The Untamed Bride (9 page)

“Indeed? I would have thought—”

They continued to trade question and answer as they progressed through the courses. Del tried to ascertain why she’d felt the need for “new horizons” while avoiding falling into the conversational pits she dug and revealing more than she needed to know about his mission.

He might have to take her with him to ensure her safety, but he intended to do all in his power to keep her ignorant of and entirely separate from his mission, and as far as possible out of the Black Cobra’s sight.

It was only after they’d risen from the table and together walked out of the parlor and up the stairs that he realized he’d spent an entire evening alone with an unmarried lady, doing nothing more than talking, and he hadn’t even thought of being bored.

Which he usually was. Thus far in his life, women, even ladies, had fulfilled one and only one role; he’d had very
little interest in them outside that sphere. Yet although he’d focused on Deliah’s luscious lips far too often for his comfort, he’d been too engaged in their mutual interrogation—her quick wits had ensured he’d had to keep his own about him—to dwell on her sexual potential, much less act on an attraction that, he was surprised to discover, had not just survived the last hours but had, if anything, grown.

She paused outside the door of the chamber next to his and glanced up at him. Her lips curved lightly—a genuine smile tinged with a hint of appreciation and a soupçon of challenge. “Good night…Del.”

He forced his lips into an easy smile. Inclined his head. “Deliah.”

Her smile fractionally deepened, but her tone was entirely innocent when she added, “Sleep well.”

Del stood in the shadowed corridor and watched the chamber door close behind her, then he slowly walked the few paces to his own, reasonably certain that her last wish was very unlikely to be granted.

December 12
The Swan Inn, Winchester

D
el was woken from a slumber every bit as restless as he’d predicted by Cobby rattling the bedcur-tains.

“It’s morning, believe it or not. Gray as the grave, and equally cold. Whatever passes for sun these days it’s not up yet, but there’s two gentlemen downstairs waiting to see you—Torrington and Crowhurst.”

Del grunted. He pushed back the covers and rose, stretched, suppressing a shiver at the chill in the air. “Tell them I’ll be down directly.”

“Aye, sir.”

Del washed, quickly shaved, then dressed in the clothes Cobby had left warming by the fire. A quick glance out of the window showed a drear landscape bathed in pearl-gray light. No snow had yet fallen, and it wasn’t raining. Good enough weather for traveling.

Downstairs, he passed Cobby in the foyer.

“In the parlor, they are. Thought I’d get breakfast served, seeing you were on your way.”

With a nod, Del strolled on, opened the parlor door, and
walked in to find two large gentlemen enthusiastically addressing plates piled with ham and sausages. Both looked up, smiled, and rose as he approached.

Both must have been in the Guards at some point—there was a certain set to their shoulders, a similarity in their long, tall frames.

The dark-haired, black-eyed one held out his hand with a smiling nod. “Delborough, I take it. I’m Torrington.”

Del shook hands.

“Gervase Tregarth.” The second man, with amber eyes and curly brown hair, likewise offered his hand. “Also known as Crowhurst.”

Del smiled. “Call me Del.” He took a seat facing them, his gaze lowering to the platters. “I haven’t had a real English breakfast in over seven years. Is it any good?”

“Excellent.” Torrington picked up his fork. “Very good ham. I’m Tony, by the way—Tony Blake.”

“Blake.” Del helped himself to the ham and three sausages. “There was a Blake behind enemy lines after Corunna.”

“That was me. Old days long gone. Not much call for those sort of larks these days, not for any of us.”

“Which,” Gervase said, reaching for the coffeepot, “is why you’ll find us all very grateful for this chance to get back into some action, no matter how briefly. Civilian life has its challenges, but they aren’t quite the same.”

Just those few exchanges put Del entirely at ease; men like these he understood, because they thought like him.

“We heard,” Tony said around a mouthful of ham, “that you had a spot of bother at the Dolphin.”

“Indeed—it seems the Black Cobra is aware I’m here, and ready, even eager, to engage.”

“Excellent.” Gervase grinned. “Reassuring to know the action’s already underway.”

“So,” Del said, “what word do you have from Wolverstone?”

“Who,” Tony informed him, “is likewise grateful, but, as usual, is keeping his cards exceedingly close to his chest.
We’re to head into London, and spend a few days making noise and seeing what cult forces we can draw out. Royce has left the timing to us, but once we feel we’ve done all we can in the capital, we’re to head to Cambridgeshire, to a house called Somersham Place.”

“I know it,” Del said. “Devil Cynster’s home.”

“Where,” Gervase said, “Cynster will be waiting with a crew of other Cynsters. The idea is to lure the Black Cobra to strike at you while there—no reason the cult would know how many ex-Guardsmen are in the house.”

Del chewed, nodded. “So it’ll be an ambush of sorts.”

“Exactly.” Tony refilled his coffee cup, and sat back.

Del arched a brow at them both. “Do you know if any of the others have reached England?”

Tony shook his head.

“I sent word last night to Royce that you’d landed,” Gervase said, “and that we’ll proceed as planned. As far as we’ve heard, you’re the first home.”

Del hesitated, then said, “About proceeding as planned, we have a slight complication—an unexpected addition to our group.” He told them of Miss Deliah Duncannon, and briefly explained why he hadn’t been able to leave her behind.

Tony winced. “Last thing we need, to have to act as nursemaid to a sweet young thing all the way through London and into Cambridgeshire.”

“At least we’ll be able to hand her over to the Cynster ladies once there,” Gervase said.

Del tried to imagine Deliah Duncannon being “handed over.” Or nursemaided. Couldn’t.

He was searching for words with which to correct their misapprehension that Deliah was “a sweet young thing” when Tony continued, “Still, I suppose it’ll just be a matter of leaving her with her maid and your people, well out of the action.” Setting down his empty cup, Tony reached for the coffeepot. “As we should get on the road in the next hour or so, I daresay the first step is to send a message up to this
Miss Duncannon’s maid to get her mistress awake.”

“Miss Duncannon is already awake.”

The frosty words brought them to their feet as the door—which Del now realized hadn’t shut properly behind him—swung fully open to admit Deliah, ready for the day in a gray carriage dress, and transparently unimpressed.

Just how long she’d been standing outside the door was impossible to guess.

Del quickly made the introductions, which she acknowledged with a haughty air. Both Tony and Gervase bowed over her hand, endeavoring to appear cheery and charming. Del held a chair for her, while the others recommended the ham and sausages, which she waved away as a maid bustled in with fresh toast and a teapot.

“Thank you.” Deliah smiled at the maid, claimed a slice of toast, then fixed her eyes on Del’s guilty friends. “So how far do you plan to travel today?”

She’d addressed the question to Tony. He looked to Del, but she refused to follow his gaze and continued to look at him inquiringly…as she’d hoped, he felt compelled to answer.

“We should reach London late this afternoon.”

She nodded. “And then into Cambridgeshire.” When they exchanged quick glances, she added, “In time. A few days, maybe more?”

They didn’t correct her, so she nodded again, supposition confirmed. She nibbled her toast, then poured her tea and took a sip, all the while noting the telltale signs of their uncertainty over what to say to her, letting it grow. She set down her cup. “About this mission—what are the relevant details?”

All three shifted. The other two looked at Del, and didn’t look back at her. Eventually, Del said, “Our…commander, for want of a better term, isn’t one to encourage the unnecessary sharing of information.”

She raised her brows. “Indeed? And does this commander know of my existence—that I’ve unwittingly been drawn
into his scheme?”

“No.”

“Then he can’t have made any decision against informing me of its details.”

Del met her limpid green gaze, held it. The others were leaving the question of her continued ignorance up to him. If she’d been a man, he would have told her and enlisted her aid. But she wasn’t a man—very definitely wasn’t—and every instinct he possessed came down firmly on the side of leaving her ignorance uninformed, unrelieved. “Be that as it may, there’s no reason for you to…”

Her tight smile was a warning. “Bother my pretty little head about it?”

Brazen, he nodded. “Something like that.” He wasn’t going to be intimidated into surrendering his position.

She held his gaze—again he had the impression they were standing toe-to-toe, certainly will-to-will, and once again found it inexplicably arousing—then she transferred her gaze to Tony. “As it appears we’ll be spending a number of days in London, where are you intending to stay?”

The sudden shift in attack caught Tony unprepared. “Ah…” He glanced at Gervase, then briefly at Del before saying, “We had thought to put up at our private club, but now…”

“I take it it’s a gentlemen’s club?” she asked.

“Of a sort, but our wives also stay there when visiting town.”

Her brows rose. “Indeed?” She appeared to consider, then shook her head. “I don’t think any
private
establishment will do.”

Del fully expected her to circle back to what she really wanted to know about—his mission. He cut in. “We can discuss the possibilities in the carriage.” He glanced pointedly at the clock on the mantelpiece. “We should get underway as soon as possible.”

She looked at him, then smiled. “Of course.” She set down her empty cup, laid aside her napkin. With regal grace, she
rose, bringing them to their feet. She inclined her head as she turned to the door. “Gentlemen. I’ll be ready to leave in an hour.”

They stood and watched her glide to the door; she opened it, then shut it quietly behind her.

“I assume,” Gervase said, “that we’re supposed to understand that she’s not a cypher to be ignored.”

Del snorted. “More that she’s not a cypher—and
will not be
ignored.”

“Well? Are you going to tell me or not?”

Head back against the squabs, eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest, Del supposed he should have expected the question. “Not.”

He didn’t bother opening his eyes. They’d left Winchester half an hour before, and were now bowling along the highway toward London. There was, however, a pertinent difference between their present journey and that of the evening before—today he and she were alone in the carriage. Her staff and his were following in the two carriages immediately behind, the three conveyances traveling in convoy. Gervase and Tony, the lucky sods, were on horseback, riding parallel to the road, close enough to keep watch, yet not so close that they would scare away any of the Black Cobra’s men who might be tempted to stage an attack.

Del didn’t think an attack at all likely. Even in this season, this highway was too busy, with mail coaches and all manner of private vehicles constantly bowling along in both directions. The Black Cobra cultists preferred less populated surrounds for their villainy.

“Where are the other two?”

He slitted open his eyes and saw her peering out of the carriage window.

“They said they’d ride with us, but I can’t see them.”

He closed his eyes again. “Don’t worry. They’re there.”

He felt her sharp glance.

“I’m not worried. I’m curious.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Her gaze heated to a glare; even with his eyes closed he felt it.

“Let’s see if I have this right.” Her tone was the epitome of reason and sense. “You arrive in Southampton and take rooms at an inn, then discover you’ve been elected to be my escort and promptly try to divest yourself of the responsibility. Then someone tries to shoot you, and you immediately up stakes and quit said inn—even though your people have only just settled in and it’s already evening—to rattle all of what?—ten miles?—further along the road. And by the next morning, you’ve acquired two…should I call them
guards
?”

His lips quirked before he stilled them.

She saw, humphed. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“No.”

“Why? I cannot see how it would hurt for me to know what it is you’re carrying—information or something more tangible—and what you want to do with it, who wants to stop you, and why.”

At that he opened his eyes, turned his head and looked at her. Met her irritated green gaze. She’d guessed so much…he set his jaw. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

Her eyes slitted, her lips thinned. “Better for whom?”

He wasn’t, when it came to it, all that sure. Facing forward, resettling his head, he murmured, “I’ll think about it.”

And closed his eyes again.

He felt the heat of her temper focus on him, but then she shifted on the seat, and blessed silence descended.

It lasted. And lasted.

Eventually he opened his eyes enough to send a careful look her way.

She was sitting in the corner of the carriage, leaning against the side, watching the fields flash past. There was a faint frown on her face, and her lips were…just slightly pouting.

Minutes ticked by, then he forced his gaze forward and
closed his eyes again.

They stopped for lunch at a small country inn in the village of Windlesham. Deliah had been unimpressed when he’d refused to halt at any of the major posting inns at Cam-berley but instead had directed the coachman to the much smaller—and therefore much safer—country village.

Tony and Gervase would hang back, keeping watch to see if they could spot anyone following. But as the Black Cobra had to suspect Del would make for London, he, Tony and Gervase were all of the opinion that it was more likely there would be watchers planted at vantage points along the road to report his passage to their master.

If Tony or Gervase could spot such a watcher, they might be able to follow the man back to the Black Cobra’s lair. As the game stood, any information on the Black Cobra’s forces would be welcome, while information on the Black Cobra himself would be gold.

Del climbed down from the carriage before the Windlesham Arms, and after a swift look around, handed Deliah down. She continued to grumble, which in her case was more like acerbic verbal sniping, which Del found amusing, although he was careful not to let his appreciation show.

But after the innkeeper bowed them into a pretty parlor with lace curtains and comfortable chairs, and then proceeded to serve an excellent meal, her griping ceased. By the time he escorted her back into the main tap and paused by the bar to settle the account, she was entirely appeased, and in a relatively mellow mood—not that she would admit it.

Lips curving, Del chatted to the barman while he waited for the innkeeper to tot up the damage.

The tap was half full. Rather than stand beside Del and be covertly studied by the occupants, Deliah wandered to an archway where a pair of glassed doors gave onto a small courtyard. Gently rolling lawns lay beyond; in summer, the area would, she suspected, be dotted with the trestles and benches she could see stacked to one side under a row of
leafless trees.

Nearer at hand, a narrow bed ran along the wall of the inn, full of hellebores in bloom. It had been so long since she’d seen the so-called Christmas roses on impulse she opened the door and went out to admire them.