“I take it it’s a gentlemen’s club?” she asked.
“Of a sort, but our wives also stay there when visiting town.”
Her brows rose. “Indeed?” She appeared to consider, then shook her head. “I don’t think any private establishment will do.”
Del fully expected her to circle back to what she really wanted to know about-his mission. He cut in. “We can discuss the possibilities in the carriage.” He glanced pointedly at the clock on the mantelpiece. “We should get underway as soon as possible.”
She looked at him, then smiled. “Of course.” She set down her empty cup, laid aside her napkin. With regal grace, she rose, bringing them to their feet. She inclined her head as she turned to the door. “Gentlemen. I’ll be ready to leave in an hour.”
They stood and watched her glide to the door; she opened it, then shut it quietly behind her.
“I assume,” Gervase said, “that we’re supposed to understand that she’s not a cypher to be ignored.”
Del snorted. “More that she’s not a cypher-and will not be ignored.”
“Well? Are you going to tell me or not?”
Head back against the squabs, eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest, Del supposed he should have expected the question. “Not.”
He didn’t bother opening his eyes. They’d left Winchester half an hour before, and were now bowling along the highway toward London. There was, however, a pertinent difference between their present journey and that of the evening before-today he and she were alone in the carriage. Her staff and his were following in the two carriages immediately behind, the three conveyances traveling in convoy. Gervase and Tony, the lucky sods, were on horseback, riding parallel to the road, close enough to keep watch, yet not so close that they would scare away any of the Black Cobra’s men who might be tempted to stage an attack.
Del didn’t think an attack at all likely. Even in this season, this highway was too busy, with mail coaches and all manner of private vehicles constantly bowling along in both directions. The Black Cobra cultists preferred less populated surrounds for their villainy.
“Where are the other two?”
He slitted open his eyes and saw her peering out of the carriage window.
“They said they’d ride with us, but I can’t see them.”
He closed his eyes again. “Don’t worry. They’re there.”
He felt her sharp glance.
“I’m not worried. I’m curious.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Her gaze heated to a glare; even with his eyes closed he felt it.
“Let’s see if I have this right.” Her tone was the epitome of reason and sense. “You arrive in Southampton and take rooms at an inn, then discover you’ve been elected to be my escort and promptly try to divest yourself of the responsibility. Then someone tries to shoot you, and you immediately up stakes and quit said inn-even though your people have only just settled in and it’s already evening-to rattle all of what?-ten miles?-further along the road. And by the next morning, you’ve acquired two…should I call them guards?”
His lips quirked before he stilled them.
She saw, humphed. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
“No.”
“Why? I cannot see how it would hurt for me to know what it is you’re carrying-information or something more tangible-and what you want to do with it, who wants to stop you, and why.”
At that he opened his eyes, turned his head and looked at her. Met her irritated green gaze. She’d guessed so much…he set his jaw. “It’s better if you don’t know.”
Her eyes slitted, her lips thinned. “Better for whom?”
He wasn’t, when it came to it, all that sure. Facing forward, resettling his head, he murmured, “I’ll think about it.”
And closed his eyes again.
He felt the heat of her temper focus on him, but then she shifted on the seat, and blessed silence descended.
It lasted. And lasted.
Eventually he opened his eyes enough to send a careful look her way.
She was sitting in the corner of the carriage, leaning against the side, watching the fields flash past. There was a faint frown on her face, and her lips were…just slightly pouting.
Minutes ticked by, then he forced his gaze forward and closed his eyes again.
They stopped for lunch at a small country inn in the village of Windlesham. Deliah had been unimpressed when he’d refused to halt at any of the major posting inns at Cam-berley but instead had directed the coachman to the much smaller-and therefore much safer-country village.
Tony and Gervase would hang back, keeping watch to see if they could spot anyone following. But as the Black Cobra had to suspect Del would make for London, he, Tony and Gervase were all of the opinion that it was more likely there would be watchers planted at vantage points along the road to report his passage to their master.
If Tony or Gervase could spot such a watcher, they might be able to follow the man back to the Black Cobra’s lair. As the game stood, any information on the Black Cobra’s forces would be welcome, while information on the Black Cobra himself would be gold.
Del climbed down from the carriage before the Windlesham Arms, and after a swift look around, handed Deliah down. She continued to grumble, which in her case was more like acerbic verbal sniping, which Del found amusing, although he was careful not to let his appreciation show.
But after the innkeeper bowed them into a pretty parlor with lace curtains and comfortable chairs, and then proceeded to serve an excellent meal, her griping ceased. By the time he escorted her back into the main tap and paused by the bar to settle the account, she was entirely appeased, and in a relatively mellow mood-not that she would admit it.
Lips curving, Del chatted to the barman while he waited for the innkeeper to tot up the damage.
The tap was half full. Rather than stand beside Del and be covertly studied by the occupants, Deliah wandered to an archway where a pair of glassed doors gave onto a small courtyard. Gently rolling lawns lay beyond; in summer, the area would, she suspected, be dotted with the trestles and benches she could see stacked to one side under a row of leafless trees.
Nearer at hand, a narrow bed ran along the wall of the inn, full of hellebores in bloom. It had been so long since she’d seen the so-called Christmas roses on impulse she opened the door and went out to admire them.
The plants were old, large, and carried many spikes of large, nodding white blooms. Some were even spotty. She bent down the better to see.
And heard a soft rush of footsteps coming up the lawn.
Straightening, she started to turn-just as a large man seized her from behind.
She screamed, struggled.
A second man tried to help the first, tried to hold her still as the first attempted to clap a hand over her mouth.
She ducked her head, jabbed an elbow back hard-into a flabby stomach. The first man gasped, then wheezed.
The second man swore and tried to haul her away from the inn as the first man’s grip faltered.
She dug in her heels, dragged in a breath, and screamed again. Wrenching one arm free, she struck wildly at the second man.
Del erupted from the inn. Kumulay and Mustaf were on his heels.
The second man swore, and fled for his life.
The first man wasn’t as fast; he was still clutching her, still wheezing. Del grabbed her free arm with one hand. His other fist flashed past her shoulder.
She heard a sickening crunch, then the large man’s grip on her eased and fell away.
Del pulled her to him, to his other side. Peering back, around him, she saw the man who’d seized her laid out unconscious on the flagstone path.
Then every man and woman who’d been in the tap came pouring out-to see, exclaim, ask questions, demand answers.
Del suddenly found himself and Deliah surrounded by a well-meaning throng. Many seemed to think Deliah would be in imminent danger of collapse, presumably from overwrought sensibilities, an assumption she seemed to find as mystifying as, and rather more irritating than, he did.