that—but Samuel had to listen to more. Every detail would be vital, every hint that could give him insight into who else was involved would be precious.

  “—never seen such ladies whooping!” Lady Romeril continued to complain in a mutter. “In my day, a lady did not whoop, not even on the occasion of the birth of her—”

  “Yes, yes, I quite agree,” Samuel repeated.

  He allowed his attention to drift. If he was careful, he could maintain a vacant expression in his eyes and a fairly regular nod of his head to ward off any suspicion from Lady Romeril. And that would mean he could instead listen to . . .

  “—recognized us?”

  “I don’t think so. None of these toffs have any idea. Look at them,” the taller of the two men scoffed. “No clue the whole place could fall around them tomorrow.”

  Samuel’s heart went cold as he glanced down, ostensibly to pull his pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket.

  For a moment, he hardly recognized the article. Then he almost laughed. Of course, Morris had packed only tartan waistcoats. This one had a rather fetching mustard, white, and black sort of check, with a line of red running through it. The pattern was so odd, it was as though he had looked at someone else’s chest.

  But it was definitely his pocket watch. Opening it, Samuel glanced only momentarily at the time the watch face was displaying.

  And that was because on the other side, on the back of the door of the watch, was a square inch of highly polished brass. And if he carefully positioned it like this . . .

  The two men appeared in view. Though only a square inch, it was more than enough to take in their faces.

  Samuel focused hard, attempting to put the faces to memory. He needed to be able to pick them out of a crowd at a moment’s notice. His memory was usually strong, but the whiskey he had been given upon entry to the Assembly Rooms had rather swept to this head.

  So, he needed to memorize them—find distinguishing details. One had a freckle just below his—

  A movement. A sudden shock of yellow.

  Samuel gasped and almost dropped his pocket watch.

  “Careful, now!” Lady Romeril berated, as though that would permit Samuel to go back in time and prevent him from almost dropping the timepiece. “Honestly, gentlemen these days, they have absolutely no sense of—”

  What he had no sense of, Samuel could not tell—he had stopped listening again. Attention, perhaps. His had certainly been distracted and by a shock of yellow far too bright to be allowed in such a place as the Assembly Rooms.

  But there it was—a yellow gown. And it was wrapped around a woman who . . .

  Samuel swallowed and discovered his amazement that his mouth was dry.

  She was beautiful.

  Not beautiful in the way of Society’s primped and feathered monstrosities, as so many ladies at Almack’s now were. Fashion and style were starting to demand more and more ridiculous ornamentation, as far as Samuel was concerned.

  This woman was different. She was wearing naught but a yellow gown with what looked like black piping. The ribbon around the cuffs of her capped sleeves was a sort of gold, matched on the hem.

  And that was all. No jewels. No pearls, no earbobs or bracelets or necklace. There were no diamonds in her hair, nor ribbons. There wasn’t even a feather. Not a scrap of lace.

  Samuel forced himself to turn back to Lady Romeril, who was still complaining in that strange way she always did.

  “I told them once, if I told them a thousand times—”

  Much to his chagrin, Samuel realized his heart was thumping rather powerfully. It took him a few heartbeats to understand why, then his stomach dropped.

  She was talking to them.

  The woman, the beautiful woman in the yellow gown. She had surprised his view in the miniscule looking glass because she had approached the two ruffians.

  Samuel’s brow furrowed immediately, his sense of justice and duty overpowering any good sense he had once claimed to possess.

  Well, this was terrible! The poor woman had no idea what danger she was putting herself in merely by talking to them. Perhaps her companions in the Assembly Rooms were dancing and she was in need of conversation. The poor thing had chosen the wrong people for that, Samuel thought with a sigh.

  He had to rescue her.

  The thought was so strong, the sense so overpowering, Samuel had already taken a step away from Lady Romeril before he realized what he was doing.

  He halted, half twisted, his mind whirling.

  Where had that determination come from? He wasn’t in the business of saving ladies, even from themselves. In truth, he rarely got involved in these sorts of things. Only a month ago he had given advice to a man in an inn about love, of all things. It was a small miracle the whole thing hadn’t exploded in his face.

  But this? This was just a woman. Just a woman at the Edinburgh Assembly Rooms. A woman he had not been introduced to, a woman who surely had a brother or father or—Samuel’s stomach lurched—husband also at the Assembly Rooms who could care for her.

  “—but your bride must be so much more than that, Chantmarle. And if you do not mind me saying so, I think it an excellent sign of character that you asked me to—”

  “Yes, of course,” Samuel said vaguely to Lady Romeril’s monologue.

  He was here, he told himself sternly, to catch a glimpse of wrongdoing. To find the men who were passing secrets to the French. To bring to justice any traitors, then bring them to London. London, his home. Where he wished to return.

  Getting distracted by beautiful ladies in simple muslin gowns was not one of his objectives.

  Yet Samuel found himself twisting further to look properly at the woman.

  His heart skipped a beat as blood rushed to his head. Oh, God. She was beautiful. And attempting to make conversation with the two men he really should be focused on.

  Oh, hell, he knew what he was going to do. Becoming distracted by a pretty face was not his style, but there was always a first for everything. His curiosity growing, the need in him just to know her name propelled him forward without a second thought.

  “Chantmarle? Your Grace, where do you think you’re . . .”

  Lady Romeril’s voice faded swiftly under the music still being played for the dancers. Samuel paid her no heed; his entire focus was on the woman in yellow. He pushed past a gaggle of giggling girls, a lady who was openly weeping into the arms of her mama, and a man smoking a heavily scented cigar.

  Samuel ignored them all. His gaze did not waver, not for a moment.

  It was only when he reached the woman, stopping short before her and staring into her dark hazel eyes, that he realized he had prepared absolutely nothing to say to her.

  The two men had halted their conversation and were staring mutinously.

  “Yes?” one of them said aggressively.

  Samuel ignored him. The woman had turned as though to greet him, a smile dancing on her lips.

  His stomach lurched. “Would you care to dance?”

  Chapter Two

  Lulu Finch attempted to take a long, deep breath.

  This was what she had wanted. Why she had managed to acquire an invitation to the Assembly Rooms in the first place. And she wasn’t going to miss out on her chance now, not after everything she had been through.

  She was determined. It would be today that she would free herself.

  “Mr. Gregory,” she said, a little breathlessly as she approached.

  Try as she might, Lulu found it almost impossible to ignore the glare from Mr. Gillingham standing beside him. Why were they always together? Why couldn’t she ever speak to one of them at a time?

  Perhaps if she could—

  “You were bold, coming here,” Mr. Gregory spat.

  Lulu swallowed her retort, which was that they were surely far bolder to conduct their illicit business right in the center of Edinburgh Society, and tried to keep calm.

  She had planned this. She had spent all day thinking about what she was going to say, how she was going to persuade them to free her. She had done everything she could, Lulu knew, and more. And it was time her efforts were recognized.

  It was time the blackmail was over.

  “I merely wished to speak to you, and you are astonishingly difficult to find,” Lulu pointed out softly.

  It was important to speak softly. She had discovered this last year, when she had attempted to speak more directly to the two men who had kept her soul in knots ever since—

  Lulu pushed the thought from her mind. She wasn’t going to allow herself to think about that. She had to think about the future, about how she was going to live the rest of her life happily after she made them agree to her terms.

  They would agree.

  “We’re not difficult to find, are we, Mr. Gillingham?” Mr. Gregory sneered.

  “Not in the slightest,” agreed his companion.

  A flicker of fear soared through Lulu. They were so much taller than she was—and stronger. She had discovered that to her peril only last week when she had asked, as politely as she could muster, for her debt to be considered paid.

  Surely, by now, she had done enough.

  “Well, I am glad to have the opportunity to speak with you,” Lulu persisted, trying to smile. “Because—”

  “You don’t talk to us,” Mr. Gillingham said severely. “We talk to you.”

  Her instincts urged her to take a step backward, but Lulu forced herself to remain where she was. She was not going to allow herself to be shouted down, even if she had seen the man break someone’s arm before.

  She should never have got herself entangled with—but it was too late now. Once they had the letters to blackmail her, she should have just left Edinburgh. Left Scotland.

  But that had been last year. It was a belated wish now, and she had already burned the last of her bridges with anyone who could help her. That meant she had to face the fact, however unpleasant, that she had to deal with Mr. Gregory and Mr. Gillingham.

  Hopefully, for the last time.

  The music behind her changed as the dance came to an end and applause rang out around the Assembly Rooms.

  Lulu’s heart leapt. Perhaps this was the moment: her opportunity to demand—

  “If you think you can convince us to wipe your debt clean,” Mr. Gillingham said viciously, “you would be wrong.”

  And just as swiftly as it had risen, her heart sank. Despair, dark and sticky as tar, poured through her. Lulu found herself almost gasping for breath, as though her lungs had forgotten how to work.

  She had gotten her hopes up, that was true, and perhaps she should not have done. Perhaps it was foolish to even consider that Mr. Gregory and Mr. Gillingham would understand her desperate need to be free of them.

  But then, she thought morosely, she was far more useful to them when in their debt.

  Despite her fear, despite the sinking feeling in her heart, Lulu forced herself to meet Mr. Gillingham’s gaze.

  “I thought you would say that,” she said, more boldly than she felt. “That is why—”

  “You don’t get to make demands,” Mr. Gregory said, taking a step forward.

  Lulu almost stumbled over her skirts as she stepped backward, her heart skipping a beat. When would she lose her fear of these men? When would she be able to look them in the eye and not feel terror bubbling in her veins?

  She should never have trusted them. She should never have believed a word they said. The moment they had made her that offer, an offer she couldn’t refuse, she should have been brave enough to—

  Movement, out of the corner of her eye—no, closer. A gentleman, dressed in a long coat and the most awful tartan waistcoat she had ever seen, was approaching them.

  “You know him?” glared Mr. Gregory belligerently.

  Lulu glanced over at the man as he wended his way through the Assembly Rooms.

  “No,” she said honestly.

  He was tall, taller than both the men she was speaking to. He had an innocent, almost foolish look on his face, more like a youth of eighteen than the full-grown man he was.

  Lulu could have groaned. What did the idiot think he was doing, approaching two men like Gregory and Gillingham? Evidently, he did not know them. No one in Edinburgh who knew them would consider speaking to them, especially not at the Assembly Rooms. So why was he making his way toward them?

  “He’s caught sight of a bit of skirt,” sneered Mr. Gregory in an undertone, “and is coming over here to see how much you cost.”

  Lulu’s cheeks burned.

  Even if that were true, and she had no evidence to the contrary, she had never lived that life. She had been most determined never to slip into it. But if a gentleman, any gentleman, knew of her past—

  “Yes?” Mr. Gillingham said aggressively as the stranger halted before them.

  Well, not before them. Before her.

  Lulu could hardly believe it, but there was no mistaking the gaze of interest in the stranger’s eyes. He had stopped right in front her, as though they knew each other and he had merely come over to be polite.

  But she had never met the man before. What on earth was he—

  Her habits, however, were ingrained far deeper than she could have imagined. Though Lulu had done nothing consciously to encourage him, she found herself turning toward him, a smile lilting her lips. Anything to ingratiate herself. Anything to keep herself safe . . .

  What on earth was she doing? The last thing she should be doing was encouraging this gentleman, whoever he was. No, for his own safety, he should leave Mr. Gillingham and Mr. Gregory as soon as—

  “Would you care to dance?”

  Lulu blinked. “What did you say?”

  Astonishment was rushing through her. He could not have said what she thought he just said—could he?

  Men did not ask her to dance. Oh, they asked her for a good number of other things, but she never obliged them. Lulu could not pretend her past wasn’t scandalous; anyone who knew her, knew her brother, knew it was.

  But this man had no idea, she saw as guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders. He did not know, whoever he was, what type of conversation he had wandered into.

  Threats. Violence. Blackmail.

  The man was grinning, the grin of a fool with little intelligence and even less wit.

  Lulu’s heart sank. For a moment, just a moment, she had thought . . . but no. This was not the sort of man who could rescue her from her situation. Only she could rescue herself.

  “We’ll be going, Lulu,” grinned Mr. Gregory. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  With a dark chuckle, he and his companion moved away as heat once again scalded her cheeks.

  Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—honestly! The list of things Mr. Gregory would not do, Lulu thought ruefully, was short indeed.

  “Lulu?”

  Her gaze sharpened. Mr. Gillingham and Mr. Gregory may have gone—at least from her company as she did not see whether they had actually left the Assembly Rooms—but that did not mean the conversation was over, clearly.

  The same idiot was standing there, vague smile and unfocused gaze.

  Lulu sighed. Truly, it was most frustrating. Why couldn’t she catch the eye of a man with wit and spark? Why did every man who ever wished to speak with her have nothing between his ears, no brains at all? They were entirely guided by what was between their—

  “I hope those two men were not bothering you,” the man said softly.

  Lulu almost took a step forward to be closer before remembering herself and instantly leaning back.

  How had he done that? In an instant, she had felt warmth and safety radiating from him. His soft voice had enticed her in, encouraged her to step nearer so she could hear him more clearly. If she had not had a greater hold on herself, perhaps she would have done.

  Lulu tried not to take in the handsome line of the man’s jaw, the way he looked at her with blatant interest.

  No. Absolutely not. She was not about to allow someone else to attempt to grow close to her. She couldn’t protect those close to her. Had not Malcolm proven that?

  “I hope you have a pleasant evening,” she murmured, gaze lowered as she curtsied.

  And then she stepped away.

  At least, that was what Lulu had intended. Somehow, just as her foot was about to take a step, the gentleman said something that made her halt.

  “They are not the sort of men to get mixed up with.”

  Lulu looked into the stranger’s eyes, and just for a moment, saw something completely different from the vague idiocy she had seen before.

  A sharpness. A directness, a blunt intelligence that knew far more than she had revealed and probably guessed the rest. A man of intellect, of wit, of learning.

  Then the moment faded and the same indefinite stupidity returned. Had she dreamt it?

  “You don’t say?” Lulu said dryly.

  Honestly, trying to warn her off Mr. Gillingham and Mr. Gregory! It was far too late for that, though of course there was no possibility of letting this man know it.

  Though that did beg the question, she thought, why he would try to warn her off them in the first place. Now that was interesting.

  “I do not believe we have been introduced,” the stranger began.

  Lulu saw her chance. “Indeed, we have not. How remiss of me—well, we cannot talk here, it would be most scandalous. Good evening—”

  “Oh, I am not concerned with the niceties of Society,” the gentleman said cheerfully.

  It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. Well, of course he was not! Men, especially gentlemen, never had to worry about such things. They could do what they liked, with whom they liked, and all the gossips would say is that they probably should not have done such a thing. The idea that they would actually be reprimanded? Heaven forbid!

  “Let me introduce myself,” the man was saying.

  Lulu’s cheeks flushed with heat. This was all going wrong—she needed to escape the man’s company, not delve deeper into a connection!

  “No, really, it’s—”