The Untamed Bride

Eight

December 15

Albemarle Street, London

Her hand in Del’s, Deliah climbed onto the step of the front carriage. Pausing to, from her temporary vantage point, look over the heads at the others entering the two carriages behind, she noticed the young Indian lad-the one Bess called the colonel’s boy-scurrying up from around the corner. He spoke to Janay, then conferred with Mustaf, who pointed at the roof of the third carriage. The boy nodded eagerly, and with the agility of a monkey, swarmed up to the roof, settling amid the bags and bundles secured there.

With a quirk of her brows, Deliah ducked and entered the carriage. As she took her seat, she decided she envied the boy. He’d have a good view as they traveled north through London, and with all the luggage around him, he’d have reasonable protection from the elements.

It was a still day, pervasively cold with gray clouds hanging low and a scent in the air that foretold snow. Not yet, however. Once they reached the open countryside, they would get a better sense of what the day might bring.

Del had paused on the pavement to exchange a few words with the head porter. Deliah settled her skirts, sank into the comforting leather. Del’s household and hers had merged into an effective team. The women had banded together and commandeered the second, slightly larger carriage. They would sit and chat and gossip through the journey. The men had been consigned to the third carriage; that no doubt would travel north in greater silence.

The doorway darkened as Del climbed in. He sat beside her, and the head porter, beaming and touching the brim of his hat, shut the door.

The carriage tipped fractionally as Cobby climbed up beside the driver, then a whip cracked, the carriage jerked as the horses leaned into the harness, and they were away, rolling slowly through the streets on their journey into Cambridgeshire.

Deliah glanced at Del. He was looking out of the window at the streetscapes sliding by. Her thoughts returned to the boy. She wondered how he’d come to be part of Del’s household, felt sure there would be some story there. It was tempting to ask, but…having Del there, seated beside her, reminded her of other things. Other things she really should take the time to think about.

So she did. Let the observations and questions she’d set aside over recent days, that she’d allowed to be overtaken by recent events, finally form in her mind.

Let her thoughts dwell on him, and on what had happened between them, what now existed between them-what label it was most accurate to attach to their…liaison.

Chief among her mental questions was how long that liaison would last.

As they rattled and rumbled through the streets of London, a comfortable silence enveloped them, contrasting with the bustle and noisy hustle outside, the buzz of humanity natural in any large city. And London was the largest of them all. It had spread and sprawled since she’d last traveled through it.

They’d chosen not to take the Great North Road, the obvious route to Cambridgeshire. With its constant stream of carriages, coaches and carts, wagons and riders, that route would be no help in tempting the Black Cobra into an attack. They’d opted instead for the lesser road through Royston. They should reach that minor town in the open country beyond London’s sprawl by lunchtime.

It was after that, once they’d lunched and taken to the road again, traveling along a straight but less frequented stretch to Godmanchester, then along a series of progressively quieter country roads to Somersham, that they expected their invitation to be accepted and the fiend to stage an ambush.

The view beyond the carriage window was growing more countrified. Deliah stirred, glanced at Del. “This house-Somersham Place. Why are you, and Tony and Gervase, so sure no attack will be made after we reach there?”

His lips curved in clear reminiscence. “You’ll understand when you see it. It’s a principal ducal residence, and it’s huge-massive. You could lose a company in it without effort.” He glanced at her, met her eyes. “I visited there years ago-in my school days. I knew houses could be large, but it was a revelation.”

“Is it the duke you know from…Eton?”

He nodded. “Sylvester Cynster, as he was then, known from the cradle by all as Devil. For good reason.”

She arched her brows. “Are you sure-if he was named that from the cradle-that it wasn’t simply a case of him living up to the title?”

He smiled. “That, too. Regardless, when the word went out for extra troops, cavalry in particular, in the lead up to Waterloo, Devil and his Cynster cousins joined as a body of six. We’d kept in touch. Through a feat of string-pulling, they were attached to my troop, so we fought together there.”

“Side by side?”

“Mostly back to back. It wasn’t pretty fighting, that day.” His voice, his expression, had turned grim.

She waited.

After a moment, Del shook aside the darker memories, refocused, then smiled again. “You’ll meet them-the six cousins. Apparently they’re all at Somersham with their wives.” That he was waiting to see. The idea of those hellions brought to heel by a pack of ladies…he wasn’t quite sure he believed it, but he was certainly curious, and looking forward to meeting the ladies involved. “They-the whole family-always gather at Somersham for Christmas, but this year the six families came early so the men could assist with Wolverstone’s plan. They know the other three couriers who are ferrying in the scroll-holders almost as well as they know me.”

“So it’s a reunion of sorts?”

He nodded. “A reunion with the benefit, at least for the Cynsters, of seeing some action again.”

“I wonder how their wives feel about that?”

He wondered, too, but didn’t reply to the faintly caustic question. “The only other couple who will be there, at least that I know of, is Gyles Rawlings, the Earl of Chillingworth, and his wife. Gyles, Devil, and I were all at Eton in the same year. Devil and Gyles were the friendly foes, and I was the peacemaker.”

Deliah glanced at him-an assessing, slightly cynical, but affectionate glance.

He pretended not to notice. “But to answer your question, the reason we consider the Place a safe house, one where no attack is likely after we’ve settled there, is because once Ferrar or Larkins gets the slightest inkling of the number of ex-military men in the house, they’ll pull back. The original idea was to use it as a bolt-hole-a safe place for us to run to once we’d engaged with the cultists, hopefully drawing them along, snapping at our heels, straight into the Cynsters’ arms. Whether we manage that or not-” He broke off, lightly shrugged.

After a moment, he went on, “Wolverstone’s waiting on one of his estates conveniently nearby, so the Place is ideally situated to be a secondary barracks of sorts. We’ll learn more when we get there.”

Deliah paused to take mental note. It seemed she was shortly to meet a duchess, a countess, and at least five other ladies of their circle, all most likely a few years younger than she. Certainly a lot more haut ton than she. At least, courtesy of their visit to Madame Latour’s salon, she had a suitable wardrobe.

Dismisssing the distracting thought-she’d deal with the ladies when she met them-she refocused on the here and now, on Del and his mission.

With a better picture of the wider plan taking shape in her mind, she murmured, “So once we reach Somersham Place, any chance of the cultists mounting an attack on us will be past?”

Del nodded. Folding his arms across his chest, he volunteered nothing more.

He didn’t have to; she could read his hopes and fears with ease.

They hadn’t sighted a single one of the Black Cobra’s own men, except perhaps for the man she’d seen in Southampton, the one Del thought was Ferrar’s gentleman’s gentleman. Despite their plans for the day-plans she now realized were a final throw of the dice-Tony, Gervase, and even more so Del, were tending glum.

They felt they were failing in their mission-in their decoy’s task of drawing out the enemy and reducing his numbers. She could imagine how they were going to feel tonight if they reached the Place without incident.

If they failed to tempt the Black Cobra into the open, into risking his cultists against them.

Relaxing against the seat, she faced forward and thought of their strategy, and of the time they had left.

They were deep in the countryside with signposts to Royston flashing past at every crossroads when she said, “This isn’t going to work.” Turning her head, she caught Del’s eye. “Not if you want to draw out however many of the cultists are following us.”

Arms still crossed, he frowned. “We’re in slow carriages overburdened with females and luggage, and traveling on increasingly less populated byways. At some point, Ferrar-or Larkins, more likely-will risk his hand. He’ll feel he has to.”

“Not if he hasn’t that many men, and he knows about Tony and Gervase.”

He didn’t immediately reply. He studied her eyes, then, still frowning, asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that at least one of the Black Cobra’s men is English-Larkins. It wouldn’t have been that hard for him to discover through watching Grillon’s that there are two other gentlemen who are also of our party-who breakfasted and dined with us, but who otherwise weren’t seen with us. On top of that, we know someone searched our rooms. I think it very likely-indeed, we should assume-that the Black Cobra knows about Tony and Gervase, and if he’s as colossally clever as you say, he’ll have seen through that trap. We should assume he knows that if he attacks our apparently tempting little convoy, he’ll have Tony and Gervase to deal with as well.”

She paused, assembling her arguments. “You mentioned that the cultists won’t use pistols. That puts them at a disadvantage when facing opponents who will.” She looked pointedly at the pistol Del had placed on the seat between them.

“That won’t deter the Black Cobra. He’ll sacrifice foot soldiers without a blink…” Del’s voice died away, his eyes widening slightly.

Deliah nodded. “That’s my point. He might not yet feel he’s in a position to sacrifice any, because he might not yet have enough in the country. You said he-Ferrar-arrived with only his manservant, this Larkins, and only a bare week ahead of you. None of his men on your ship survived. Others presumably would have arrived by now, but surely he’s had to spread them about, keeping watch for the other three couriers. He knows who they are, but not where they are, or where they might land, or where they’ll go after that, or when. And now we’ve moved out of London, his men have to follow us, too.”

Shifting on the seat, she faced Del. “He won’t be able to hire locals for that purpose-which is what we wanted, but conversely, his numbers may well be limited to the point that he’ll feel forced to hold back, at least while he knows Tony and Gervase are with us.”

Pausing, she frowned, putting herself in the Black Cobra’s shoes. “On top of that, he doesn’t know where the scroll-holder is. That’s why someone searched our rooms at Grillon’s.” She met Del’s eyes. “Until he or one of his men actually sight it, Ferrar can’t even be sure you have it with you. That you still have it, decoy or not. It might be with Tony or Gervase. You might have left it in safekeeping in London. If he chances his men now, against our three carriages, it might well be for nought. He knows he’ll lose some men, at least, and he might not as yet be able to spare them, especially if he gets no return.”

Increasingly convinced she was right, she sat back. “If I’m correct, and he doesn’t have enough men to waste on an attack that might prove a worthless trap, when he doesn’t even know if the scroll-holder is with us, available to be snatched, then…” Eyes narrowing, she went on, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but if all is as I surmise-that he’s following us with a limited number of men, and knows Tony and Gervase are near-then the only way for him to successfully get the letter from us is if he swoops in quickly, grabs the letter and runs…but he doesn’t even know that the letter is definitely with us, let alone which carriage it’s in.”

She met Del’s gaze. “At present, you have him stymied. Frustrated, certainly, which is to our advantage, but as he’s so clever, he won’t make any move. He can’t. The odds aren’t in his favor-they’re too great that he’ll lose vital men and gain nothing in return.”

Del couldn’t fault her analysis. Slumping back against the seat, he closed his eyes, softly groaned. “You’re right.” After a moment, he opened his eyes. “In reality we have no chance of luring him into mounting an attack.”

An instant of silence followed, then Deliah said, “I didn’t say that.”

He took a moment to consider, then, feeling his features harden, turned his head and met her gaze. “If you’re about to suggest that, in extremis over this, I should countenance you putting yourself in danger-for instance by acting as bait to lure Ferrar or Larkins into the open-then I suggest you think again.”

Her brows rose haughtily; she all but looked down her nose. “I wasn’t intending to suggest anything of the sort.”

She said nothing more, simply held his gaze.

Waited.

Lips thinning, he asked, albeit grudgingly, “What, then?”

With an air of superior nonchalance, she told him.

He didn’t like it all that much more, but given their total failure to date, and their otherwise likely failure that day, it was worth a try.

December 15

Royston, Hertfordshire

Still not entirely convinced, he decided to sound out Tony and Gervase over lunch. Reaching Royston, they drove through the town with all due fanfare, then halted at the last inn on the road leading to Godmanchester.

They pulled into the inn yard, and all clambered down. The innkeeper was delighted to see them, and even more so when Del ordered the horses to be taken from the shafts and rested.

Cobby, Mustaf, Janay, and Kumulay all sensed a change in the wind. Del paused to tell them to hold themselves ready for a variation in their plans, but meanwhile to take their ease in the taproom with the womenfolk, then he followed Deliah and the innkeeper inside.

She’d already commandeered the small private parlor, and was giving orders for a repast for four-cold meats, bread, cheese, fruit and ale, with tea for her, to be served as soon as possible.

When she turned to him, Del nodded, took her arm and escorted her into the parlor. There were a few curious locals in the tap, but otherwise the inn was perfect for their purposes.

They settled in the parlor. Deliah drifted toward the window. He called her back. “I don’t trust Larkins. If you saw him, he must have seen you, and the Black Cobra is well known for vindictiveness.”

She raised her brows, but didn’t argue, instead sinking into one of the armchairs by the hearth. The parlor was on the opposite side of the inn to the yard; they couldn’t see any arrivals. When the door opened to admit two maids with their meal, Del stepped out of the parlor, scanned the patrons and spotted Tony and Gervase just settling at a table at the rear of the tap. He openly beckoned.

They eyed him for a moment, then rose and joined him.

Tony’s brows quirked. “What’s happened?”

Del tipped his head to the table being set for four. “Join us and you’ll hear.”

The maids bustled out, and the four of them sat.

At his suggestion, while they ate, Deliah repeated her rationale of why their original plan was unlikely to work, why it probably wouldn’t draw the cultists out and give them a chance to thin the ranks.

He then outlined the plan he’d developed to meet her stipulations of what they needed to do to lure the Black Cobra from hiding, to tempt him to strike.

Tony and Gervase listened to the whole impassively.

When Del fell silent, Tony nodded. “It’s worth a try. We’ll be at Somersham tonight, and from all Royce has said, the chances of an attack once we’re there aren’t high. Yet report ing to him without having accounted for even one cultist doesn’t appeal. So I vote we try your lure.”

Gervase likewise nodded. “There’s no harm in dangling it. He’ll either bite, or he won’t.”

Del glanced at Deliah; she raised her brows as if to ask what more he was waiting for.

Suppressing a grimace, he rose, and went out to arrange their departure.

The first carriage-the one he and Deliah were traveling in-was brought around to the front of the inn. Cobby was on the box, the reins in his hand, with Kumulay beside him. Cobby had formed a high opinion of Deliah’s bodyguard’s abilities, and in such matters, Del trusted Cobby’s instincts.

The other two carriages remained in the inn yard, with the six women, Janay, Mustaf and the boy all making a noisy show of reorganizing the luggage. Del stood at the end of the inn’s front porch, hands on hips, impatience radiating from him, and watched.

Deliah walked out of the inn’s front door and across to join Del. She looked at the two carriages, at their obvious disarray, then sighed and looked at Del. “Do we have to wait?”

They didn’t know how close the Black Cobra’s men might be, or if they could read lips.

Del frowned. He studied the two carriages again, then stepped down. He crossed the yard to Mustaf and held out one hand. “Give me the scroll-holder.”

Mustaf looked at him, then reached under his baggy white shirt and drew the cylinder from the leather pouch strapped around his waist.

Taking it, Del turned, used the holder to wave a farewell as he walked back to Deliah, calling, “We’ll see you at Somersham. Don’t take too long.”

“We’ll be after you in no time, sahib.” Mustaf turned and, with a frown, chivvied the women on.

Del hoped the Black Cobra was listening. In reality, instead of following his and Deliah’s carriage, the other two carriages, now much less well-defended, would head to Somersham via Cambridge, a slower and longer, but much more populated and therefore much safer, route.

Reaching Deliah, Del took her arm. “Come on-we may as well get started. They must have given up and”-he glanced back at the inn’s tap-“the other two will be along soon enough.”

Gervase’s and Tony’s horses stood tethered just inside the open stable door, in plain sight.

“Good.” Deliah allowed him to lead her to their carriage’s door. “I can’t wait to have a proper cup of tea.”

He helped her climb in. She smiled at Tony and Gervase, slouched low beneath a traveling blanket on the rear-facing seat, then sat. Del followed her in, closing the door behind him. Picking his way between the others’ long legs, he sat beside Deliah. “Go!” he called, and Cobby flicked the reins.

The carriage lurched, then rolled slowly away from the inn. After turning into the road, it picked up pace.

Once they were clear of the town and bowling along, Gervase and Tony carefully eased up. They remained slouched, back in the shadows and away from the windows, minimizing any chance of their being spotted, even by someone with a spyglass trained on the swiftly moving carriage.

“According to the innkeep,” Gervase said, “the most likely stretch for fun and games is, as we’d thought, between Croydon and Caxton. We’ve got five miles before Croydon.”

“If they wait that long.” Shifting carefully, Tony drew a pistol from one pocket. Two long-barreled pistols already lay on the seat between him and Gervase, with another on the seat between Del and Deliah. Tony checked his smaller pistol, then grinned at the others. “Anyone care to wager on the number they’ll send against us?”

Deliah guessed eight, Tony nine, Gervase eleven and Del fourteen. Deliah told Del not to be so pessimistic, but as matters transpired, both she and he won the wager.

As the innkeeper had predicted, the attack came on the long stretch to Caxton. Their carriage flashed around a stand of trees skirting the slightest of curves and a shot rang out.

Cobby swore, yelled, “Over my head from the trees on the left!” as he hauled on the reins and brought the horses to a plunging halt.

The carriage rocked heavily, crazily, then settled.

As eight dun-clothed figures rushed from the cover of the trees.

Before Deliah could blink, the men had all swung to face the threat. Four shots rang out in quick succession, then the shoulders shifted, and she looked out. Only four cultists remained upright.

The shock of the shots gave them pause, but then they shook their long knives, screamed, and came on.

Gervase was already out of the door on that side, sword in hand. Del, similarly armed, jumped down to join him.

Clutching a long sword, Tony went out of the carriage’s other door just as Kumulay dropped from above to join him in meeting the two cultists who’d rushed around the rear of the carriage.

Her heart in her throat, Deliah did as she’d promised. She shifted to the middle of the carriage seat, equidistant from both doors, firmly gripping the small pistol Del had given her, along with strict instructions to shoot any cultist who tried to get in. Otherwise, she was to remain where she was.

Native war-shrieks punctuated the clang and hiss of steel meeting steel. Shoulders swung, shifted; bodies lunged, retreated. Her breathing constricted, Deliah watched wide-eyed, looking this way, then that. She tried to shut her ears to the distracting clamor.

She had every intention of obeying Del’s orders to the letter-she wasn’t recklessly brave.

Then, with bloodcurdling screams, six more cultists came pelting from the trees.

Deliah sucked in a breath, horror and terror gripping her chest, tight as any vise. Del had warned that the cultists habitually used sheer numbers to win their fights.

That they were finally fighting cultists wasn’t in doubt. Their attackers were clothed in traditional Indian garb of loose trousers and tunic, albeit with plaids or blankets fastened about them for warmth. All had turbans of one sort or another wound about their heads, and the faces below were mahogany brown.

The carriage rocked as bodies hit it. The clashes of steel sounded horribly close. Tony and Kumulay now had four cultists ranged against them. As she counted, one staggered and fell.

She looked the other way. Gervase was further from the carriage, sword in hand, slashing at two opponents, with one already prone at his feet.

Del had his back to the carriage door, with three cultists pressing in on him. As Deliah watched, he swore and slashed wildly, and one cultist fell to the ground, shrieking and kicking. Del had to leap clear.

The two remaining cultists drove forward. Resolutely he beat them back.

The opposite carriage door was abruptly wrenched open.

With a start, Deliah turned-and met a horrible smile and fanatically glowing dark eyes. Dark fingers reached for her.

She didn’t even think before she fired.

The cultist’s eyes flew wide. Sheer shock seized his features. He dropped his long knife. It landed with a clatter on the carriage step as, clutching the patch of red blossoming on his chest, he staggered back, then fell.

The fighting raged on.

Dragging in a breath, telling herself this was no time to succumb to hysterics, Deliah realized she was weaponless. Defenseless should another cultist come for her. Setting the used pistol aside, she reached down and pulled the cultist’s knife to her.

It didn’t look used.

She picked it up, gripped the hilt. The blade was longish, but not as long as a full-sized sword or a cavalry saber. It wasn’t so heavy she couldn’t wield it. Use it if need be.

Then someone slammed the open carriage door shut. Tony. He was immediately engaged by a cultist, but he and Kumulay were now fighting one on one. She felt certain both would prevail.

She looked the other way, at Del, then edged toward that door. There were more cultists on that side of the carriage. Gervase was still trading blows with the two before him. Del had done some damage, but still had two vicious opponents attacking him.

Drawn, she inched closer, then, knowing better than to distract him, she crouched down inside the door and silently watched.

With an ear-splitting yell, one of the cultists jabbing at Gervase abruptly whirled and, sword raised high, raced toward Del.

Toward his back, exposed because the other cultists had drawn him to one side.

Fully engaged with the opponents before him, there was no chance he could turn and meet the attack.

Deliah swung the carriage door open and stepped out onto the high step.

The cultist saw her and changed direction.

Eyes alight, he charged toward her.

Desperately she freed the sword from her skirts. Gripping it with both hands, she brought it up to ward him off.

He ran straight onto it.

The shock on his face was mirrored on hers.

Stunned, his mouth still wide open, but with no sound any longer issuing forth, the cultist looked down. Stared at the long blade embedded in his chest. His own knife fell from his nerveless fingers, then his eyes closed and he crumpled, jerking the sword from her slackened grasp.

Her appearance had spurred Gervase and Del to even greater efforts. Cursing, they left their opponents writhing and moaning on the ground, clutching wounds. They exchanged a single glance, then Del whirled and strode for the carriage while Gervase raced around to the other side.

When Del reached Deliah, she was still staring, stunned, at the fallen cultist. Hand to her midriff, he pressed her back. “Sit down.”

His tone, the one he used on the battlefield, had her blinking and shuffling back. She dropped onto the seat as he climbed in and slammed the door shut.

From above, Cobby yelled, “All aboard!”

Their agreed signal for “cut and run.”

Gervase yanked open the other door and scrambled in. Tony followed on his heels, slamming the door shut behind him as the carriage dipped heavily-Kumulay climbing up again.

Cobby didn’t wait for anyone to settle. He sprang the horses, spooked by the rising scent of blood and more than ready to race on.

In a blink, they were away from the trees and thundering out into the open.

For long minutes, they all just sat there, breathing heavily, regaining their sanity.

Eventually, Tony stirred. “How many did we get?”

Deliah swallowed, looked at Del. “Fourteen. All told, there were fourteen.”

When he met her gaze, she raised her brows. “Satisfied?”

His eyes were still hard, his jaw still set. “It’s a start.”

What could he say?

They’d made a respectable dent in the Black Cobra’s forces, but…

She’d been far too involved, too exposed to real danger and death. So much for his careful planning. When he’d glanced across and seen her standing on the carriage step, one of their long knives in her hand with a cultist skewered on the end of it, his blood had run cold.

Not at all helpful in the middle of a fraught clash.

He’d wanted to roar at her for disobeying his strict orders, but if she hadn’t…he’d have been in much worse strife-possibly not able to roar at her at all.

Certainly not able to ease her back into the carriage and, under cover of her skirts, hold her hand-probably too tightly-all the way to Somersham Place.

He’d contented himself with that-with the simple contact-while the horses had raced on through the increasingly dark afternoon.

A winter storm was massing, roiling and boiling, ready to sweep in from the North Sea. One glance at the horizon, at the color and density of the clouds building there, confirmed snow by nightfall was a certainty.

It was early evening, already full dark, by the time they reached the massive pillars that marked the drive of the Place. Cobby had never been there before, but Del had described the pillars; the carriage slowed, turned into the drive, then continued bowling steadily along.

A welcoming light shone through the bare branches of massive oaks. Then the carriage rounded a corner and the house lay before them, as massive as he remembered, and as welcoming. Lamps on the porch were burning, casting a warm glow down the porch steps, illuminating the couple who walked out, alerted by the rattle of wheels on the gravel.

The gentleman halted at the top of the steps. Del felt his lips curve; Devil looked the same as ever, but the lady who came to stand by his shoulder, linking her arm with his, was new.

The carriage slowed, then rocked to a stop. A footman hurried to open the door and let down the carriage steps. Gervase and Tony waved them on. Del descended first, then turned to give Deliah his hand. She descended, twitched her plum-colored skirts straight, then, head rising, spine straight, allowed him to lead her up the porch steps to where Devil waited with his duchess.

As they neared, Devil’s lips curved and his pale green eyes lit. “Del! Welcome, once again, to Somersham.”

A spontaneous smile wreathing his face, Del clasped Devil’s proferred hand. “It’s beyond good to be here again.”

Devil hauled him into a brief embrace, clapped his back. “I confess I’m amazed you’re still hale and whole-I would have sworn someone would have skewered you by now.”

Del made a rude, if muted, noise in reply as they both turned to their respective ladies.

Who hadn’t waited for them.

“I’m Honoria-this reprobate’s duchess.” With an engaging smile for Deliah, Devil’s duchess held out her hand.

“Deliah Duncannon.” Deliah rose from a curtsy and touched fingers, adding, “I unwittingly became embroiled in Delborough’s mission, and so have had to tag along. I hope my unexpected presence, and that of my household-they’re following-won’t discompose yours.”

“Not at all! I’m delighted-and so will all the other ladies be-to welcome you.” Honoria’s gray eyes testified to her sincerity. “You’ll be able to give us a female view on all that’s going on.”

The duke smiled and smoothly introduced himself-as Devil-to Deliah.

She gave him her hand, and curtsied as he bowed. He was much like Del-tall, starkly handsome, dark-haired and broad-shouldered, with the long, powerful frame of a natural horseman-but in place of Del’s military bearing, Devil exuded aristocratic command.

Then Tony and Gervase joined them. Del made the introductions, and discovered Devil had met the other two before.

“At Wolverstone’s wedding,” Gervase explained. “There was a spot of bother we all helped him tidy up.”

“Indeed?” Honoria’s finely arched brows rose. She shot a look at her husband. “I must ask Minerva for the story. Now, however”-she took Deliah’s arm-“do come in out of the cold. It’s positively frigid out here, and much warmer inside.”

Warmer because of the huge fire blazing in the massive hearth at the far end of the long halfpaneled hall, and warmer because of the almost joyous welcome accorded them by the others gathered about the tables and comfortable chairs. Although it was too early for the customary yuletide decorations, here the emotional ambiance of the approaching season seemed already to have taken hold. Deliah felt herself literally thawing, both her flesh and her reservations.

She, Del, Tony and Gervase were taken on a circuit of introductions. The men all either knew each other, or knew of each other. She was the only true newcomer to the group; she’d expected to hang back, to find herself left on the fringe. Instead, as Honoria had foretold, the ladies, one and all, were not just delighted to meet her but keen and eager to hear all she could tell them.

For all their warmth, the couples littering the big hall were an imposing and impressive lot. The males were especially notable. Scandal Cynster, who his wife Catriona called Richard, was clearly Devil’s brother, with similar features and build, but cornflower blue eyes. The duke’s cousins included Demon Cynster, with wavy blond hair and blue eyes, and his diminuitive wife, Felicity-whom he referred to as Flick-and his older brother, Vane, a harder, quieter man, yet very much in the Cynster physical mold but with brown hair and gray eyes, and his wife, Patience. Then came a Lucifer Cynster, all dark-haired, blue-eyed elegance, and his wife, Phyllida, and a Gabriel Cynster, the epitome of sophistication, brown-haired and hazel-eyed, and his wife, Alathea.

All the Cynster men had fought alongside Del and his three friends-the other three couriers-at Waterloo. In addition, the Earl of Chillingworth-who, from his interaction with Del and Devil, Deliah placed as Gyles Rawlings, the third of the schoolboy trio-was there, with his countess, Francesca; brown-haired and gray-eyed, he, too, possessed a commanding presence.

Deliah made a mental note to inquire at some point as to how the men had come by their odd names, but even more than the men, she was curious about the women.

Physically they varied dramatically, from Catriona’s serene, red-haired beauty, through Phyllida’s dark-haired vitality, and Alathea’s, Patience’s and Honoria’s perfectly groomed shades of calm and collected brown, to Flick’s blond vivacity and Francesca’s black-haired, gypsylike vibrance. In appearance they were widely dissimilar, yet in presence and character, in their attitude to their world, they seemed of one mind. They were confident, assured and assertive, not afraid to state their opinions and make their wishes known.

Not one was the meek, mild or retiring sort. Not one was prim and proper, any more than Deliah was.

Which was something of a social shock.

Other than Alathea, who, Deliah suspected, was a few years older than she, most of the ladies were younger, ranging in age down to Flick, who must have been in her early twenties. These ladies, with their positions, connections and wealth, would be part of the core of the current society-defining generation, the arbiters of social acceptance for the upper class, for the ton.

All her life, Deliah had been lectured on how she needed to behave to be socially accepted, yet these ladies, one and all, were of a vastly different stripe from those she’d always been instructed she should emulate. These ladies were…

Like her.

From Honoria, with her rich chestnut hair gleaming in the firelight, her gray eyes alert and all-seeing, to Flick, with her guinea gold curls bouncing and her blue eyes bright with interest, these ladies, each in her own way, were bold, determined and decisive.

Why they were the Cynsters’ chosen mates wasn’t any great mystery.

To Deliah, with just a few words exchanged recognizing like-minded souls, meeting them was both eye-opening, and an immense relief.

With these ladies, she could be herself.

Honoria turned aside to speak with a majestic butler who had come to hover by her elbow. “Dinner at eight-thirty, I think, Webster. That will give our latest arrivals time to settle in.” She glanced to where the men had gradually gravitated into a group halfway up the hall. “And allow the gentlemen time to satisfy their collective curiosity.”

On the word, she looked at Deliah, then at the other ladies gathered in the chairs before the fire. “Might I suggest we adjourn to my sitting room? We can sit and chat, and have tea in comfort.”

“And greater privacy.” With a conspiratorial smile, Francesca stood.

Honoria turned to Webster. “Tea in my sitting room, Webster. And please convey my compliments to Mrs. Hull and tell her and Sligo of Miss Duncannon’s arrival, and of the imminent arrival of Miss Duncannon’s household, and the colonel’s, too.”

“Indeed, Your Grace.” Webster bowed low and departed.

As the ladies rose, Devil strolled up. He smiled-innocently-at Honoria. “We’ll be in the library.”

She smiled back, not even feigning innocence. “We’ll be in my sitting room.” With a wave, she sent the other ladies ahead, then linked her arm in Deliah’s and glanced up at her spouse. “We’ll see you all at dinner. Eight-thirty.”

Deliah grinned as, with that parting shot, she was determinedly led to the stairs.

Strolling beside Devil, Del followed the others along the corridor to the library. Lowering his voice, he said, “I’d forgotten you’d have so many children here. For my peace of mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d post guards around the nursery areas.” He met Devil’s green gaze. “Just in case.”

Devil smiled, but it wasn’t a humorous gesture. “It’s already taken care of. And now that Sligo has been reinforced by Cobby, I doubt there’s any likelihood of anyone getting past their pickets.”

Del inclined his head in agreement. Sligo-now Devil’s majordomo-had been Devil’s batman at Waterloo, just as Cobby had been his. The two batmen had forged a friendship under fire, one just as close as their masters’.

Devil paused by an open door, through which the comforting ambiance of a very male library could be glimpsed. He waved Del through. “Come, sit, and tell us the whole story.”

Del preceded him into the luxurious yet comfortable room, and proceeded to do just that.

He told the tale of his mission, from its beginning in the Marquess of Hastings’s office months before. Describing the Black Cobra’s atrocities while sitting in leather-cushioned luxury, a crystal tumbler filled with the finest malt whiskey in his hand, only made the details doubly stark, and even more disturbing.

There were grim looks all around, and softly muttered curses, when he described James MacFarlane’s death.

“He was a good man.” Devil drained his glass, then reached for the decanter. His words were echoed as the others did the same.

Del nodded and continued, detailing the events that had led to the four of them-he, Gareth, Logan, and Rafe-leaving Bombay, then described the action he’d seen on his journey, all the way through to that afternoon. Tony and Gervase supplied their observations, and the outcomes of their attempts to gain some clue as to the Black Cobra’s lair.

Tony shook his dark head. “Until today, we’d seen nary a sign of any cultist. But clearly they’re here-the Lord only knows where he’s hiding them. With their peculiar costume, they’ll have no hope of blending into the scenery.”

Devil met Del’s eyes. “That’s a point we should convey to Wolverstone. We’ll send a rider before dinner. The weath er’s closing in, so we’d better seize the chance to let him know you’ve arrived safely, and that there are indeed cultists about.”

“How far away is he?” Del asked.

“He’s at Elveden Grange, about thirty miles due east.” Devil sipped, then went on, “Our orders are to have all three of you remain, for a few days at least, in the hope-distant though it might be-that the Black Cobra will try a sortie. It’s possible that, not knowing you were headed here, he won’t have had time to do any reconnaissance, and so won’t realize how many ex-cavalry there are in the house.” He paused, head tilted. “If he could throw fourteen at you on the road, it’s possible he might feel he has the numbers for a foray against this place.”

Del grimaced. “That’s a long shot. On his own ground, he’s showy and confident, but he’s been careful, watchful and wary over here.”

Devil levelled a sharp gaze on him. “Don’t disillusion us. You’ll have noticed none of us have taken you to task over reducing the enemy by fourteen, all by yourselves? You were supposed to share.”

Del hid his curving lips behind his glass. “Sorry. Blame our success on Deliah-if it weren’t for her, we’d never have drawn the cultists out.”

Demon snorted. “Typical female. And she killed two as well? Haven’t you explained that’s our job? She’s supposed to sit quietly and leave it to us.”

Del’s brows rose. “I don’t suppose you’d like to undertake to explain that to her in words she’ll accept?”

Quite a few men choked.

“Once he’s worked out how to do that with his wife,” Scandal put in, “no doubt he’ll oblige.”

A heavy sigh sounded, drawing all attention to Vane, who’d been prowling behind Devil’s chair. He turned from the window, letting the curtain fall closed. “I hate to further dampen spirits, so to speak, but it’s started snowing.” He looked at Devil. “You’d better get that rider on his way if you want him to reach Elveden tonight.”

There were groans all around.

Devil rose and rang for Sligo.

Del, listening to the others’ predictions, recalled that in that season, in that part of the country, the snowfalls could be considerable.

Slumping back, he grimaced. “It doesn’t look as if we’re going to have much luck in getting the Black Cobra to come to us.”

Upstairs in the duchess’s sitting room, Deliah had just finished telling the other ladies everything she knew of Del’s mission.

Relating the details of the incident that afternoon had left her more shaken than she’d been at the time.

Honoria calmly handed her another cup of tea. “It’s often worse reliving it-that’s when you realize all the things that might have gone wrong, how much worse it all might have been.”

Deliah sipped, met Honoria’s eyes, glanced at the others, all nodding sagely. Amazing. Not one of them had paled, let alone looked likely to faint when she’d described shooting a man, then running one through-although technically he’d run himself through. She’d just held the sword.

The tea slid down, warming, comforting-just like the company.

“I believe I speak for all of us”-Catriona glanced around the circle before focusing on Deliah-“in extending my heartfelt thanks to you for reducing the threat. For engineering a situation that successfully reduced this fiend’s troops, especially those in this area.”

“Indeed.” Alathea exchanged a long-suffering look with the others. “We know what our husbands are like.”

Felicity set down her empty cup. “We’ll have to keep an eye on them.” She glanced at Honoria. “A closer eye than usual.”

Honoria nodded. “Luckily, it appears the weather has come to our aid.” She smiled. “It’s snowing.”

“Really?”

“At last!”

“Let’s see.”

Phyllida, Catriona and Flick all rose and went to the wide window. Throwing open the curtains, they peered through the glass.

“It’s coming down nicely,” Flick reported.

“Wonderful!” Phyllida turned back inside. “Who knows? We might even have a white Christmas. The children will be in alt.”

A discussion ensued of the possibilities for keeping their numerous offspring amused. Deliah sat back and listened, smiling at the comments.

For quite the first time in her life wishing she had reason to join in.

The realization was so startling she sobered, blinked.

Just as the sound of a gong resonated through the house.

“Time to dress for dinner.” Honoria stood, waited until Deliah set down her cup and rose, too. “Come, I’ll show you to your room. Your maid should be there by now.”

They dispersed, the others heading down various corridors in groups of twos and threes, heads together, chatting, while she and Honoria headed around the gallery.

“If you get tired of us, do say.” Honoria caught her eye and smiled. “I assure you we won’t be offended. You’ve been traveling, while we’ve been sitting here waiting for something to happen. And you’ve already done wonders to relieve our boredom.”

“That,” Deliah replied, “was entirely my pleasure.”

And it had been.

Honoria left her at the door of a well-appointed chamber, and went on to her own rooms to change for the evening.

Closing the door, Deliah smiled at Bess. “Everything all right?”

Bess’s answering smile was wide. “Lovely place, this. The staff is so friendly. We’ve all settled in already. Now!” Going to the bed, Bess picked up and displayed the gold satin gown from Madame Latour. “Seeing as this is a duke’s house, I thought you might want to wear this.”

Deliah studied the deceptively simple, unquestionably elegant evening gown, and gave thanks for Del’s insistence that she take it. She nodded. “Yes-that’s perfect.”

Standing before the mirror, she started pulling the pins from her hair, and reminded herself to extract from him the sum he’d paid for the gowns before they reached home.

For tonight, however, she saw no reason not to take advantage of time, place, and gown.