The Elusive Bride

need to do is send men across the road to halt the coach, and then it’s trapped and at his mercy.”

“So we let him do that, commit his force against the coach, then we fall on them from the rear and wipe them out.” Devil Cynster smiled. “Easy.”

There were sounds of eager agreement all around.

“Yes, but is that the best we can do?” Royce murmured.

All talk ceased.

Devil looked up the table at him. “What now, o ye of devious mind?”

There were grins all around, including from Royce, but then he sobered. “The truth, as many of you have guessed, is that this entire scheme is designed not just to get the original copy of the Black Cobra’s letter into my hands, but if at all possible to provide further proof-more direct and damning proof-of Ferrar’s guilt. Ideally, I’d like to catch him with a scroll holder literally in his hand-have more than one of us see him so there’ll be multiple witnesses. If I have to accuse him with only the letter as proof, I will, but I’d far rather have something more- something less easy to destroy-as evidence.”

A moment of general cogitation followed, then Del waved at the map. “Do you think there’s a chance we could wrest that sort of proof from today’s situation?”

Staring at the map, Royce slowly nodded. “I think it’s possible, if we can only figure out how.” He looked at Gareth. “Where is your scroll holder?”

Gareth reached into the pocket of the greatcoat he’d draped over his chair and pulled out the holder. He stood it on the map, just south of Sudbury.

“All right.” Royce nodded. “So we have Ferrar here-the first thing we need. We have the scroll holder-the thing we want in his hand. If we go forward into the attack he has planned, Ferrar won’t show his face, he’ll sit back and watch the action. When we triumph over his forces, he’ll turn and ride away. Even if we’ve witnessed him sending the cultists to attack the carriage…” Royce shook his head. “That’s far too easy to explain away. He’ll deny all connection to the cult, and without the letter-even with the letter-it’s possible he, or more likely his father, will prevail, and he’ll go free. So doing the obvious-merrily going forward and letting them attack-will let us reduce cult numbers, but will not gain us the greater prize.”

When Royce fell silent, Devil prompted, “The alternative being…?”

Royce frowned. “We have to get the scroll holder into Ferrar’s hands. If we can somehow convince the cultists to take it in some way that won’t make them or Ferrar suspicious, they’ll take it back to him-and then we’ll have him.” He looked at the scroll holder. “But how do we innocently give the damn thing up after Hamilton and his men have fought so hard to get it here?”

That undoubtedly was the question.

The men leaned forward, making suggestions, expressing opinions, evaluating options.

After a moment, Emily eased back her chair-easing herself out of the ensuing discussion. She had an idea, but she needed quiet to think it through, enough to hear her own thoughts.

Gareth glanced at her the instant she moved, smiled vaguely, and drew back her chair.

She thanked him and retreated to the window seat across the room. Sitting in the alcove, she looked out at the view beyond and methodically worked through her notion.

The men had reached the point of considering ways to lose the holder “accidentally,” when she rose and headed back to the table.

The Cynster called Gabriel shook his head. “Accidentally losing it won’t work. The instant you try that, they’ll know it’s a decoy, and therefore of no worth-otherwise you’d never lose it, not after all this time-and also, ergo, that it’s bait. And bait means a trap, so they might well turn tail altogether, and then we’ll lose even the chance of reducing numbers.”

Royce grimaced. “If we can’t make the loss appear believable-”

“I could do it.” Emily halted behind the chair she’d occupied.

All the men looked at her, then Gareth asked, “Do what?”

She looked at him. “I could leave the scroll holder in a hedge for the cultists to take in such a way that it would appear unthreatening, unsuspicious.” She glanced at Jack and Tristan, then looked back at Gareth. “As if you, and Jack and Tristan, too, if they know about them, don’t know I’ve left it.”

It was Royce who asked, “How?”

Emily drew in a breath, reached out and picked up the scroll holder, then, still standing, lightly tapping it in her hand, she talked them, walked them, through her plan.

None of them liked it, of course, but…all had to admit that it was so unexpected, it just might work.

“And you’ll all be there, within hailing range at least,” she pointed out with exemplary patience. “Not that anything is likely to go wrong. There’s no reason to imagine I’ll be in any real danger.”

Many still looked like they wanted to grumble, but then Royce looked at the map. “Assuming we do this, where, exactly, would we stage this charade?”

“We need hedges,” Demon said, “so that means before the point where the attack is most likely-which is just as well.”

Gareth rose from his chair, caught Emily’s sleeve. When she arched her brows, he took her elbow and steered her across to the window seat.

He halted facing the window, his back to the room, with her beside him. His face felt like stone. “You can’t do this.” He kept his voice low, but even he could hear the tension in his tone. “It’s too dangerous.”

Head tilting, she regarded him for a moment, then quietly said, “Yes, there’s an element of danger involved, but only because we can’t predict everything. On balance…this is our best way forward, and you know it.”

“I may know it, but that’s not the point.” He shifted restlessly. “You know what we discussed-our future. You know how much you mean to me-”

Emily cut him off with a hand on his arm, even though the words were music to her ears. “I know what we discussed. Trust. Partnership. Sharing in all things.” She waited until he glanced her way, caught his gaze and held it. “I have to do this, Gareth, for myself as well as to help you and the others, and you have to let me do it. This time you have to support, not lead. You have to support me so I can do what only I can.”

His jaw tightened. His eyes didn’t leave hers.

“I told you-our life together has already began. We’ve already started a life partnership, and, in this, you have to honor it.” She gripped his arm, unsurprised to feel the muscles beneath the fabric all steel. “Honor is the guiding principle you live by, and today, in this, honor dictates you let me knowingly take a calculated risk.”

“I don’t like being forced into…some kind of test.”

She inclined her head. “No more do I. This situation isn’t by my choice, but the Black Cobra and his machinations have brought us to this. All our travels, all the attacks, all the fighting and escapes-they’ll mean little if we don’t see it through to the end, and wring everything we can from the final hand we’ve been dealt.”

His eyes searched hers; she sensed his resistance wavering.

Letting her lips curve in wry affection, she leaned closer. Eyes still locked with his, she murmured, “You’re strong enough to do this, and so am I-and we’ll never forgive ourselves if we don’t try.”

He held her gaze for an instant longer, then sighed. Lips still tight, he nodded. “All right.”

They returned to the table to find the point for her excursion had been settled as just beyond the turnoff to Glemsford and Clare, just before the stretch Demon had described as perfect for an attack. “It’s likely,” Demon said, “that they’ll be in a stand of trees just here, and so be able to see you clearly.”

Emily looked at the map, then glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Then she looked at the faces around the table. “Time is passing, gentlemen-shall we get on?”

Twenty

They drove on in silence. On hearing the plan, Bister and Mooktu had stared at Gareth as if he’d lost his mind, but Mullins-who knew her best-had nodded. “Worth a try,” he’d said, then clambered up to his seat.

Emily wished the others had rather more faith in her histrionic abilities, but as the carriage rolled steadily north