The Untamed Bride Plus Black Cobra 02-03 and Special Excerpt (14 page)

“In that case, you can let me pay for them—I’m
more than flush enough to buy my own gowns.”

“That’s not the issue. I can’t countenance you
paying for the necessaries to continue our ruse. This is my mission, not yours.
My responsibility, not yours.”

Those last two points were ones Del felt sure he needed to
stress—and often. In every possible way.

She grumbled, “I can’t see how those evening gowns could
be deemed necessary.”

“Oh, they are. Believe me, they are.” They—and the
visions of her in them—were going to keep him going through the coming
days. His reward, as it were, for weathering the difficulties keeping her with
him had already caused, and those yet to come.

“They’ll come to a pretty penny—you do realize
that?”

“After all my years in India, I’m wealthy enough to
rival Croesus, so your concern on that point, while appreciated, is
unnecessary.”

She humphed. Eventually she said, by way of conceding, “Just
be warned that that last evening gown alone will cost a small fortune. Madame
may be young, but she values her work highly.”

“Rightly so.” He felt doubly triumphant that he’d
won that round—won the right to pay for her gowns. He should, he knew, be
exceedingly wary about such a reaction, but he was too busy wallowing in the
victory to let such considerations dim his mood. “A workman is worthy of
his hire, and all that. But your point is duly noted—I promise not to
expire of shock.”

She gave an unladylike snort, then fell silent.

He strolled on, with her on his arm, and imagined seeing her in that
pale green gown. Wondered how he might arrange it.

Some paces on, the fact that she’d been perfectly willing to
part with “a small fortune” of her own registered. But her family
wasn’t wealthy, and he was fairly certain she couldn’t have
inherited more than a competence from any relative, not without his aunts
mentioning it.

Now he thought of it, she was traveling with an entire household,
staying at major inns, hiring carriages and private parlors—and she
hadn’t even paused to consider the cost of putting up at Grillon’s.
He’d be picking up the bill there, but she hadn’t known that, and
still didn’t.

She was wealthy. But how?

“Did you and the others catch any of those men?”

Her question shook him out of his abstraction. “Yes.”
They’d reached Berkeley Square. Halting, he glanced around, one
comprehensive survey, then turned to her. “And as there appear to be no
more following us, we’re going to take a detour.”

“Oh? To where?”

“The Bastion Club.”

December 13
The Bastion Club, Montrose Street, London

T
he club wasn’t far. The hackney Del had hired halted outside a house in a street south of Hyde Park.

Standing on the pavement beside Del while he paid off the jarvey, Deliah owned to considerable curiosity over the strange “private gentlemen’s-cum-family” club she’d heard so much about. Number 12 Montrose Street was a solid house, not dissimilar to those flanking it. As they walked up the neatly paved path to the front porch, she could see nothing to distinguish it from any other gentleman’s residence.

The front door opened as they ascended the porch steps. A neat, rotund individual in the garb of a majordomo—somewhere between a butler’s regulation black tails and a gentleman’s gentleman’s less formal attire—stood waiting to greet them, a delighted smile on his kindly face.

“Colonel Delborough?”

“Indeed. And this is Miss Duncannon. I believe Torrington and Crowhurst are already here?”

“Indeed, sir. I am Gasthorpe.” He bowed them in, then took Del’s greatcoat. “If we may be of assistance at any
time, sir, please do not hesitate to call upon me and the staff here.”

Deliah elected to keep her pelisse on. “Torrington and Crowhurst told us of this place.” While the underlying ambiance of the house was sparse and rather plainly severe, a vase of hothouse blooms rioted on the hall table, their color and freshness drawing the eye, softening the décor. There was a lace doily beneath the vase, and numerous other little touches that spoke of female, rather than only male. “I understand it was originally just for the gentlemen, but clearly that has changed.”

“Oh, yes, miss—we often have the ladies to stay these days. Once the gentlemen wed—indeed, even before, during their various adventures—we were called upon to accommodate their ladies.”

She was curious. “You don’t seem to mind.”

“I will admit I was initially trepidatious, but now we look forward to the families descending—quite keeps us on our toes.”

Deliah smiled. “I can imagine.”

“Torrington and Crowhurst?” Del inquired.

“Yes, sir. They’re awaiting you downstairs with the captured miscreants.” Beaming at Deliah, Gasthorpe gestured to the room to the right of the front door. “If you would care to wait in comfort in the parlor, miss, I will bring up a tea tray directly.”

Deliah glanced, once, at the room beyond the open door, then, brows rising, looked at Del. “I’m not in the mood for tea, but I do want to see these men. I’ll come with you.”

Del had hoped that Gasthorpe might manage to deflect her, but wasn’t truly surprised that he’d failed. Stifling a resigned sigh, he nodded. “Very well.” He’d long ago learned not to fight unnecessary skirmishes but to save his powder for the important battles. He looked at Gasthorpe. “Lead on.”

Gasthorpe looked uncertain, but he took his lead from Del and, without argument, turned and led them to a set of stairs
at the back of the front hall.

Waving Deliah ahead of him, Del followed her down. The stairs led to spacious kitchens. Gasthorpe led them through and into a narrow corridor, off which several storerooms lay. He paused outside one. With his hand on the latch, he turned to them. “This is one of our holding rooms.”

As Gasthorpe opened the door, Del drew Deliah back and entered first. He halted just inside, then moved further in, allowing her to follow.

Deliah took in the occupants of the small room in one glance. Tony and Gervase sat with their backs to the door, on straight-backed chairs before a plain wooden table. On the other side of the table, three ruffians slouched on a bench. Hands tied before them, they propped against each other, shoulder to shoulder.

All three looked rather the worse for wear. Two sported blackening eyes. The other had a nasty bruise on his chin. All three looked uneasy, restless and uncertain.

Tony and Gervase glanced at Del and her as they entered; both started to rise, but she waved them back to their seats. She and Del remained standing behind them.

Subsiding and turning back to the table, Tony gestured to their captives. “We’ve been chatting with these gentlemen.” Despite the easy tenor of his words, there was a definite suggestion of steel beneath. “They don’t seem to know very much about anything, but we thought we’d wait for you before getting to specifics.”

Standing inside the now closed door, Deliah viewed the three ruffians and was glad of the three gentlemen between her and them. For all they were tied and clearly off-balance, they were hulking brutes with rough menace in their beady eyes—all of which had fixed on her.

Regardless, she felt perfectly safe. The three gentlemen were more than a counter to the louts; the menace that rolled off their elegant selves was of an infinitely more lethal variety.

And the louts knew it.

That the pecking order was established and recognized was immediately made clear. When Del asked who had hired them, the louts answered readily.

“Geezer came to our tavern—it’s in the East End. Said he were looking for men to grab a woman as was giving him trouble. He’d make it worth our while. All we had to do was grab her, and bring her to him tonight, and we’d get ten sovereigns.”

“Ten sovereigns?” Deliah was incensed. “That’s insulting!”

Del sent her a quelling look.

“How did you know which lady to grab?” Gervase asked.

The lout in the middle looked at Deliah. “He said she were tall, with dark red hair, a real looker—and she was staying at Grillon’s.”

Deliah crossed her arms. “What, exactly, were you supposed to do with me after you seized me?”

“He made it sound easy.” The lout on the left sniffed. “Didn’t say nuffin ’bout you havin’ guards. All we had to do was snatch you off the street, and being careful not to damage the goods, bring you to the tavern tonight. He said to sit in a corner, an’ keep you quiet ’til he arrived.”

Deliah was tempted to ask how they’d thought to keep her quiet.

“Describe this man,” Del said.

The louts grimaced, looked at each other. Then the one in the middle shrugged. “Nothing special about him. Could be anyone.”

“Not helpful,” Tony murmured, and the louts paled.

“How tall was he?” Deliah asked.

The louts looked at her. “Maybe an inch or so taller’n you, miss. Ma’am.” The middle lout glanced at Del. “Not so tall as the gentl’man.”

Deliah nodded. “What about his clothes?”

The lout grimaced. “Middling. Not one thing nor another.”

“He wasn’t a toff, that’s certain,” one of the others put in.

“Nay—he weren’ even a gentl’man, though he spoke well
enough.”

“Describe the man’s hair,” Deliah said. “What color, and how was it cut?”

The louts looked at her, then one answered, “Brown hair, longish.”

Deliah glanced at Del. “Not the man in Southampton.”

“Nor the two at Windlesham.” Del looked at the ruffians. “Where’s this tavern?”

The three shifted on the bench, exchanging glances. Then the one in the middle—the leader—looked up. “What’s in it fer us if we tell you?”

It was Tony who answered. “It’s simple enough. Tell us where the tavern is, and after we keep your appointment for you, we’ll hand you over to the authorities for attempted thieving, rather than attempted kidnapping. In other words, your choice is between transportation, or hanging.”

The three exchanged another, longer glance, then the leader sighed. “All right. It’s the Blue Barrel in Cobalt Lane.”

Leaving the three louts in Gasthorpe’s custody, the four of them repaired to the library upstairs. A comfortable room on the first floor with large leather armchairs and numerous side tables, it was the perfect venue for discussing developments, and planning their next move.

“Tony and I will keep their appointment this evening,” Gervase said. “We’ll see who turns up, and if we’re lucky, follow them back to the Black Cobra’s lair.”

“I doubt it’ll be that simple,” Del said. He glanced at Deliah. “Ferrar clearly wants to use you as hostage for the letter.”

“Presumably,” Tony said, “he sees that as an easier option than making a direct try for it.”

“Which,” Gervase added, “tells us he’s engaged—that we have his attention—which, after all, is the crux of our mission.”

“That, and reducing his forces.” Del frowned. “So far, we’ve only seen locals—hirelings.”

“Perhaps,” Deliah said, “I should play the part of captive hostage this evening?” She looked at the three men. “I’ll be perfectly safe, because you’ll be my captors.”

For one instant, she glimpsed horror in all three pairs of eyes, then their expressions blanked.

“No.” Del’s tone was unequivocal, unassailable.

Deliah met his eyes, read his absolute opposition. Shrugged. “All right.” She didn’t harbor any ambition to visit an East End tavern, much less run the risk of meeting the Black Cobra; she’d only made the offer because she’d felt she should.

All three men looked at her, searched her face for a moment more, as if not quite certain of the sincerity of her agreement, then Del looked at Gervase. “So what should we do to fill the rest of the day?”

What could he do to ensure she was distracted?
Just the thought of her sitting in some seedy tavern, a hostage waiting to be collected by the Black Cobra, had shaken him—in a way he wasn’t accustomed to being shaken. He’d never felt possessive about any other woman, let alone a lady, let alone a lady like her. If given the choice, he would have elected to go with Gervase and Tony to the tavern that night, but now…he didn’t dare leave her to her own devices. Who knew what she might take it into her head to do? All in the name of being helpful, of course.

Despite his mission being to flush out the Black Cobra, he knew beyond question that his place was with her. Guarding against any possible threat to her.

Tony and Gervase seemed to be thinking along similar lines. In short order, between them they decided on an afternoon of excursions that might, or might not, draw out the cult’s forces, but would definitely occupy Deliah’s time.

December 13
City of London

“Is that it?” Deliah peered out of the hackney at a long stone
building with an impressive façade of Doric pillars fronting Leadenhall Street. The pillars were crowned by a pediment with numerous carved figures.

“East India House,” Del confirmed. “The London headquarters of the Honorable East India Company.”

“They take themselves very seriously, don’t they?”

“Indeed. Wait until you see inside. I’ve heard the new skylight is quite something.”

After letting Gasthorpe feed them luncheon in the dining room of the club, they’d hailed two hackneys and set out for the city. Del and Deliah were in the first carriage, while Tony and Gervase followed in the second. While Del and Deliah went inside, Tony and Gervase would watch from the street to see if any likely-looking characters took an interest.

Their hackney halted before the steps leading up between the pillars. Del descended, after one glance around handed Deliah down, then paid off the jarvey. He turned to find Deliah, head back, staring up at the frieze above the pillars.

“Is that Britannia? And Tritons on sea horses?”

“As you remarked, the company considers itself an august institution.” Taking her arm, he led her up the steps and through the massive doors, which attentive doormen in the uniforms of sepoy regiments leapt to hold wide.

Inside, massive braziers glowed, taking the chill from the marble walls and floors. Deliah halted, staring around. “The word that springs to mind is
opulent
.”

“And this is merely the foyer.” He steered her on through a massive archway into a huge chamber that rose fully three stories high. It was lit by a large, domed skylight. Niches on the wall held marble statues; glass-fronted cabinets displayed jeweled Indian artifacts, and gold and silver plate.

Halting, Deliah looked around. “Simple words fail me. I take it they wanted everyone to realize how profitable trade with India is?”

“I suspect that was a large part of the motivation.” Del glanced around, looking for familiar faces. “This is the
Grand Court Room. We’re going to visit the main rooms, see who’s here, chat with some.” He looked at her. “It would help if you would smile and hang on my arm. And, if possible, remain silent.”

Deliah arched her brows, but twined her arm in his and endeavored to keep a light, airy smile on her face.

They started promenading. There were many others about, and while some hurried past with papers in their hands, or were deep in serious discussions, most seemed to be socializing—discussing business, perhaps, but without any specific intent.

Some among the gathering—mostly officers in the uniforms of various regiments, but others in civilian attire—recognized Del. All evinced surprise as they shook his hand. “What brings you home?” was the common first question.

One, Deliah noted, he didn’t actually answer. Instead, he spoke of when he’d arrived, and asked after others who might be there that day. When a few in uniform asked after his colleagues, he admitted some others were also expected home any day.

It didn’t take long for Deliah to realize that, with her hanging as directed, sweetly smiling on his arm, those who spoke with them leapt to the obvious conclusion.

When they moved on through an archway into the next room, she leaned close and murmured, “You’re deliberately letting people imagine that you came home to marry me.”

He glanced at her, met her eyes. “It’s easier than telling the truth.”

She mulled over that for a moment, then asked, “Why? Why not say you’re here to lay evidence against the Black Cobra? There’s no reason to keep it secret, is there? The Black Cobra already knows.”

“True. But my mission is to draw the cultists out, not to encourage a horde of well-meaning others to become involved. Many of those here know of the Black Cobra’s villainy and would be happy to assist in bringing him down. Yet playing this sort of game is the same as cooking—having too many
cooks doesn’t help.”

Another gentleman approached to speak with Del. Deliah continued to smile while she pondered his words.