Half an hour later, washed and brushed, he was in the private parlor when Miss Duncannon entered. Two maids had just finished setting a small table for two before the fire; they retreated with bobbed curtsies. Del strolled to hold a chair for his charge.
She’d removed her pelisse, revealing a garnet-red gown trimmed with silk ribbon of the same hue, over which she’d draped a finely patterned silk shawl.
Sitting, she inclined her head. “Thank you, Colonel.”
Strolling to his chair on the other side of the table, Del murmured, “Del.” When she raised her brows, he explained, “Most people I know call me Del.”
“I see.” She considered him as he sat and shook out his napkin. “As we’re apparently to be in each other’s company for some time, it would be appropriate, I suppose, to make you free of my name. It’s Deliah-
He smiled, inclined his head. “Deliah.”
Deliah struggled not to stare, struggled to keep her suddenly witless mind functioning. That was the first time he’d smiled at her-and she definitely didn’t need the additional distraction. He was ridiculously handsome when serious and sober; when his lips softened and curved, he was seduction personified.
She, better than anyone, knew how dangerous such men were-especially to her.
The door opened and the maids reappeared, ferrying a soup tureen and a basket of bread.
She nodded her approval and the maids served. Deliah eyed the soup with something akin to gratitude, inwardly congratulating herself for having ordered it. One didn’t need to converse while consuming soup. That would give her just a little more time to whip her unruly senses into line.
“Thank you.” With a nod for the retreating maids, she picked up her spoon and supped.
He reached for the bread basket, offered it.
“No, thank you.”
He smiled again-damn him!-and helped himself; she looked down at her soup and kept her gaze on her plate.
It had taken her all of the short journey, and most of the half hour she’d spent out of his sight, to untangle the skein of emotions besetting her. She’d initially attributed her skittering nerves and breathless state to the shock of finding herself looking down the barrel of a pistol, even if the gun hadn’t been pointed at her.
The shot, the subsequent flurry, the rush to leave, the unexpected journey during which he’d remained stubbornly uncommunicative over his mysterious mission-the mission that had led to him being shot at-were all circumstances that might naturally be considered to have contributed to her overwrought state.
Except she’d never been the sort to allow circumstances-no matter how dire or unexpected-to overset her.
In the quiet of her chamber, she’d finally unravelled her feelings sufficiently to lay the truth bare-it had been that moment when she’d found herself on the wooden floor with his hard body covering hers that was the root of her problem. The source of her skittishness.
If she thought of it, she could still feel the sensations-of his weight pinning her, hard muscles and heavy bones trapping her beneath him, his long legs tangling with hers, his heat-then the searing instant of…whatever it had been that had afflicted her. Hot, intense, enough to make her squirm.
Enough to make her treacherous body yearn.
But she didn’t think he knew. She glanced at him as he laid down his spoon.
He caught her eye. “I should thank you for taking charge of the domestic organization.”
She shrugged. “I’m accustomed to managing my uncle’s household. It’s what I’ve been doing in my years away.”
“Jamaica, I believe my aunt wrote. What took you there?”
Setting down her spoon, she leaned her elbows on the table, lacing her fingers and viewing him over them. “Originally I went out to visit my uncle, Sir Harold Duncannon. He’s the Chief Magistrate of Jamaica. I found the climate and the colony to my liking, so I stayed. As time passed, I took charge of his household.”
“Your servants are Indian-are there many Indians in Jamaica?”
“These days, yes. After the slave ships stopped, many Indian and Chinese workers were brought in. All my staff were originally with my uncle’s household, but over the years became more mine than his, so I gave them the choice of staying in Jamaica or coming to England with me.”
“And they chose England.” Del broke off as the maids reappeared. While they cleared the first course and laid out platters of succulent roast beef, roast potatoes and pumpkin, ham, and a jug of rich gravy, he had time to consider what her staff’s loyalty said of Miss Deliah-
“Thank you.” She nodded graciously to the maids, and they departed. Before he could frame his next question, she fixed her gaze on him. “You, I gather, have been with the East India Company for some time.”
He nodded, picking up the serving fork. “I’ve been in India for the past seven years. Before that, it was Waterloo, and before that, the Peninsula.”
“Quite a lengthy service-am I to take it you’re retiring permanently?”
“Yes.” They served themselves, and settled to eat.
Five minutes passed, then she said, “Tell me about India. Was the campaigning there the same as in Europe? Massed battles, army against army?”
“At first.” When he glanced up and saw her plainly waiting for more, he elaborated, “Over the first years I was there, we were extending territory-annexing areas for trade, as the company describes it. More or less routine campaigning. Later, however, it became more a case of…I suppose you could say keeping the peace. Keeping the unruly elements in check to protect the trade routes-that sort of thing. Not really campaigning, no battles as such.”
“And this mission of yours?”
“Is something that grew out of the peacekeeping, as it were.”
“Being something more civilian than military?”
He held her gaze. “Indeed.”
“I see. And will pursuing your mission necessitate you leaving me behind at some point well south of Humberside?”
He sat back. “No.”
She arched her brows. “You seem to have experienced a quite dramatic change of heart regarding my presence consequent on you being shot at. I’m not sure I see the connection.”
“Regardless, you see me resigned to your company-I’m waiting on confirmation of our exact route, but I believe we’ll need to spend a few days, perhaps a week, in London.”
“London?”
He’d hoped she’d be distracted with thoughts of shopping-she had been out of the country for years, after all- but from the calculation in her eyes, he could tell she was trying to see what going to London told her of his mission.
“Incidentally,” he said, “why Jamaica?”
After a moment, she shrugged. “I was in need of new horizons and the connection was there.”
“How long ago did you leave England?”
“In ’15. As a colonel, were you in charge of a…what? Squadron of men?”
“No.” Again she waited, open curiosity coloring her eyes and her expression, until he added, “In India, I commanded a group of elite officers, each of whom could take command of company troops and deal with the constant small insurrections and disturbances that are always blowing up in the subcontinent. But tell me, was there much of a social circle in…Kingston, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “Yes, Kingston. And yes, there was the usual social circle of expatriates, much like any colony, I expect. How was India in that regard?”
“I was stationed mostly in Calcutta-the company headquarters are there. There were always balls and parties in the so-called season, but not so much of the matchmaking one finds at Almack’s and the like.”
“Indeed? I would have thought-”
They continued to trade question and answer as they progressed through the courses. Del tried to ascertain why she’d felt the need for “new horizons” while avoiding falling into the conversational pits she dug and revealing
