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 the town into Bloomsbury. Now she stood in the museum foyer scanning a board listing the current exhibits. “Where should we start? I rather fancy the Egyptian gallery. I’ve heard it’s quite fascinating.”
“The Egyptians it is.” He waved her on.
Discreet signs directed them up the stairs. As they climbed, she glanced at him, then asked, “How did your visit to the Guards go?”
It was the first she’d asked of it-which, now he thought of it, was unlike her. Perhaps she wasn’t as unaffected-as undistracted-as he’d thought?
“I found a few friends to chat to, but it was all for show. I didn’t even mention the Black Cobra.”
At the top of the stairs, he touched her elbow and indicated another sign down a corridor. They started toward it.
“I know you’ve resigned your commission, supposedly permanently, but was that merely for this mission? Will you rejoin when it’s over, perhaps serve in some other capacity? Or are you truly retiring from the field?”
He thought as they strolled. “The latter was my intention, and still is. Talking to the others today only confirmed that-the reasons for that.”
“Which are?”
An interrogation again, but gentler. He sensed she truly wanted to know. And after last night…“I’m thirty-five. My service has shown me much of the world, and also brought me significant wealth. Militarily, there are few challenges remaining-not for field officers such as myself. It’s time I came home and tried my hand at new challenges.”
“In Humberside?”
He felt his lips curve. “In Humberside, strange as that may seem.”
Her nose tipped upward. “It doesn’t seem strange to me.”
And that, he thought, was interesting-revealing. Despite her travels, it seemed she, too, had a special place in her heart for the county of her birth.
Before he could turn the tables on her, she asked, “So what form do you imagine this Humberside challenge will take?”
They’d reached the Egyptian gallery; side by side, they turned into it. A succession of smaller connected rooms opening off a central hall, it was tailor-made for an ambush. The silver head of his swordstick felt reassuring in Del’s hand. Taking Deliah’s elbow, he steered her toward the first of the large statues in the hall, one of Isis that towered some eight feet tall. “Let’s examine the statues in this room first, going down this side, then up the other. That’ll give them a moment to find us. Then we can go through the smaller rooms and see if we can tempt them to make a move.”
She nodded. Dutifully considered Isis, and read the description inscribed on a plaque beside it.
“So,” she said, as they moved to the next statue, “what do you plan to do on your return to Middleton on the Wolds?”
His lips quirked. “You’ve missed your calling-you should have been an interrogator.”
Her brows rose haughtily. “I take it you don’t know the answer.”
“Not entirely. I’d toyed with the idea of resigning for some time, but beyond going home to Middleton on the Wolds, I hadn’t got to the stage of making more detailed plans, then this mission arose, and as part of it I resigned. So no, I haven’t any fixed intentions beyond going home.”
“But it’s your house, isn’t it?” She glanced at him. “Delborough Hall, where your aunts live?”
“Yes.” He steered her on. “They’ve been keeping the place-house and estate-running while I’ve been away, more or less since my father’s death. But from their letters I gather they’re eager for me to take up the reins, something I did wonder about.”
“Indeed. They’ve been mistresses there for decades. They might not have wished to surrender control.”
“Apparently now peace has been established, they’re keen to travel and see all the sights the wars prevented them from seeing.”
She smiled. “From what I remember of them, they’ll thoroughly enjoy harassing some poor courier-guide.”
The notion made him grin.
They’d reached the end of the main hall. Glancing up the long room, he saw a number of other people, including two men who didn’t seem the sort to spend their hours studying ancient statuary. “I believe”-he turned back to Deliah-“that we’ve collected two watchers, but sadly, they’re not cultists.”