it on the opposite side.
Deliah walked along, studying the plaques announcing various modistes and the gowns displayed in narrow windows alongside-watching the bowler-hatted man trail them.
Beside her, Del murmured, “The other two have just turned the corner, so once again we have three.”
“I wonder how they think they’re going to blend in in this neighborhood.”
“I suspect they think we’re oblivious.”
She humphed, then stopped before the next modiste’s window. “I’ve been away for so long, I have no idea which modiste is in favor. I don’t even know what the latest styles are.”
“There’s no point looking to me for assistance.” After a moment, he added, “Didn’t you see any of the latest fashions in Southampton?”
“I wasn’t paying attention-I was just filling the time.”
“By shopping?”
“What else was I to do? Inspect ships?” Recollecting, she added, “Perhaps I should have-ships would undoubtedly have been more interesting.”
“I thought all ladies shopped whenever the opportunity presented.”
“I shop when I need something-I generally have better things to do.”
It wasn’t so much the comment as her tone that jarred Del’s memory. He’d never met her before Southampton, but he had heard of her. Heard tales of her when she, and he, had been much younger. She’d been the local tomboy, the bane of her mother’s existence, as he recalled.
She’d noticed his abstraction. “What?”
He glanced at her, met her eyes. “Did you really tie a bell to Farmer Hanson’s bull’s tail?”
Her eyes narrowed, then she looked ahead. “I wondered if you would remember.”
They walked on to the next modiste’s window.
“So did you?”
“Martin Rigby dared me to, so yes, I did.” She frowned at him, waved at the window. “You really have no recommendation-no preferences?”
He glanced along the street. The salons lining it were all similar. “None.”
“In that case, I’ll just pick one.” She walked on, then halted before a window showcasing a simply cut but stylish gown of blue silk. “No ruffles, no frills, no furbelows. And a French name. This one will do.”
Reaching for the door beside the window, Del read the brass plaque fixed to the wall beside it. “Madame Latour.” He opened the door, held it.
As she passed through, Deliah murmured, “I haven’t caught sight of our guards or their helpers.”
“I suspect they’re a trifle more expert in the art of unobtrusively trailing people. Don’t worry-they’ll be there.”
A bell had jangled overhead when the door opened. Finding herself facing a narrow set of stairs, Deliah started to climb. A young assistant appeared at the top, smiling and bobbing in welcome.
“Good morning, ma’am. Sir. Please.” The girl waved them through an open door. “Go through. Madame will be with you shortly.”
It was barely ten o’clock, unfashionably early, so it was no great surprise to find no other patrons gracing the salon.
What was a surprise was Madame herself. She emerged from behind a curtain, a slim young woman, pale- skinned, with brown hair sleeked back in a tight bun and large hazel eyes. Madame was young-younger than Deliah. And after her first words, a heavily accented greeting, it was obvious Madame was no more French than Deliah was, either.
She pretended not to notice. “Bonjour, madame. I have this week returned from a prolonged sojourn overseas and am in dire need of new gowns.” Gently reared young woman impoverished by harsh circumstance was Deliah’s assessment of Madame. “I liked what I saw in your window. Perhaps you could show me what else you have?”
“
Deliah glanced at her escort. “The Colonel is an old family friend who has kindly consented to accompany me north.”
She sat, and watched Del amble across the salon.
He smiled, charmingly, at Madame. “I’ve agreed to assist and lend my opinion.” So saying, he sat beside Deliah, elegantly at ease, and looked inquiringly at Madame.
Who stared back as if unsure just what she’d invited into her salon.
Deliah couldn’t blame her. He was large, and although he was wearing civilian clothes, nothing could cloak his military bearing, that dangerous, suggestively rakish aura that hung about him.
Thus far she’d managed to keep her skittering nerves within bounds and her reactions to him hidden. She’d even managed largely to ignore them, or at least not allow them to dominate her mind. Now…whether it was the heightened contrast of having him beside her, large and so brashly masculine in such an intensely feminine setting, she didn’t know, but she was suddenly highly conscious of the tension that rode her, compressing her lungs, distracting her senses and setting her nerves flickering.
Still, as long as he didn’t realize…
She gestured to Madame. “Pray proceed.”
Madame blinked, then bowed. “Ma’am. I have a number of styles available, suitable to be worn from morning to evening. Does madame wish to start with the morning gowns?”
“Indeed. I need gowns of all types.”
With a nod, Madame whisked behind the curtain. From where they sat, they could hear a whispered conference beyond.
Still too aware of the hard heat beside her, Deliah glanced at the windows. “Those look over the street.”
“True, but it’s too soon to check. If they see me looking out all but immediately, they’ll get suspicious.”
Madame chose that moment to reappear, two gowns on her arm. Her little assistant staggered in her wake, bearing an armload of garments.
“First,” Madame said, “I would suggest this.” She held up her first offering, a plum-colored morning gown in soft cambric.
What followed was an education. Del relaxed on the sofa and watched. Watched Deliah respond to Madame’s designs, and Madame grow steadily more confident. The youthful modiste presented each gown, holding it aloft to recite and display its features. Deliah would then either accept or decline to allow it to be added to the pile for her to try on. She asked questions, most of which were a mystery to Del, but apparently made excellent sense to Madame. Within minutes, Deliah and the modiste had established a rapport.
Regardless, it wasn’t until they reached the evening gowns that Del realized Deliah was sincere in her intention to buy a number of Madame’s creations. She’d already added to her pile for further consideration a sleekly simple gown in pale green silk that even he could tell would look stunning on her, and was debating between a gown of soft gold satin and another of a delicate shade of sky blue.
“Try them both.”
Madame shot him a grateful smile.
Deliah looked at him, faintly shocked.
“If you’ll come into the dressing room, ma’am, we can see if these selections will suit.”
“An excellent idea.” Del couldn’t resist adding, “I’ll be waiting to give you my views on each.”
Deliah’s eyes narrowed. She flicked a glance toward the windows. “Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye out for our friends?”
“It’s too soon yet to look for them.”
She wanted to argue, but with Madame hovering, she rose and allowed herself to be shepherded beyond the curtain.
Del sat back and prepared to enjoy himself. Tony and Gervase, supported by the legendary Gasthorpe’s men, would be in place outside by now, but waiting a trifle longer would give the Black Cobra’s minions time to grow bored and careless.
The curtain rattled back, and Deliah came out arrayed in a morning gown of some pale gold material with small emer ald green leaves liberally sprinkled over all. She looked like Spring personified. With nary a glance for him, she
