Deliah had picked up a printed program in the foyer. Consulting it, she commented excitedly and knowledgably about the various airs and sonatas to be performed by the small chamber orchestra. Clearly she enjoyed music and had been starved of this type of entertainment over the years she’d been away.
So had he, but this particular entertainment he could have done without. Far from feeling relaxed, every sense he possessed was on high alert. His eyes incessantly scanned, his ears constantly sorted through the babel around them, listening for accents that weren’t English, or tones that boded ill.
If he’d been the Black Cobra, this would have been an opportunity too good to pass up. Whether the fiend had realized Tony and Gervase were their guards, he had no idea. Cobby had confirmed that the reputation of Grillon’s for absolute discretion with respect to their guests was well deserved; it was unlikely the staff had spoken of the con nection between his party and the two gentlemen. But if the Cobra did know, then this excursion-just Del and Deliah alone at night, without even Cobby, Mustaf, or her bodyguard Kumulay-was tailor-made for the Cobra’s purpose. He didn’t even need to seize both of them; either would do.
The orchestra started to file in. There was a rush to fill the last seats as the musicians settled on the chairs arranged before the steps to the altar.
An expectant hush fell, then the conductor appeared, walked to his lectern, bowed to the audience, then turned to his players and raised his baton.
A lone violin began to sing, then the other instruments joined in. Even in his state of battle-ready alert, Del felt the music swell and take hold. He glanced at Deliah.
And didn’t look away. She was caught in the music, swept away on the tide. Her eyes glowed with pleasure; her luscious lips had curved, parted.
She was oblivious, enchanted by the music. He was enthralled, ensorcelled by her.
As the music continued, the pieces flowing one to the other with only the barest pause to allow the musicians to readjust their sheets, he tried to remain attuned to their surroundings, watchful, alert to any potential danger, yet she-her face, her radiant expression, those lips that had from the first enticed-held a far stronger fascination.
A fascination that was rapidly approaching obsession.
The battle within wasn’t one he was destined to win. In the end, he surrendered, let his eyes feast, and left whatever might come later for later.
The entire concert passed without incident. If Deliah was at all aware of his tension she gave no sign.
It was raining when, one couple amid a sea of others, they reached the edge of the porch. The hackneys were doing a roaring trade. Taking Deliah’s hand, Del stepped onto the wet steps just as a hackney pulled into the curb below. He immediately hailed it. The driver saluted with his whip.
“Come on.” Del hurried Deliah down the steps, opened the hackney’s door and helped her in, then followed and sat beside her. Raising his arm, he pushed up the hatch. “Grillon’s, Albemarle Street.”
“Aye, sir. Quite a lot of traffic, so don’t worry if we’re a bit slow.”
Letting the hatch fall, Del sat back. Nothing had occurred. Perhaps the Black Cobra wasn’t watching as closely as he’d feared.
“That was lucky.” Deliah looked out of the window. “It looks like it’s been pouring, although it’s easing up now.”
She then launched into an enthusiastic analysis of the performance, waxing lyrical over the first violin’s solo and the artistry displayed by the principal cellist. Del inwardly smiled, closed his eyes, and let her words roll over him. She was safe and happy, ergo so was he. The evening had gone without a hitch, providing distraction for them both, filling the hours safely.
They would return to the suite, perhaps share a drink-tea for her-then they would retire, in amity with the world, to their respective beds.
All safe.
Deliah’s fingers closed about his wrist. He realized she’d stopped speaking, had been silent for a few minutes. He opened his eyes.
She was staring out into the night, then, her fingers tightening warningly, she leaned close, murmured, “This is not the way to Albemarle Street.”
He looked out of the hackney window. It took a moment to see enough through the drizzle to get his bearings, then he softly swore. They were on the Strand heading deeper into the City, the opposite of the direction in which they should have gone. No matter the traffic-and the carriage was stopping and starting, barely crawling-there was no sense at all in the jarvey taking this route.
Del took Deliah’s hand in a firm grip. Through the shadows he whispered, “Be ready to jump out behind me.”
She squeezed his fingers in reply, shifted to the edge of the seat.
He waited until the next snarl of traffic forced the hackney to a rocking halt. Silently opening the door, he slipped out onto the pavement, turned and smoothly lifted her down, then quietly shut the door just as the carriage jerked forward again. His concentration fixed ahead, the jarvey hadn’t noticed his lighter load.
Taking Deliah’s hand, Del strode quickly back the way they had come. Courtesy of the rain, there were few people on the streets, no cover as they hurried back along the Strand. If the jarvey looked around…
Passing the third hackney lined up behind theirs, Del glanced at the carriage-and saw two pale faces staring out at them.
Surprised. Shocked.
“Damn!” He clutched Deliah’s hand tighter. “
He dragged her on with him, hauled her alongside, glanced back as a “Hoi!” rang out.
Two-no,
Deliah had taken a quick glance, too. Catching up her skirts, she started to run in earnest. “Come on.”
The slick, wet pavements made running dangerous, but they had no choice. With her gown, two petticoats and the skirts of her heavy pelisse swinging about her legs, her reticule banging against one knee, she raced as best she could along the thankfully level flagstone pavement of the Strand.
Del’s hold on her hand helped steady her, yet even without looking she knew their pursuers were closing the distance.
“Now I remember why I always preferred breeches in situations such as this.”
“Sadly, there’s no time to change.”
“No breeches, either.”
“That, too.”
A silly exchange, but it confirmed how desperate their straits truly were. From the sublime to the horrendous had taken mere minutes; her mind had yet to catch up. But it was long after ten o’clock on a wet winter’s night. Although there was plenty of carriage traffic still about, there was almost no one on foot. No support, no succor, and nowhere to make a stand.
Del suddenly changed direction, urging her up a side street heading away from the river. She agreed with the sentiment-the river wasn’t a wise destination-but for a moment she worried the lane they’d taken would prove to be a dead end.
But no. The murk ahead was cut by a beam of light, then they heard the rattle as a carriage rumbled along the street at the upper end of the lane.
“Thank God.” Deliah looked down and put her mind to keeping up, and not slipping on the wet paving stones as Del raced them up the lane.
Neither she nor he could resist a glance back.
The three men were too close, and gaining rapidly. They were all hulking brutes. One was carrying a club.
They were more than two-thirds up the lane, but with the men closing ever more rapidly, ever more determinedly, they weren’t going to reach the street beyond.
A pace ahead of her, Del abruptly stopped, hauled her up to him, then pushed her on. “Go! As fast as you can, then to the left. I’ll catch up.”
Releasing Deliah, Del swung to face the men.
They grinned, and fanned out as they came on.
