Untamed Bride

by Stephanie Laurens

  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.

  In lieu of port, Del told Cobby to fetch a bottle of arrack from his bags, Gervase and Tony having voiced a wish to sample the Indian version of brandy.

  Tony glanced at Gervase, then looked at Del. “Perhaps we should repair to your room.” He turned his charming smile on Deliah. “We should discuss strategy, which will no doubt bore Miss Duncannon to tears.”

  Deliah smiled, equally charming. “On the contrary, Miss Duncannon is all ears.” Her smile took on an edge. “I know all about the Black Cobra—or at least all I need to. You and Gervase may speak freely.”

  Tony and Gervase exchanged a swift, surprised, not entirely approving look, then glanced at Del.

  “Two men tried to abduct Miss Duncannon during our halt at Windlesham.”

  Tony and Gervase straightened. “That,” Gervase said, glancing at Deliah, “is not good news.”

  “You didn’t manage to capture them?” Tony asked.

  Briefly, Del described what had happened. “After that, as Miss Duncannon—”

  “Please call me Deliah—it’s simpler, and we’re clearly all in this together.”

  Del inclined his head. “As Deliah subsequently observed, given that the Cobra has demonstrated he definitely has her in his sights, it was too dangerous for her not to know what, precisely, was going on.” He met her gaze. “Incidentally, did you get any hint that there were others nearby—the man who shot at me, for instance?”

  “No—it was just the two you saw. I don’t think there were any others close.”

  “Can you describe both men? The rest of us barely saw the one who fled.”

  She complied, painting a picture sufficiently detailed to have all three men frowning.

  “It sounds very much as if the Black Cobra is hiring locals to assist him—specifically to act against us so that there’s no chance he or his lieutenants will be implicated.” Del’s gaze rested on Deliah. “You described the man who shot at me in Southampton—thinking of that now, I can’t be sure if he was Ferrar’s man Larkins, or a local hired to do the deed. If you saw him again, would you recognize him?”

  “Definitely,” Deliah averred. “I looked directly at him, and there were only ten yards or so between us.”

  And that, Del thought, very possibly explained the attack on her. Ferrar would also know that kidnapping her was a surefire way of pulling him into pursuit—pulling him away from his defined route, deflecting him from his mission.

  “Given the current state of play”—he chose his words carefully—“you shouldn’t venture outside—anywhere in public—without at least one of us in close attendance.”

  When he glanced at her, he was surprised by her ready nod. As if sensing his latent suspicion, she arched a brow. “After all you’ve told me, I have no wish to become a…guest of the Black Cobra.”

  “No, indeed.” His expression stripped of all levity, Tony looked at Del. “I should mention that while Gasthorpe and his minions are desolate to have missed the pleasure of putting you up, they’re always delighted to play supporting roles in our little adventures. Consequently, they’re presently throwing themselves into watching the hotel and scouting out the surrounding streets for any hint of our pursuers.”

  “I take it you saw no potential lookouts during the journey?” Del asked.

  Gervase grimaced. “We saw no Indians, or even tanned Englishmen. We did, however, see numerous shifty characters watching the carriages roll by, but there was no way of telling those reporting to the Black Cobra from the others. No one worth following.”

  The three men fell silent.

  Deliah eyed each face, then prompted, “So what are our plans?” When no one rushed to speak, she suggested, “Perhaps you might reiterate what you wish to achieve over our sojourn in town?”

  “We want,” Del said, “to leave the Black Cobra guessing whether or not I’m carrying the original or a copy of the evidence. If he learns I’ve got a copy, he’ll lose interest in me and swing his focus onto the other three. We don’t want to give him that option. The way I interpreted Wolverstone’s plan, part of the intent was to force the Black Cobra to fight on four different fronts, either simultaneously or at the very least in rapid succession.”

  Gervase nodded. “That’s correct—weaken him by forcing him to spread his troops thin.”

  “So,” Del continued, his gaze on the table, “we keep the scroll-holder safe—that’s taken care of, and given Grillon’s security, it’s as protected as we can make it. We don’t need to do anything more on that front, so that’s our defensive aspect covered. As for the rest, we should do what we can to assess the strength of the Black Cobra’s forces—has he imported many cultists into the country, as we assumed he would, or has he got just a handful, and that’s why he’s hiring locals? Is he using locals because it’s easier, or because he has no choice?”

  He glanced at Tony and Gervase. “The Black Cobra’s modus operandi is to smother opposition—he usually relies on numerical advantage and expendable troops to win any encounter. The cult preaches that death in the service of th
e Black Cobra brings glory. Strategically, he’s accustomed to attacking with an excess of men. It would help—a lot—to know if he has a large number here, held in reserve to date, or if lack of numbers will force him to play the game more craftily.”

  Tony nodded. “So we need to draw him, or at least his forces, out. We need to metaphorically wave the standard and dare him to come and take it—we need to taunt and tempt, just as we would on a battlefield.”

  “Which,” Gervase said, “fits with Royce’s orders to spend some time making noise in town, attracting, then fixing, the enemy’s attention, drawing as much down on our heads as we can handle before we go haring north to Somersham Place, with any luck drawing a goodly number of cultists with us, into an ambush there.” He shrugged. “Standard procedure, all in all.”

  They spent some time discussing options as to what might serve as “waving the standard.”

  “I should at some point call at East India House,” Del said, “if nothing else to give Ferrar a sleepless night—he’ll at least feel forced to check that I haven’t shown anyone there the letter.”

  “You could add in visits to Whitehall and to Guards’ Headquarters.” Tony reached for the now half empty bottle of arrack. “The latter is somewhere he might find difficult to penetrate.”

  Deliah shifted in her chair. She could envision what they were suggesting and could see a potential problem, but she didn’t want to point it out. Better they saw it themselves.

  Gervase frowned. “We can do all that, but I fear it’s all going to look too guarded. Too obvious. He’ll watch, but he won’t come into the open.”

  Precisely. Deliah cleared her throat. “If I might suggest…the one element in your plan that the Black Cobra couldn’t have anticipated is me.” She glanced at Del. “Not even you knew I would be traveling with you. But he now knows I’m with you, and that you are, for some reason unknown to him, acting as my escort. If we—you and I—start going about town on the sorts of excursions a provincial lady—a flighty, demanding provincial lady—would be expected to go on, he’ll assume those excursions are driven by me, not you, that they’re about what I want to do, not about you trying to draw him out.

  “And just think.” Seeing the sudden interest in their eyes, she let her own mounting enthusiasm show. “We can go for walks in the parks, shopping in Bond Street and Bruton Street, visiting the museum—and at this time of year fashionable London is almost deserted. He’s unlikely to mount an attack in Whitehall, or outside the Guards, but outside a dressmaker’s shop in Bruton Street? In the park as the shadows are lengthening? There’s no reason for him to think such excursions are traps, not if you’re escorting me.”

  Gervase slowly nodded. “That could work.”

  Del thought it might, too, but felt distinctly reluctant. It hadn’t escaped him that, no matter her innocent I’m-merely-being-helpful attitude, Deliah had inserted herself into the heart of the action.

  More, she’d made the worthiness of the excursions dependent on her.

  Tony, too, waxed enthusiastic. “You could break up the fashionable excursions with those places Del mentioned—all places the Black Cobra would expect him to go.” He paused, then nodded. “That should work—we have to make the enemy believe he has a chance of success if we want him to risk his men.”

  Del listened while the others discussed fashionable excursions with the potential to tempt an attack. He had to agree with their strategic assessment; Deliah’s presence would lure the cultists into discounting any chance of a trap. And although he inwardly disapproved of her exposure to potential harm, he would be beside her, and Tony and Gervase would be close, ready to come to their aid.

  Still….

  It was late, and they’d been traveling. With a decent list of excursions to mull over, they agreed to make their final arrangements in the morning, and rose to go to their rooms.

  Tony and Gervase made their goodnights and strolled out. Del followed them to the suite’s door, Deliah beside him.

  He stepped into the corridor, then paused and glanced back at her.

  She raised her brows. “What?”

  He hesitated, then said, “Just because I’ve agreed to your involvement doesn’t mean I’m in any way thrilled at the notion of you being exposed to danger, much less to the machinations of the Black Cobra.”

  She returned his regard levelly. “You’ll be every bit as exposed to the same danger. And when all is said and done, you’re not that much harder to kill than I am.”

  He frowned. Before he could correct her, she started to shut the door.

  “Good night, Del.”

  Her soft words reached him, then he was left staring at the closed door.

  December 12

  Shrewton House, London

  The drawing room of Shrewton House in Grosvenor Square was exactly as Alex had imagined it. Of course, the family was presently not in residence, and all the furniture was shrouded in holland covers, yet even in the shadowed gloom with the chandeliers unlit, the proportions of the room, the elegant appointments, were evident.

  Alex sank onto the chaise Roderick had uncovered, and watched him pacing before his ancestral hearth. More correctly, their ancestral hearth—they could all lay claim to it. Their servants had set a fire blazing, driving the frigid chill from the air.

  Roderick grimaced. “Grillon’s might be unsuitable for a direct attack, but at least we can keep watch on them there easily enough.”

  “And”—Daniel subsided, languidly elegant, into a still shrouded armchair—“I seriously doubt Delborough is naïve enough to imagine he can advance his cause by showing the letter around East India House, or even Whitehall.” Daniel looked at Roderick. “He knows your connections.”

  “Regardless,” Roderick returned, “we’ll watch.”

  “Indeed.” Unshakably calm, Alex asked, “Meanwhile, what is Larkins doing about retrieving Delborough’s letter?”

  “His man inside Delborough’s party is still there—a lucky break. Larkins is confident his man will find the letter and bring it out.”

  “But Larkins isn’t simply relying on this thief of his, is he?” Daniel asked.

  “No. If he sees a chance to take a hostage—the lady, for example—he’ll act. And if for any reason he judges the letter has passed beyond our reach, unattainable by any means, he’ll kill Delborough.” Roderick continued to pace. “We’ll watch and attack if an opportunity presents—aside from all else, it’s what Delborough will expect, and the attacks will keep him focused outward, not on his own household.”

  “M’wallah tells me that Larkins isn’t using our men.” Alex made the statement and waited for an explanation.

  Roderick nodded. “I thought it best, at least while we’re shorthanded and the rest of our men are still arriving, that wherever possible Larkins should use local hirelings, rather than risk our own forces.”

  Alex smiled. “An excellent call.” It always paid to compliment Roderick when he got things right. “So where are the others—our far-flung cultists?”

  “We’ve got groups waiting in every south coast port, and those on the east as far north as Whitby. There are assassins with each group, and of course we have men on the trail of the other three. Given their varied routes and the impossibility of correctly predicting which English port they’ll eventually use, I’ve given orders that, should they make it alive and still carrying their scroll-holder to any of the embarkation ports on the Continent, the first thing the men following them should do is inform us immediately.” Roderick glanced at Daniel, then Alex. “That way, we’ll have warning and time enough to get a suitable welcome in place.”

  “A welcome that has yet to be successful in Delborough’s case,” Alex coolly pointed out.

  “We didn’t have our usual complement of men available when Delborough arrived, but with a man inside his household, and the good colonel dallying in London with his mystery lady, we’ll succeed.” Roderick paused and once again glanced at Daniel, then Alex
. “Regardless of retrieving all four letters, we should ensure that the couriers—all four of them—do not escape unscathed.”

  Alex smiled coldly, a chilling sight. “I agree entirely. We wouldn’t want anyone to think we’d lost our fangs.”

  Three

  December 13

  Grillon’s Hotel

  They gathered over breakfast in the sitting room. The suite, Deliah admitted, was a strategic advantage for which Del had foreseen the need. They had to meet with Tony and Gervase to discuss their plans, but wanted to avoid being seen in public with their secret guards.

  They quickly decided on their program for that day.

  “Some of Gasthorpe’s lads will be assisting,” Gervase said, “so don’t be surprised if they join in any fight.”

  “How will we know who they are?” she asked.

  Tony smiled. “They’ll be fighting on our side.”

  She would have made some retort, but Gervase quickly went on, “Gasthorpe sent word—a message from Royce.” He nodded at Del. “You are the first one home, but Hamilton’s reached Boulogne—he’s expected to cross the Channel in the next few days.”

  “That’s good news.” Del felt a quiet relief knowing Gareth had made it that far unscathed.

  “All is, we’re told, in place for him to be met when he sets foot on English soil, but as usual Royce has omitted to men tion where that will be.” Gervase smiled resignedly. Del and Tony did, too.

  Deliah asked, “Did this commander of yours say anything further?”

  Gervase pushed his empty plate away. “Only that we should proceed as planned and draw out the cultists in London.” He glanced at Del. “The letter’s safe?”

  Del nodded. “It’s never left unattended.”

  “Right, then.” Tony rose, gave his hand to Deliah and gallantly assisted her to her feet. “Let’s get cracking. First stop, Bond Street.”

  “It’s been years since I was here,” Deliah said.

  As she was standing with her nose all but pressed to the window of Asprey, Jewellers to the Crown, and had spoken without lifting her gaze from the sparkling display, Del had guessed as much. Her arm in his, she’d all but towed him down Albemarle Street, into Piccadilly and around the corner into Bond Street. Pretending to be dragging his heels hadn’t been difficult.