They eventually strolled on into what Del told her was the room of the Committee of Correspondence. The large chamber held portraits of past governors-general, the Marquis of Cornwallis and Warren Hastings among them. Of more interest to her was the large number of paintings depicting views of Indian scenery that lined the walls.
At last, after more than an hour, they returned to the grand foyer.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Deliah turned to him and said, “I realize now that my insisting you escort me home to Humberside has made your mission that much more difficult-more complicated.”
She knew he hadn’t intended to include her among the “well-meaning others,” that he’d accepted her help and her place in their little group of conspirators, but he would have preferred to be rid of her from the start…and if that kiss this morning had demonstrated anything, it was that she couldn’t trust herself-her inner self-when it came to him, when he was anywhere near.
Dragging in a quick breath, she lifted her chin. “So I’ll apologize for that, and if it will make your mission easier, you can leave me here, in London. I can go and stay with my old governess for a few days, until you go on to Cam bridgeshire and lead the Black Cobra away. Then I can make my way home. I’ll have Kumulay and the rest of my household with me. It’ll be perfectly safe.”
“No.” Del didn’t even think before the answer was on his lips. He paused, frowning. Reminded of her earlier insistence on propriety-something he now knew was uncharacteristic-he had to wonder why she’d acted as she had and clung so tenaciously to his promised escort, but he set that conundrum aside for later. He had to quash her latest suggestion; his instinctive response was to reject it out of hand. Which he’d done. Now he needed to assemble his rationalization. His explanation.
His excuse.
He’d managed to keep his expression impassive. His eyes locked with hers, he stated, “You had your chance to bow out of my mission at the beginning, but now you’re a part of it-an integral part as far as the Black Cobra is concerned-so you have to stay with me and see it through to the end.”
Only then would she be safe. Regardless of what might develop between them-and after this morning he was increasingly certain something would-there was no way this side of Heaven he would let her out of his orbit to be exposed to the malicious vindictiveness of the Black Cobra.
She held his gaze, studied his eyes, considered his words, then inclined her head. “If that’s what you truly wish, then I’ll stay.”
He was unprepared for the relief that swept through him.
Entirely satisfied-she hadn’t wanted to step back but had felt honor-bound to make the offer-Deliah looked around again, thinking of the large number who’d come to talk to him. “Isn’t there anyone in the company you can warn about the evidence, about the Black Cobra himself?”
“If there was, I would, but as the culprit’s Ferrar, there’s no one in the company I feel confident would-or could-see justice done. Ferrar’s father, the earl, is a director, and he almost certainly has too many of the other directors in his pocket. That’s his way of doing business.”
Del swept the foyer one last time, then took her arm. “Come. We’ve spent enough time here-talked to enough people to have Ferrar wondering.”
Deliah looked at him. “Is he here?”
“No, but various associates are. News of my visit will do the rounds. The Black Cobra will hear.”
He escorted her outside, onto the pavement in front of the building.
When he halted and pulled out his fob-watch, she glanced across the street and saw Tony lounging, with Gervase further along. “Where to now?”
Replacing his watch, he said, “It’s just after three, and the afternoon is fine. So how would a lady of your ilk pass the time?”
Deliah wasn’t averse to an amble in Hyde Park. Not only was she happy to stretch her legs over the lush lawns but as the female half of the ton-or at least as much of it as remained in the capital in that season-was arrayed in its customary splendor in the carriages drawn up along the Avenue, there was plenty to catch her eye.
Strolling beside her, Del noticed her absorption. “I thought you weren’t all that interested in the latest fashions.”
“I’m not.” Her eye caught by a particularly fine crepe gown-very bravely worn considering the icy breeze that rattled the bare branches-she answered absentmindedly. “I’m more interested in the materials themselves.”
A moment passed. “Why?”
She blinked, realized what she’d said. Glanced at him, and saw from the intentness in his eyes that he wasn’t likely to accept an evasive answer. And truly, why should she conceal her success? Especially from an ex-East India Company man. “I…have an interest-a commercial interest-in cotton.”
His brows rose.
She hurried on, “My primary investments are in sugar cane, but I recently had an opportunity to buy into cotton farming and importation, and I did. Consequently, I’m interested in the degree to which cotton is used compared to wool or silk.”
He was now regarding her with fascinated interest. “You invest?”
Ladies weren’t supposed to, of course, but she was tired of hiding her light under a bushel. Tired of pretending to be a woman she was not. She nodded. “My uncle encouraged me to learn the ropes. While he’s terribly conservative in some ways, in others, he’s quite progressive. And, of course, in Jamaica it’s not so unheard of for ladies to be involved.”
She glanced at Del, wondering if he’d prove to be one of those gentlemen for whom the very notion of ladies being involved in making money was simply scandalous.
“What sort of company is it? Has it been operational for long? And are the returns as good as with sugarcane?”
His questions came thick and fast. Absorbed with answering, she strolled on beside him. The shrewdness behind his questions suggested he had more than a passing understanding of investing. Even more reassuring, he demonstrably viewed her involvement with respect, not derision.
She couldn’t recall ever discussing business in such depth with anyone other than her longtime brokers, now far away in Jamaica.
They came to the end of the Avenue, and he paused, then steered her across the carriage drive into a secluded walk leading deeper into Kensington Gardens. The gravel path was lined with thick borders backed by a row of even thicker bushes. “Keep talking,” he murmured.
“Are they following us?” When he nodded, she asked, “How many?”
He listened. “Three, I think. At least.”
“Are Tony and Gervase near?”
“Back behind the trees to our north. They’ll be keeping pace on that side.”
They walked on, chatting of this and that, no longer paying attention to their words. Along one side, other paths joined theirs, but the bushes along the north side continued in an unbroken line.
“They’re being rather furtive,” he eventually said. “Which suggests they might, at last, be cultists, rather than hired locals.”
By mutual unspoken accord, they slowed. Deliah, too, heard stealthy rustling following them along the line of bushes.
“They’re still there,” she murmured, “but we’re nearly at the end of the path.”
Del looked ahead. The path ended, opening onto a wide lawn, thirty yards ahead. Taking Deliah’s elbow, he slowed further. “We need to lure them out.”
Even as the words left his lips, the sound of giggles and light voices eagerly chatting came from behind them. Glancing back, they saw a party of very young young ladies and their attending beaux step onto the path a good way back.
The rustling ceased abruptly.
Deliah exchanged a look with Del. “Perhaps they’ll take one of the other paths and leave this one.”
Del’s jaw firmed. “Let’s keep walking.”
They did, slowly ambling, but the giggling, lighthearted party continued on the same path, drawing ever nearer.