him.
Deliah didn’t intend it, and neither did he. She was about to slip past an elderly gentleman when the man turned, blocking the narrow aisle, then, eyes down, stepped toward them. Deliah stopped dead. The gentleman, apparently hard of hearing, and then shocked to find them so close, took a moment to realize and halt-forcing her to hurriedly step back.
Her neatly rounded derriere pressed snugly into Del’s groin.
An instant later, realizing the problem courtesy of his inevitable reaction, she tried to shift sideways and succeeded in making matters even worse. Biting back a curse, he closed his hands over her shoulders and forced himself to step back.
Oblivious, the elderly gentleman, with profuse apologies and an attempted bow, excused himself and squeezed past.
Deliah swung to face Del. The look with which she pinned him was full of accusation.
Eyes narrowing, he stepped closer.
She started to edge away. Reaching across, he clamped one hand on the shelf beyond her shoulder, caging her; with his shoulder against the shelf alongside her, his body shielded her from anyone starting down the aisle. There was no one else presently in it.
All points she’d already noted.
He leaned close, met her aggravated gaze. “That wasn’t my fault-not in the slightest.”
Her lips thinned. Her eyes searched his, then they widened. Her breath hitched. Her gaze lowered to his lips. “Don’t you
Part protest, part order, part whispered plea.
For one defined instant, all about them stilled. The very air seemed brittle, charged, all but crackling.
Her breasts rose and fell. His gaze lowered to the tempting mounds, before rising, inevitably, to her lips…
He saw them quiver. He looked up, into her eyes, and realized she was…every bit as aroused, as tempted, as he.
But she was frightened, not of him but of what might-would-happen if…
“No. Not here.” He straightened, and she sucked in a much-needed breath.
Then she shot him a glance close to a glare. “Good.”
Spine stiff, she entirely unnecessarily shook out her skirts, then, nose once more elevated, preceded him up the aisle.
He fell into step behind her, far enough back so he could appreciate the view as they walked back up the long aisle.
That view did nothing for his painfully unsatisfied state, yet the realization that in the aftermath of their earlier kiss-and its as yet unfullfilled promise-she was every bit as exercised as he, every bit as on edge and wanting, went a long way toward easing his temper.
When they stepped out of the shop and the door closed behind them, he could still feel the charged atmosphere between them, but they were standing in Piccadilly in the middle of the afternoon. He wasn’t surprised when she squared her shoulders, then, glancing vaguely down the street, said, “It seems senseless to waste the entire afternoon. I assume they’re still watching-why don’t we give them an opportunity they can’t refuse?”
“Such as?”
Deliah bludgeoned her wits to keep them in line, to keep them focused on his mission and what they were supposed to be accomplishing, rather than on what they might instead do if they returned to the hotel.
Her pulse was still tripping, her heart still pounding, but aside from all else, there were Tony and Gervase to consider. She couldn’t see them, but they would be near, watching, waiting.
“What about Green Park?” She turned to look down Piccadilly to where, a little way along, leafless trees overhung the pavement. “I doubt there’ll be many nursemaids airing their charges in this weather.”
She cocked a brow Del’s way. He hesitated, then, it seemed with great reluctance, inclined his head. He offered his arm. Steeling herself, she took it, and let him lead her down the busy street.
The sky was darkening, the clouds louring, and, as she’d predicted, there weren’t many people strolling under the large trees in Green Park. A scattering of maids and governesses were gathering toddlers and young children, preparing to take them home.
To warm hearths and comfort, out of the chill of impending icy rain.
Deliah gave thanks for her thick pelisse. The shiver she fought to suppress wasn’t due to the cold. They were being followed, she was sure of it, and this time with more definite intent-although she might be imagining that. She glanced at Del. “There’s more of them, aren’t there?”
His features hard, his expression impassive, he nodded. “At least three, but I think there are more.”
They strolled on a few paces. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
Del wasn’t sure he agreed. “It’s what we wanted to do.” To draw the cultists into an attack. Only he didn’t think they were cultists, although he still held a faint hope. More importantly, however, he had Deliah beside him- and that went against every tenet in his book.
With every step he took deeper into the park, he felt increasingly torn, one part of him urging him to take Deliah’s arm and march her straight back to the safety of the hotel, while the rest of him argued that this was a chance-a chance his mission committed him to take-to engage the enemy’s troops and reduce their number. His decoy’s mission hinged on that.
And she would fight him every step of the way if he tried to remove her from the action she’d instigated.
They slowed, but remaining apparently oblivious was essential to tempt an attack. Yet the edge of the park drew steadily nearer, and still their pursuers hung back.
“What do we do?” she asked. “Turn and saunter back?”
Mentally reviewing the areas through which they’d passed, he grimaced. “It’s too open-they’re worried others will see and come to our aid. There’s still plenty of people walking along Piccadilly-anyone could glance into the park and see.”
“In that case”-with her furled umbrella, she waved ahead-“let’s continue on into St James’s Park. Lots more bushes under the trees there, and even fewer people.”
Let alone the sort who might assist them. With the light fading, and the weather closing in, the denizens left in St. James’s Park were more likely to be pickpockets and thieves than upstanding citizens.
Del’s jaw set. He didn’t want to, but…with a stiff nod, he guided her on.
Leaving Green Park, they crossed the end of the Mall, all but deserted, and strolled, apparently nonchalantly, on into the glades of St. James’s Park.
The bushes closed around them, and every instinct Del possessed heightened, sharpened.
Beside him, he felt Deliah tense, alert, her senses no doubt reaching out, scanning, as were his.
“Tony and Gervase will be near.” He uttered the reassurance beneath his breath.
She tipped her head in acknowledgment, but said nothing.
The attack, when it came, was potentially more deadly than he’d foreseen. They were ambling, outwardly without a care, down a grassed avenue wide enough for three men abreast, when three thugs swung out of the bushes ten paces ahead, and faced them, blocking the way.
Movement to their rear told him there were men there, too; gripping Deliah’s arm, he pulled her behind him as he swung to place their backs to a wide tree trunk.
Two more men blocked the path they’d already trod, cutting off any retreat. At that point, the trees and bushes lining the path were too thick to easily push through.
The enemy had chosen a decent setting for their ambush, yet they were all Englishmen. Del inwardly swore as, with a click, he loosened the sword concealed in his stick. Three of the men started forward, two from one end, one from the other, leaving one man standing guard at either end of the short stretch. With a flourishing swish, Del unsheathed his sword. Stepping back, crowding Deliah between the tree and him, he beckoned. “Come on, then.”
The sword had given them pause. They already had knives in their hands. They exchanged glances, then looked back at him.
Then they launched a concerted attack.
The fighting was fast and furious, but Del had been in tighter, more dicey situations. He hadn’t, however,
