from you. It wouldn’t be proper.”
He glanced her way, but she didn’t meet his eyes.
“What do you imagine I’m going to do with them? The least you can do is take them off my hands. Better yet, consider them a perquisite of helping me pursue the Black Cobra. Believe me”-his tone hardened-“it’s a small price to pay.”
“In that case, you can let me pay for them-I’m more than flush enough to buy my own gowns.”
“That’s not the issue. I can’t countenance you paying for the necessaries to continue our ruse. This is my mission, not yours. My responsibility, not yours.”
Those last two points were ones Del felt sure he needed to stress-and often. In every possible way.
She grumbled, “I can’t see how those evening gowns could be deemed necessary.”
“Oh, they are. Believe me, they are.” They-and the visions of her in them-were going to keep him going through the coming days. His reward, as it were, for weathering the difficulties keeping her with him had already caused, and those yet to come.
“They’ll come to a pretty penny-you do realize that?”
“After all my years in India, I’m wealthy enough to rival Croesus, so your concern on that point, while appreciated, is unnecessary.”
She humphed. Eventually she said, by way of conceding, “Just be warned that that last evening gown alone will cost a small fortune. Madame may be young, but she values her work highly.”
“Rightly so.” He felt doubly triumphant that he’d won that round-won the right to pay for her gowns. He should, he knew, be exceedingly wary about such a reaction, but he was too busy wallowing in the victory to let such considerations dim his mood. “A workman is worthy of his hire, and all that. But your point is duly noted-I promise not to expire of shock.”
She gave an unladylike snort, then fell silent.
He strolled on, with her on his arm, and imagined seeing her in that pale green gown. Wondered how he might arrange it.
Some paces on, the fact that she’d been perfectly willing to part with “a small fortune” of her own registered. But her family wasn’t wealthy, and he was fairly certain she couldn’t have inherited more than a competence from any relative, not without his aunts mentioning it.
Now he thought of it, she was traveling with an entire household, staying at major inns, hiring carriages and private parlors-and she hadn’t even paused to consider the cost of putting up at Grillon’s. He’d be picking up the bill there, but she hadn’t known that, and still didn’t.
She was wealthy. But how?
“Did you and the others catch any of those men?”
Her question shook him out of his abstraction. “Yes.” They’d reached Berkeley Square. Halting, he glanced around, one comprehensive survey, then turned to her. “And as there appear to be no more following us, we’re going to take a detour.”
“Oh? To where?”
“The Bastion Club.”
Four
Standing on the pavement beside Del while he paid off the jarvey, Deliah owned to considerable curiosity over the strange “private gentlemen’s-cum-family” club she’d heard so much about. Number 12 Montrose Street was a solid house, not dissimilar to those flanking it. As they walked up the neatly paved path to the front porch, she could see nothing to distinguish it from any other gentleman’s residence.
The front door opened as they ascended the porch steps. A neat, rotund individual in the garb of a majordomo-somewhere between a butler’s regulation black tails and a gentleman’s gentleman’s less formal attire- stood waiting to greet them, a delighted smile on his kindly face.
“Colonel Delborough?”
“Indeed. And this is Miss Duncannon. I believe Torrington and Crowhurst are already here?”
“Indeed, sir. I am Gasthorpe.” He bowed them in, then took Del’s greatcoat. “If we may be of assistance at any time, sir, please do not hesitate to call upon me and the staff here.”
Deliah elected to keep her pelisse on. “Torrington and Crowhurst told us of this place.” While the underlying ambiance of the house was sparse and rather plainly severe, a vase of hothouse blooms rioted on the hall table, their color and freshness drawing the eye, softening the decor. There was a lace doily beneath the vase, and numerous other little touches that spoke of female, rather than only male. “I understand it was originally just for the gentlemen, but clearly that has changed.”
“Oh, yes, miss-we often have the ladies to stay these days. Once the gentlemen wed-indeed, even before, during their various adventures-we were called upon to accommodate their ladies.”
She was curious. “You don’t seem to mind.”
“I will admit I was initially trepidatious, but now we look forward to the families descending-quite keeps us on our toes.”
Deliah smiled. “I can imagine.”
“Torrington and Crowhurst?” Del inquired.
“Yes, sir. They’re awaiting you downstairs with the captured miscreants.” Beaming at Deliah, Gasthorpe gestured to the room to the right of the front door. “If you would care to wait in comfort in the parlor, miss, I will bring up a tea tray directly.”
Deliah glanced, once, at the room beyond the open door, then, brows rising, looked at Del. “I’m not in the mood for tea, but I do want to see these men. I’ll come with you.”
Del had hoped that Gasthorpe might manage to deflect her, but wasn’t truly surprised that he’d failed. Stifling a resigned sigh, he nodded. “Very well.” He’d long ago learned not to fight unnecessary skirmishes but to save his powder for the important battles. He looked at Gasthorpe. “Lead on.”
Gasthorpe looked uncertain, but he took his lead from Del and, without argument, turned and led them to a set of stairs at the back of the front hall.
Waving Deliah ahead of him, Del followed her down. The stairs led to spacious kitchens. Gasthorpe led them through and into a narrow corridor, off which several storerooms lay. He paused outside one. With his hand on the latch, he turned to them. “This is one of our holding rooms.”
As Gasthorpe opened the door, Del drew Deliah back and entered first. He halted just inside, then moved further in, allowing her to follow.
Deliah took in the occupants of the small room in one glance. Tony and Gervase sat with their backs to the door, on straight-backed chairs before a plain wooden table. On the other side of the table, three ruffians slouched on a bench. Hands tied before them, they propped against each other, shoulder to shoulder.
All three looked rather the worse for wear. Two sported blackening eyes. The other had a nasty bruise on his chin. All three looked uneasy, restless and uncertain.
Tony and Gervase glanced at Del and her as they entered; both started to rise, but she waved them back to their seats. She and Del remained standing behind them.
Subsiding and turning back to the table, Tony gestured to their captives. “We’ve been chatting with these gentlemen.” Despite the easy tenor of his words, there was a definite suggestion of steel beneath. “They don’t seem to know very much about anything, but we thought we’d wait for you before getting to specifics.”
Standing inside the now closed door, Deliah viewed the three ruffians and was glad of the three gentlemen between her and them. For all they were tied and clearly off-balance, they were hulking brutes with rough menace in their beady eyes-all of which had fixed on her.
