The Untamed Bride Plus Black Cobra 02-03 and Special Excerpt (10 page)

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.

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.”