the agility of a monkey, swarmed up to the roof, settling amid the bags and bundles secured there.
With a quirk of her brows, Deliah ducked and entered the carriage. As she took her seat, she decided she envied the boy. He’d have a good view as they traveled north through London, and with all the luggage around him, he’d have reasonable protection from the elements.
It was a still day, pervasively cold with gray clouds hanging low and a scent in the air that foretold snow. Not yet, however. Once they reached the open countryside, they would get a better sense of what the day might bring.
Del had paused on the pavement to exchange a few words with the head porter. Deliah settled her skirts, sank into the comforting leather. Del’s household and hers had merged into an effective team. The women had banded together and commandeered the second, slightly larger carriage. They would sit and chat and gossip through the journey. The men had been consigned to the third carriage; that no doubt would travel north in greater silence.
The doorway darkened as Del climbed in. He sat beside her, and the head porter, beaming and touching the brim of his hat, shut the door.
The carriage tipped fractionally as Cobby climbed up beside the driver, then a whip cracked, the carriage jerked as the horses leaned into the harness, and they were away, rolling slowly through the streets on their journey into Cambridgeshire.
Deliah glanced at Del. He was looking out of the window at the streetscapes sliding by. Her thoughts returned to the boy. She wondered how he’d come to be part of Del’s household, felt sure there would be some story there. It was tempting to ask, but…having Del there, seated beside her, reminded her of other things. Other things she really should take the time to think about.
So she did. Let the observations and questions she’d set aside over recent days, that she’d allowed to be overtaken by recent events, finally form in her mind.
Let her thoughts dwell on him, and on what had happened between them, what now existed between them- what label it was most accurate to attach to their…liaison.
Chief among her mental questions was how long that liaison would last.
As they rattled and rumbled through the streets of London, a comfortable silence enveloped them, contrasting with the bustle and noisy hustle outside, the buzz of humanity natural in any large city. And London was the largest of them all. It had spread and sprawled since she’d last traveled through it.
They’d chosen not to take the Great North Road, the obvious route to Cambridgeshire. With its constant stream of carriages, coaches and carts, wagons and riders, that route would be no help in tempting the Black Cobra into an attack. They’d opted instead for the lesser road through Royston. They should reach that minor town in the open country beyond London’s sprawl by lunchtime.
It was after that, once they’d lunched and taken to the road again, traveling along a straight but less frequented stretch to Godmanchester, then along a series of progressively quieter country roads to Somersham, that they expected their invitation to be accepted and the fiend to stage an ambush.
The view beyond the carriage window was growing more countrified. Deliah stirred, glanced at Del. “This house-Somersham Place. Why are you, and Tony and Gervase, so sure no attack will be made after we reach there?”
His lips curved in clear reminiscence. “You’ll understand when you see it. It’s a principal ducal residence, and it’s huge-massive. You could lose a company in it without effort.” He glanced at her, met her eyes. “I visited there years ago-in my school days. I knew houses could be large, but it was a revelation.”
“Is it the duke you know from…Eton?”
He nodded. “Sylvester Cynster, as he was then, known from the cradle by all as Devil. For good reason.”
She arched her brows. “Are you sure-if he was named that from the cradle-that it wasn’t simply a case of him living up to the title?”
He smiled. “That, too. Regardless, when the word went out for extra troops, cavalry in particular, in the lead up to Waterloo, Devil and his Cynster cousins joined as a body of six. We’d kept in touch. Through a feat of string- pulling, they were attached to my troop, so we fought together there.”
“Side by side?”
“Mostly back to back. It wasn’t pretty fighting, that day.” His voice, his expression, had turned grim.
She waited.
After a moment, Del shook aside the darker memories, refocused, then smiled again. “You’ll meet them-the six cousins. Apparently they’re all at Somersham with their wives.” That he was waiting to see. The idea of those hellions brought to heel by a pack of ladies…he wasn’t quite sure he believed it, but he was certainly curious, and looking forward to meeting the ladies involved. “They-the whole family-always gather at Somersham for Christmas, but this year the six families came early so the men could assist with Wolverstone’s plan. They know the other three couriers who are ferrying in the scroll-holders almost as well as they know me.”
“So it’s a reunion of sorts?”
He nodded. “A reunion with the benefit, at least for the Cynsters, of seeing some action again.”
“I wonder how their wives feel about that?”
He wondered, too, but didn’t reply to the faintly caustic question. “The only other couple who will be there, at least that I know of, is Gyles Rawlings, the Earl of Chillingworth, and his wife. Gyles, Devil, and I were all at Eton in the same year. Devil and Gyles were the friendly foes, and I was the peacemaker.”
Deliah glanced at him-an assessing, slightly cynical, but affectionate glance.
He pretended not to notice. “But to answer your question, the reason we consider the Place a safe house, one where no attack is likely after we’ve settled there, is because once Ferrar or Larkins gets the slightest inkling of the number of ex-military men in the house, they’ll pull back. The original idea was to use it as a bolt-hole-a safe place for us to run to once we’d engaged with the cultists, hopefully drawing them along, snapping at our heels, straight into the Cynsters’ arms. Whether we manage that or not-” He broke off, lightly shrugged.
After a moment, he went on, “Wolverstone’s waiting on one of his estates conveniently nearby, so the Place is ideally situated to be a secondary barracks of sorts. We’ll learn more when we get there.”
Deliah paused to take mental note. It seemed she was shortly to meet a duchess, a countess, and at least five other ladies of their circle, all most likely a few years younger than she. Certainly a lot more haut ton than she. At least, courtesy of their visit to Madame Latour’s salon, she had a suitable wardrobe.
Dismisssing the distracting thought-she’d deal with the ladies when she met them-she refocused on the here and now, on Del and his mission.
With a better picture of the wider plan taking shape in her mind, she murmured, “So once we
Del nodded. Folding his arms across his chest, he volunteered nothing more.
He didn’t have to; she could read his hopes and fears with ease.
They hadn’t sighted a single one of the Black Cobra’s own men, except perhaps for the man she’d seen in Southampton, the one Del thought was Ferrar’s gentleman’s gentleman. Despite their plans for the day-plans she now realized were a final throw of the dice-Tony, Gervase, and even more so Del, were tending glum.
They felt they were failing in their mission-in their decoy’s task of drawing out the enemy and reducing his numbers. She could imagine how they were going to feel tonight if they reached the Place without incident.
If they failed to tempt the Black Cobra into the open, into risking his cultists against them.
Relaxing against the seat, she faced forward and thought of their strategy, and of the time they had left.
They were deep in the countryside with signposts to Royston flashing past at every crossroads when she said, “This isn’t going to work.” Turning her head, she caught Del’s eye. “Not if you want to draw out however many of the cultists are following us.”
Arms still crossed, he frowned. “We’re in slow carriages overburdened with females and luggage, and traveling on increasingly less populated byways. At some point, Ferrar-or Larkins, more likely-will risk his hand. He’ll feel he has to.”
“Not if he hasn’t that many men, and he knows about Tony and Gervase.”
He didn’t immediately reply. He studied her eyes, then, still frowning, asked, “What do you mean?”
“I mean that at least one of the Black Cobra’s men is English-Larkins. It wouldn’t have been that hard for him to discover through watching Grillon’s that there are two other gentlemen who are also of our party-who
