He certainly hadn’t behaved like a man burdened with regrets.
If he had been, he wouldn’t have…done it all again.
Only more slowly, and with much greater attention to detail.
Her body thrummed just from the memory.
The maid had left; the fire was crackling. She heard the door open, and Bess’s quick, light steps. Tossing back the covers, she froze, then set her chin, wrapped the loose sheet about her naked self, and swung her legs out of the bed.
“Good morning, Bess.” Sheet trailing after her, she walked out from around the bed. “Have you seen my robe?”
Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face.
Bess stared at her, mouth open, for one long moment, then simply said, “Oh, my God.”
Washed, brushed and wearing one of the walking gowns that had been delivered from Madamae Latour’s salon, Deliah strolled into the sitting room of the suite in an entirely amiable mood.
Over the matter of the gowns she’d decided not to cut off her nose to spite her face. She’d accept them for now, but later she would insist on paying Del in full. In money.
But she needed gowns to wear now. Not anticipating a prolonged halt on their journey north, she had a few carriage gowns, and not much else. She’d charged Bess with shopping for chemises, stockings and similar necessities while she was out tempting the Black Cobra with Del.
He was in the sitting room, seated at the table breaking his fast with Tony and Gervase. At sight of her, all three started to get to their feet. She waved them back. “No-stay where you are.”
While the others subsided, with a careful look, Del pulled out the empty chair between his and Tony’s. With an airy nod and a light smile, she thanked him and sat.
She looked at Tony as Del resumed his seat. “So,” she asked, reaching for the teapot, “did anything come of your watch at the tavern?”
If Del could be a man of the world and evince no telltale sign of the hours they’d spent rolling naked in her bed, then she could do the same.
From the corner of his eye, Del watched her sip tea and nibble a slice of toast and marmalade as Tony and Gervase recounted their disappointingly uneventful evening.
“The Cobra or his minions must have been watching from outside the inn, waiting to see if their hirelings brought a woman.” Gervase shook his head. “We thought of hunting to see if we could spot them, but in that neighborhood there are simply too many seedy characters.”
“And they
Grimacing in commiseration, Deliah set down her empty cup. “So what are our plans for today?”
They discussed their options for drawing the cultists out.
Del had already told Gervase and Tony of the excitement following his and Deliah’s attendance at the recital. They’d been troubled, and not a little disgusted to have missed the action. They’d resolved they wouldn’t again leave Deliah and him unwatched while out of the hotel. However…
“We need to make it easier, more attractive for them to approach-to come out of hiding and make some move.” Gervase looked at Del and Deliah. “The museum’s a warren-it might appeal to them.”
They all agreed that the museum and its many rooms was worth a try.
Del stirred and shot a glance at Deliah. Tried to keep all expression from his face. “It’s too early yet to go to the museum.” He switched his gaze to Tony and Gervase. “I think I’ll take a stroll to Guards’ Headquarters. Laying more false trails can’t hurt.”
“That,” Deliah said, laying aside her napkin, her gaze on Tony and Gervase, “sounds eminently sensible. You two can follow and keep watch. I’ll wait here until you get back, then we can go to Montague House.”
Tony and Gervase agreed readily.
Del inclined his head.
And told himself he had no grounds on which to feel sensitive, let alone irritated, by his recent bedmate’s unaffected manner, by the lack of any hint of susceptibility, or consciousness in her attitude to him.
She was behaving exactly as he should want her to behave. Neither Tony nor Gervase had detected any change in the air between him and her.
Because there wasn’t any. At least, none to be detected. Even by him.
Despite all, he’d expected
Entirely against his better judgment, he wanted to speak with her-just to jog her memory of the heated hours they’d shared last night-but all four of them rose from the table and, instead of giving him a chance to hang back and exchange those few words, with an airy wave, Deliah headed for her bedroom.
Leaving him to quit the suite with Tony and Gervase, in a distinctly disgruntled mood.
His mood hadn’t improved when he returned to Grillon’s from visiting the Guards, then taking a quick swing through Whitehall and the Home Office, just to set a few more spectral cats prowling around their pigeon.
Nothing of any moment had been achieved. There’d been no one worthwhile confiding in at any of his stops, and neither Tony nor Gervase had spotted any cultists, although they were sure he’d been followed by at least three different locals working as a team-keeping watch, but too wary to try any direct attack.
Regardless, after last night, if he was to escort Deliah on another foray in which he and she would play welcoming targets, he wanted something a little more lethal than his cane.
His swordstick would feel better in his hand.
Tony and Gervase had elected to wait outside, hanging back at the corner of the street. Although he’d known they’d been close, even he hadn’t always been able to spot them.
Reaching the top of the stairs, he turned and made for his bedchamber. He’d change his cane for his swordstick, then collect Deliah and leave for the museum.
He was still some way from the door to his room when it opened. The Indian boy who was part of Deliah’s household came out. The boy shut the door and, without seeing Del, walked off down the corridor in the opposite direction, no doubt making for the servants’ stairs at the end.
Slowing, Del watched him go, then, reaching his door, opened it and went in.
Cobby was there, folding shirts. He looked up as Del closed the door. “Any luck?”
“No.” Del tossed him his cane, which Cobby deftly caught. “I thought I’d take my swordstick.”
Cobby grinned. “By the wall beside the door.”
Del turned, saw it waiting, and grunted. Picking it up, he paused. “Did Miss Duncannon send a message?”
“No. Haven’t heard from her, nor seen her, since breakfast.”
“What was her boy doing here, then?”
“Sangay? He just looked in to see if I had anything for him to do-any errands or the like. Probably looking for an excuse to get outside.”
Del humphed, nodded. He refocused on the swordstick in his hand. “So it’s off to the museum to trawl for cultists. Wish us luck.”
“I would, only I’m not sure which way that should go. Do you want them to hang back and let you live peaceably, or come at you and try to slit your throats?”
“The latter.” Del turned to the door. “At the moment I could definitely do with engaging a cultist or two.”
Or three. By the time he and Deliah reached the museum, Del was itching for a fight. He knew the sensation well, but never before had it been provoked by a woman, a lady. And all because she was behaving absolutely perfectly.
Except…
He’d spent the short hackney ride to Montague House lecturing himself on the absurdity of wishing her to change into some different, more delicate type of female, the sort prone to displaying her sensibilities. That might make reading her, and managing her, easier, but it would conversely make his life a great deal more difficult.
And he didn’t truly want her to change. He wanted…
If she’d noticed his abstraction, she’d given no sign, but had commented happily on the sights as they’d crossed
