The Untamed Bride Plus Black Cobra 02-03 and Special Excerpt

by Stephanie Laurens

  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 discu
ssions, 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.

  The room they were now in, the New Sale Room, was decorated with pilasters and paintings of scenes of Indian commerce. Curious, she let her eyes feast, while her mind turned over their situation.

  They continued to stroll, and the New Sale Room gave way to the Old Sale Room, with statues of various dignitaries. She made out Lord Clive and Sir Eyre Coote among them. Although she listened to Del’s exchanges, they added little to what she already knew of him, other than establishing that he was held in high esteem, by the miltary men especially, but by the civilians, too.

  They eventually strolled on into what Del told her was the room of the Committee of Correspondence. The large chamber held portraits of past governors-general, the Marquis of Cornwallis and Warren Hastings among them. Of more interest to her was the large number of paintings depicting views of Indian scenery that lined the walls.

  At last, after more than an hour, they returned to the grand foyer.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, Deliah turned to him and said, “I realize now that my insisting you escort me home to Humberside has made your mission that much more difficult—more complicated.”

  She knew he hadn’t intended to include her among the “well-meaning others,” that he’d accepted her help and her place in their little group of conspirators, but he would have preferred to be rid of her from the start…and if that kiss this morning had demonstrated anything, it was that she couldn’t trust herself—her inner self—when it came to him, when he was anywhere near.

  Dragging in a quick breath, she lifted her chin. “So I’ll apologize for that, and if it will make your mission easier, you can leave me here, in London. I can go and stay with my old governess for a few days, until you go on to Cambridgeshire and lead the Black Cobra away. Then I can make my way home. I’ll have Kumulay and the rest of my household with me. It’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “No.” Del didn’t even think before the answer was on his lips. He paused, frowning. Reminded of her earlier insistence on propriety—something he now knew was uncharacteristic—he had to wonder why she’d acted as she had and clung so tenaciously to his promised escort, but he set that conundrum aside for later. He had to quash her latest suggestion; his instinctive response was to reject it out of hand. Which he’d done. Now he needed to assemble his rationalization. His explanation.

  His excuse.

  He’d managed to keep his expression impassive. His eyes locked with hers, he stated, “You had your chance to bow out of my mission at the beginning, but now you’re a part of it—an integral part as far as the Black Cobra is concerned—so you have to stay with me and see it through to the end.”

  Only then would she be safe. Regardless of what might develop between them—and after this morning he was increasingly certain something would—there was no way this side of Heaven he would let her out of his orbit to be exposed to the malicious vindictiveness of the Black Cobra.

  She held his gaze, studied his eyes, considered his words, then inclined her head. “If that’s what you truly wish, then I’ll stay.”

  He was unprepared for the relief that swept through him.

  Entirely satisfied—she hadn’t wanted to step back but had felt honor-bound to make the offer—Deliah looked around again, thinking of the large number who’d come to talk to him. “Isn’t there anyone in the company you can warn about the evidence, about the Black Cobra himself?”

  “If there was, I would, but as the culprit’s Ferrar, there’s no one in the company I feel confident would—or could—see justice done. Ferrar’s father, the earl, is a director, and he almost certainly has too many of the other directors in his pocket. That’s his way of doing business.”

  Del swept the foyer one last time, then took her arm. “Come. We’ve spent enough time here—talked to enough people to have Ferrar wondering.”

  Deliah looked at him. “Is he here?”

  “No, but various associates are. News of my visit will do the rounds. The Black Cobra will hear.”

  He escorted her outside, onto the pavement in front of the building.

  When he halted and pulled out his fob-watch, she glanced across the street and saw Tony lounging, with Gervase further along. “Where to now?”

  Replacing his watch, he said, “It’s just after three, and the afternoon is fine. So how would a lady of your ilk pass the time?”

  Deliah wasn’t averse to an amble in Hyde Park. Not only was she happy to stretch her legs over the lush lawns but as the female half of the ton—or at least as much of it as remained in the capital in that season—was arrayed in its customary splendor in the carriages drawn up along the Avenue, there was plenty to catch her eye.

  Strolling beside her, Del noticed her absorption. “I thought you weren’t all that interested in the latest fashions.”

  “I’m not.” Her eye caught by a particularly fine crepe gown—very bravely worn considering the icy breeze that rattled the bare branches—she answered absentmindedly. “I’m more interested in the materials themselves.”

  A moment passed. “Why?”

  She blinked, realized what she’d said. Glanced at him, and saw from the intentness in his eyes that he wasn’t likely to accept an evasive answer. And truly, why should she conceal her success? Especially from an ex-East India Company man. “I…have an interest—a commercial interest—in cotton.”

  His brows rose.

  She hurried on, “My primary investments are in sugarcane, but I recently had an opportunity to buy into cotton farming and importation, and I did. Consequently, I’m interested in the degree to which cotton is used compared to wool or silk.”

  He was now regarding her with fascinated interest. “You invest?”

  Ladies weren’t supposed to, of course, but she was tired of hiding her light under a bushel. Tired of pretending to be a woman she was not. She nodded. “My uncle encouraged me to learn the ropes. While he’s terribly conservative in some ways, in others, he’s quite progressive. And, of course, in Jamaica it’s not so unheard of for ladies to be involved.”

  She glanced at Del, wondering if he’d prove to be one of those gentlemen for whom the very notion of ladies being involved in making money was simply scandalous.

  “What sort of company is it? Has it been operational for long? And are the returns as good as with sugarcane?”

  His questions came thick and fast. Absorbed with answering, she strolled on be
side him. The shrewdness behind his questions suggested he had more than a passing understanding of investing. Even more reassuring, he demonstrably viewed her involvement with respect, not derision.

  She couldn’t recall ever discussing business in such depth with anyone other than her longtime brokers, now far away in Jamaica.

  They came to the end of the Avenue, and he paused, then steered her across the carriage drive into a secluded walk leading deeper into Kensington Gardens. The gravel path was lined with thick borders backed by a row of even thicker bushes. “Keep talking,” he murmured.

  “Are they following us?” When he nodded, she asked, “How many?”

  He listened. “Three, I think. At least.”

  “Are Tony and Gervase near?”

  “Back behind the trees to our north. They’ll be keeping pace on that side.”

  They walked on, chatting of this and that, no longer paying attention to their words. Along one side, other paths joined theirs, but the bushes along the north side continued in an unbroken line.

  “They’re being rather furtive,” he eventually said. “Which suggests they might, at last, be cultists, rather than hired locals.”

  By mutual unspoken accord, they slowed. Deliah, too, heard stealthy rustling following them along the line of bushes.

  “They’re still there,” she murmured, “but we’re nearly at the end of the path.”

  Del looked ahead. The path ended, opening onto a wide lawn, thirty yards ahead. Taking Deliah’s elbow, he slowed further. “We need to lure them out.”

  Even as the words left his lips, the sound of giggles and light voices eagerly chatting came from behind them. Glancing back, they saw a party of very young young ladies and their attending beaux step onto the path a good way back.

  The rustling ceased abruptly.

  Deliah exchanged a look with Del. “Perhaps they’ll take one of the other paths and leave this one.”