Jordan caught up to him as he was about to approach Lord Darnley. He slapped a beefy hand on John's shoulder to hold him back a moment. "Most of the staff is made up of locals. Maids. Butlers. Even most of the footmen are local boys. I've had a word with a couple of them. They won't be helping Somersby if there's a fight."
John nodded. "I only counted four in here who stick out as hired ruffians. We can take them down easily. Those other five who came after us today were the worst of the lot, so far as I can tell. Now that they're simmering in the magistrate's prison, we ought to have a fairly easy time of it. But I haven't seen Nicola yet and that worries me."
"Och, John. She must be here and unharmed or Lord Darnley would have grabbed that ancient battle axe hanging over the hearth and buried it in Somersby's head by now. The lass may have a big temper, but she's a little thing and not easily seen in a crowd."
John knew his companion was trying to reassure him. What he said made sense, for Lord and Lady Darnley were quite protective of their niece. But those dark, haunted thoughts were stirring in John's brain once more and he found them hard to hold down. "I'll see if she's in the music room. Somersby might have led her onto the dance floor for the opening quadrille."
A harpist, fiddlers, and a pianist were seated in a corner of the music room playing a lively tune. Most of the furniture had been pushed back against the walls or simply removed to create room for dancers. Beyond this room was the dining hall. When he didn't spot Nicola on the dance floor, he sauntered into the dining hall on the chance that she might be in there.
The main table held trays of wild game and fish, and a massive roast boar on a silver salver dominated the center. Along the back wall were smaller tables laden with desserts. The marquis had spared no expense to celebrate a betrothal that would never be.
"Nicola, where are you?" John muttered under his breath, deciding to return to the salon in the hope she was there now. She might have run upstairs to fix her gown or change her necklace for another. There were any number of innocent reasons for her absence.
But he knew Nicola.
She was up to something.
He was about to take another casual turn around the salon when he noticed her slip in through the double doors that led onto the terrace. Had she been outside the entire time? In this cold weather? He knew Somersby had not been with her and was likely searching for her as well.
He watched Nicola make her way toward her aunt and uncle, and caught the almost imperceptible nod she cast them upon reaching their side. "Damn it, Nicola," he muttered under his breath.
What had she done?
He waited to the count of ten before making his way through the crush of guests. This would hardly be considered a large crowd by London standards, but it was a sizeable gathering for these parts. Only formal Highland clan gatherings drew larger crowds.
John knew most of the people here, for as the Earl of Bainbridge, he was a sought after bachelor and invited to all the best parties, despite his attempts to put everyone off. Several acquaintances called out to him, but he merely acknowledged them with a curt nod.
He dared not take his eyes off Nicola.
Not that it was a chore for him to fix his gaze on her.
Indeed, it was too pleasant a task by far.
She now stood chatting amiably with her aunt and uncle and several of their Upper Crust friends. Her beautiful eyes were sparkling with mirth and her auburn hair was done up in a casual riot of curls that perfectly framed her heart-shaped face. A few soft tendrils caressed her slender neck.
She looked radiant, managing to shine brighter than any candlelight's warm glow. His gaze drifted lower. He couldn't help himself. The girl had a body that could stop a man's heart.
Bollocks.
He shook his head and silently berated himself for allowing his thoughts to wander.
John was only halfway across the room when he saw Somersby come to her side and hold out his arm to escort her to the music room for a dance. She smiled at him. The pair appeared blissfully happy.
Jordan put a hand on his shoulder. "You have that look again. Promise me you won't do anything foolish."
"Protecting Nicola is not foolish."
Jordan's grip tightened slightly. "Does she look like she needs your protection?"
"I don't know."
"Don't know? Or don't want to admit that she's changed her mind and intends to go through with the betrothal? Perhaps you don't know the lass as well as ye thought."
John ignored the comment. He admittedly was on edge about Nicola's upcoming betrothal. Eaten up inside about it, truth be told. But it wasn't because he was jealous. Well, he was jealous. Almost to the point of madness.
But this was about Nicola, not him.
She wanted out of this betrothal.
She had done something to ensure it would not take place. Why else would she have slipped in from the terrace and nodded to her aunt and uncle?
She had set a plot in motion and just acknowledged it to her conspirators. Or had he gone completely mad because he wanted to believe that Nicola would not marry Somersby?
When the dance ended, Somersby returned her to Lord Darnley's side. John took the opportunity to greet her and their gazes finally met.
He knew at once, felt a jolt to his heart at the slight falter in her smile.
He had been right. She was in trouble and asking for his help. "Good evening, Lord Bainbridge. I'm so glad you are here."
He bowed over her hand. "Wouldn't have missed it, Lady Nicola."
"I'm so pleased." He felt the tension in her slender fingers as he lightly grasped her hand. Her smile was fragile and forced. "Are you enjoying the party?"
Somersby emitted a low, feral snarl to interrupt their conversation. He drew Nicola closer to his side, obviously marking his claim to her. "How dare you show your face here, Bainbridge."
John arched an eyebrow. "Lady Nicola invited me. Or have you forgotten? Perhaps you thought your friends had taken care of me."
"What have you done to my footmen?"
"Footmen? That is a charming way to refer to your hired scum. You'll never see them again. Assaulting an earl is a serious crime. And don't forget that we're in Scotland now. Neither your influence nor your bribery will work here." He noticed two of the nasty-looking footmen they'd spotted earlier now making their way through the crowd. "Tell your dogs to back off, Somersby. If they set a hand on me, I shall kill you. Are we clear?"
"There's obviously been a misunderstanding, Bainbridge." The marquis gave a flick of his hand and his footmen stopped and slowly began to back away. He had them well trained, just as one would train hunting dogs. "They are only here to protect me. If you give me your word of honor that you shall not strike me, then they won't harm you."
"I'll make a bargain with you. Give me no cause to strike you and I won't." He grabbed a champagne glass off the tray of a passing servant and held it up in a seemingly casual toast. "Care for a dance, Nicola? I believe the musicians are about to play a waltz."
Somersby's face turned red. "Keep your hands off her. She's mine."
"Not for another hour, I believe." He held out his arm, knowing he should not be goading Somersby as he was doing now.
Nicola frowned at him. "I don't think it would be appropriate, Lord Bainbridge. But I'm glad you've made it to our party. Is Mr. Drummond here as well?"
"Yes, he'll join us in a moment." He supposed Jordan had backed away to secure the perimeter of the room on the chance that more of Somersby's ruffians were called in.
Nicola breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I look forward to seeing him again."
Somersby stood silently beside Nicola, but there was a lethal look in his eyes. John knew that look well. He'd seen a similar expression on the face of the cold-blooded man who'd killed his parents.
Somersby wanted him dead.
Merely because Nicola had run to him yesterday? He wasn't certain of the reason why and did not care.
What mattered was Nicola.
What did the marquis intend for her?
Nicola was worried about it, too. He could tell because he knew her well, for he'd been friends with her brother for years and often spent holidays with Julian and his family. Nicola was the younger sister who worshiped her big brother and-by association-him, too. She always wished to tag along wherever they went.
She was the little girl who would put her skinny elbows on the table and hang upon their every word whenever they spoke of their adventures. She would steal downstairs when she ought to have been asleep, eager to spy on their late night card games or rounds of billiards.
For some odd reason, he could always sense Nicola's presence and would give Julian a silent warning that they had innocent company. Which meant only the mildest curses allowed, if any. And no talk of women, certainly never about those they'd slept with or meant to sleep with shortly. No talk of their Crown activities, for certain.