The Untamed Bride (10 page)

The plants were old, large, and carried many spikes of large, nodding white blooms. Some were even spotty. She bent down the better to see.

And heard a soft rush of footsteps coming up the lawn.

Straightening, she started to turn—just as a large man seized her from behind.

She screamed, struggled.

A second man tried to help the first, tried to hold her still as the first attempted to clap a hand over her mouth.

She ducked her head, jabbed an elbow back hard—into a flabby stomach. The first man gasped, then wheezed.

The second man swore and tried to haul her away from the inn as the first man’s grip faltered.

She dug in her heels, dragged in a breath, and screamed again. Wrenching one arm free, she struck wildly at the second man.

Del erupted from the inn. Kumulay and Mustaf were on his heels.

The second man swore, and fled for his life.

The first man wasn’t as fast; he was still clutching her, still wheezing. Del grabbed her free arm with one hand. His other fist flashed past her shoulder.

She heard a sickening crunch, then the large man’s grip on her eased and fell away.

Del pulled her to him, to his other side. Peering back, around him, she saw the man who’d seized her laid out unconscious on the flagstone path.

Then every man and woman who’d been in the tap came pouring out—to see, exclaim, ask questions, demand answers.

Del suddenly found himself and Deliah surrounded by a well-meaning throng. Many seemed to think Deliah would
be in imminent danger of collapse, presumably from overwrought sensibilities, an assumption she seemed to find as mystifying as, and rather more irritating than, he did.

Questions, solicitude and sympathetic outrage came from all sides; it took vital minutes to calm everyone down.

Finally Del looked up and saw Mustaf and Kumulay striding back up the lawn. Mustaf shook his head, gestured with his fingers—the man had had a horse waiting.

They’d intended to grab Deliah and take her somewhere. Del’s mind supplied the where—wherever the Black Cobra or his lieutenant was waiting.

He swallowed a curse, looked for the man he’d laid out—then clamped his lips shut on an even more virulent oath.

The man had vanished.

Teeth gritted behind an entirely false smile, he tightened his hold on Deliah’s arm and started steering her through the crowd, toward the front of the inn.

Having noted the disappearance of the man, and Del’s direction, Mustaf and Kumulay went to summon the others and ready the carriages.

It was another twenty minutes before they were once again underway, and rolling out of the no-longer-so-sleepy village.

Del slumped back against the seat, finally registered the throbbing in his left hand. Lifting it, he saw he’d split the skin over one knuckle. He put the injured joint to his mouth.

Deliah noticed, frowned, then she looked ahead. Lifted her chin. After a moment, she said, “I believe your commander, whoever he is, would agree, now, that I have a right to know.”

Del grimaced. He glanced at her profile; her lips weren’t pouting—they were set in a grim line. “I don’t suppose you’d accept that those men were merely footpads—itinerants looking for an easy mark?”

“No.”

He sighed.

“If I’d known I stood in any danger of attack, I wouldn’t
have gone out of that door.” She turned her head, met his eyes. “You can’t not tell me—it’s too dangerous for me not to know.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then looked ahead, filled his lungs. And told her.

Initially he gave her a carefully edited description of the Black Cobra and his mission. She seemed to sense his prevarications and refused to let them lie, verbally pulling and prodding until she’d extracted an account a great deal closer to the full picture from him.

He inwardly winced as he heard himself tell her about the manner of James MacFarlane’s death, and of the evidence he’d given his life to get to them.

“Poor boy—how utterly dreadful. Yet at least he died a true hero—I imagine that would have been important to him. And this is the evidence you and your friends are endeavoring to ensure gets into Wolverstone’s hands?”

“Yes.”

“And part of the plan is to make the Black Cobra attack, so he can be caught and thus implicated entirely independently of the evidence itself?”

“Yes.”

She was silent for a moment, then said, “That’s a very good plan.”

He’d expected her to be appalled, and then horrified, frightened, even terrified by the very real threat of very real and nasty danger—something she certainly wouldn’t have missed. Yet while she’d been as appalled as he’d imagined, horror, fright and terror didn’t seem to be in her repertoire; if he’d had any real doubts that she was made of sterner stuff, her immediate focus on the salient points of his mission had slain them.

After another, longer silence, she looked at him, met his eyes. “I will, of course, help in whatever way I can—you have only to ask. As the Black Cobra clearly views me as part of your entourage, there’s no sense in attempting to keep me distanced from your mission.”

He managed to hide his reaction. He could think of any number of reasons to keep her separate from his mission, all of which made excellent sense to him, but he hadn’t attained the rank of colonel without having some idea of how to manage others—although he’d never tried his hand at managing a termagant before. “Thank you.” With an inclination of his head, he accepted her pledge of help; if he’d tried to refuse it, to quash the enthusiam burning in her green eyes, her resolve to assist would only have hardened. Instead, he could use her commitment as a subtle lever to keep her under control—to channel her contribution into safe arenas.

Speaking of which…“We still haven’t decided where to stay in London.” Brows rising, he relaxed against the seat. “Do you know of any place that might suit?”

December 12
Grillon’s Hotel, Albemarle Street, London

“See?” Deliah stood just inside the foyer of fashionable Grillon’s Hotel, and watched Del survey the critical amenities—the single handsome staircase leading to the upper floors, the dining room to one side, the parlor to the other, and directly opposite the main entrance, the only entrance from the street, the wide counter behind which two young men stood, ready to deal with any request from guests, all under the eagle eye of an older gentleman in a uniform sporting gilt-embroidered epaulettes. In addition, there were not one but two uniformed doormen manning the portal. “It’s the perfect place for us to stay,” she murmured. “Not only is it in the heart of London, but Grillon’s reputation is based on security and propriety—they would never permit anything so gauche as an attack of any sort to occur on the premises.”

Del had come to the same conclusion—the ex-solider behind the counter was watching him steadily, and the doorman who had shown them in had yet to return outside. He nodded. “All in all, an excellent choice.”

He walked forward. Deliah glided beside him, her long legs allowing her to keep pace easily. The head clerk behind the counter straightened, all but coming to attention; after decades in the army, Del’s bearing inevitably gave him away.

“Can we help you, s—”

“I’m Miss Duncannon.” Deliah laid her gloves on the counter, waited until the clerk looked her way. “I require a room for myself, and accommodation for my staff. Colonel Delborough”—with one hand she waved at him—“will also require a room—”

“And also has various stipulations to make.” Del caught her eye when she glanced at him, captured her gaze and pointedly held it. “As I am escorting you north at your parents’ request, it might perhaps be appropriate for you to consider me
in loco parentis
.”

She blinked at him.

His smile took on an edge. “Perhaps you should allow me to organize our rooms.”

She frowned.

Before she could argue, he looked at the clerk. “Miss Duncannon will require a suite overlooking the street, preferably with no balcony.”

The head clerk consulted his list. “We have a suite that might suit, Colonel—it’s on the first floor, but is some way from the stairs.”

“That will do admirably. I’ll want a bedchamber myself, on the same floor, between the suite and the stairs.”

“Indeed, sir.” The head clerk conferred with one of his underlings, then nodded. “We have a room four doors closer to the stairs, if that would suit?”

“Perfectly. We also require two more bedchambers for two gentlemen who will arrive in the next hour or so. Viscount Torrington and the Earl of Crowhurst. They would prefer to have rooms as close as possible to the stairs.”

Gervase and Tony were watching the carriages from further along the street; once they saw they were indeed staying at Grillon’s, they would head to the Bastion Club to check
for any messages, then return to join them.

After more conferring, the head clerk said, “There
are
two single bedchambers that face the head of the stairs, but they overlook the lane. They’re rarely requested…” The clerk looked his question.

Del smiled. “They will suit us perfectly. In addition, as I’m returning from service in India, and Miss Duncannon is returning from an extended sojourn in Jamaica, we’re both traveling with household staff.”

“That will pose no difficulty, sir. Not at this time of year. If I might suggest, I can consult with your staff directly as to what arrangements might be best?”

Del nodded. “My batman is Cobby, and…” He looked at Deliah.

With a slight frown, she supplied, “My majordomo is Janay.”

“Excellent—I’ll speak with Mr. Cobby and Mr. Janay. I take it your carriages are outside?” When Del assented, the clerk dispatched his underlings to direct the carriages into the mews, then came around the counter. “If you’ll come this way, Colonel, Miss Duncannon, I’ll show you to your rooms. Your bags will be brought up momentarily.”

The next hours went in the inevitable bustle of settling into their rooms. The suite—something Deliah wouldn’t have thought of to request—was commodious. Both the large sitting room and her adjoining bedchamber had wide windows overlooking the street. Contrary to her expectations, Del had managed the arrangements perfectly well. While she dressed for dinner, she thought again of the stipulations he’d made, a clear indication of how seriously he took the threat of the Black Cobra.

She sat at the dressing table and let Bess have at her hair.

Deftly rewinding the long tresses into a neat knot, then anchoring it atop Deliah’s head with a tortoiseshell comb, Bess nodded at her in the mirror. “Just as well I didn’t put all your evening gowns in the big trunks.”

Deliah grimaced; most of her clothes, along with all her other baggage, were traveling north by carter. “How many do we have?”

“This, and the emerald silk.” Bess set in the final pin. “There.” She stood back. “Perhaps if there’s time while we’re in town, you might get another. If we’re going to some duke’s house, even for a few days, you’ll need it.”

“We’ll see.” Deliah rose; she paused by the cheval glass and checked the fall of her plum silk gown, with its raised waist and scalloped neckline. Satisfied, she headed for the door to the sitting room.

They’d arranged to have dinner in the suite. Approving the menu was something Del had left to her. Janay and Cobby would serve the meal, leaving them free to discuss their plans.

Walking into the sitting room, she found Del standing by the window looking out over Albemarle Street. He turned as she entered; for an instant he seemed surprised to see her, then a knock on the door had them both turning that way.

“Come,” she called.

The door opened to admit Tony and Gervase. Both nodded rather vaguely, absorbed with scanning the room, taking note of the window and the door to her bedchamber, before surveying the table laid ready for dinner, the comfortable armchairs set before the hearth, and the excellent fire.

Brows rising, Tony strolled forward. “Not a place I’d have picked, but it seems very well suited to our needs. Our rooms are right by the stairs, and we saw where yours is—couldn’t have been better.”

Del glanced at Deliah. “The accolades are due to Miss Duncannon—Grillon’s was her suggestion.”

Both Tony and Gervase smiled and half bowed to her.

The door opened again. Seeing Janay bearing a tureen, Deliah waved to the table. “Pray be seated, gentlemen. Dinner is here.”

Del held a chair for her. She sat, with Gervase on her right,
and Tony opposite.

Janay served the soup, while Cobby offered bread. When they setttled to sup, the two men left to fetch the next course.

“I have to say,” Gervase murmured, “that I never thought I’d ever stay here, bastion of the prim and proper that it is.” He glanced at Deliah. “We formed the Bastion Club late in ’15, more or less immediately we returned from the Continent, and for those of us without houses in town—like Tony here, and me—it’s become our London base over the last years.”

“We originally set it up as a gentlemen’s club,” Tony explained, “but we all married in ’16, over a period of about eight months, and our wives elected to use the club, too.”

“Gasthorpe, our majordomo, and his staff adjusted very readily.” Gervase grinned. “They’ve even coped with children on occasion.”

They were just making conversation, but Deliah wanted to know more. “How many club members are there?”

They explained, and when she probed further, elaborated. The more she heard of their families, their pasts, their presents, the more she understood of their connection to the people on their country estates—an evolution from the protectiveness that must have driven them into the services years before—the more she relaxed with them. The more she trusted them.

The fruit platter had been decimated. As Cobby and Janay cleared the table, she glanced curiously at Del. She’d trusted him from the moment they’d met.

She knew better than to trust her instincts where men were concerned—especially handsome men who made her pulse race—yet there was no denying there was something very steadying, very steadfast, about Colonel Derek Delborough.