evident.
Alex sank onto the chaise Roderick had uncovered, and watched him pacing before his ancestral hearth. More correctly,
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 naive 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
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.
Yet it was amusing-and revealing-to realize that the part she was playing, that of a provincial lady fascinated by and determined to enjoy all the typical London delights, wasn’t all pretense.
She finally dragged her bright gaze from the scintillating array and looked further up the street. “There are more jewelers, aren’t there?”
He pointed out Rundell & Bridge, further along on the other side of the street; all bustling determination, she towed him over. Given the entertainment, he had to make an effort to look suitably bored. They halted before the well-known jeweler’s windows; while she examined an arrangement of necklaces, he glanced at her face.
No pretense; she coveted the sparkling gems as much as any other lady. He started to wonder what else might be revealed when, as per their plan, they continued on to the Bruton Street modistes.
His attraction to her hadn’t waned, which he found rather strange. She was domineering-or would be if he let her be-opinionated, wasp-tongued and a great deal more willfully independent than he was comfortable with, yet she’d become a part of his mission-unwittingly and through no fault of her own-and was now assisting, a contributing player in the game, and somewhere beneath his reluctant resignation, he was grateful. Grateful it was her, with all her innate confidence, and not some wilting, shrinking, typical genteel young miss, who would cling and require constant reassurance, effective lead in his, Tony’s and Gervase’s saddlebags.
Holding to his ennui, he cast an idle-in reality acute-glance back along the street. Without hurry, he returned his gaze to the window. “We’re being followed, by locals.”
“The two men in brown coats back down the street?”
He hadn’t seen her look, much less notice.
She shifted and pointed, apparently through the window. “I think he-the man in a shabby bowler behind us-is watching us, too.”
Del focused on the reflection in the big window. Decided she was right. “They won’t close in along here-there are too many people to make any attempt on us.”
“Bruton Street should be much less frequented at this hour.”
Del made a show of sighing, then tugging on her sleeve. When she turned, he pointed further up the street. She shook her head, and instead pointed to Bruton Street, off to their left. Pantomiming resigned frustration, he reluctantly escorted her that way.
They turned into Bruton Street. The man in the bowler crossed the mouth of the street, then also turned down
