The smile, however, remained on his lips.
They returned to the hotel and repaired to the suite. Minutes later, Tony and Gervase joined them.
“Those two are still watching from down the street,” Gervase said. “They come, they go, but they don’t go far.”
“They have to be the Black Cobra’s hirelings.” Del grimaced. “Unfortunately, I can’t see any benefit in the direct approach. Like the others, they won’t know anything.”
“The best we can do is follow them this evening and hope to get a bead on the man to whom they report.” Tony turned as the door opened. “Ah-luncheon.”
They sat and ate. Deliah preserved a certain aloofness. Even she could hear the warning edge to her voice. Neither Tony nor Gervase could interpret it, but that didn’t matter-he who needed to hear the warning could.
From the look in his eyes when they met hers, Del heard her message loud and clear, but to her irritation he didn’t pay it any great heed. When, the meal concluded and their plans for the afternoon confirmed, he and she left the suite on their next foray-a visit to Hatchards, again shadowed by Tony and Gervase-in ushering her through the door, he let his hand linger at the back of her waist.
Rather than respond, she decided to ignore him. And the reactions he evoked. Nose in the air, she led the way to the stairs.
Hatchards bookshop wasn’t far. Remembering the image they wished to project, when they stepped out into Albemarle Street and Del offered his arm, she took it. Together they strolled down the street and into Piccadilly. The day had remained overcast, the heavy clouds a steel-gray; the brisk breeze carried the scent of snow, although none had yet fallen. She’d brought her umbrella just in case; getting drenched formed no part of her plans.
The bell over Hatchards’ door tinkled as Del opened the door. Deliah walked in; he followed at her heels. “Do you think they’ll come in here?” she murmured.
Pausing, they both took stock of the shop, tightly packed with bookshelves forming narrow corridors leading into the depths, with a goodly number of customers excusing themselves to each other as they passed up and down the aisles, searching the shelves.
“If I were them,” Del replied, “I’d stay outside and watch. There’s only one door for customers to use. But still, it’s worth a try-we might lure them in. Pick an aisle, and let’s disappear down it and see what happens.”
“Poets, I think.” She set off down the third aisle.
Despite the look he cast her, he followed.
“Did you ever read Byron?”
“No. Not my style.”
She cast him a glance over her shoulder. “You might be surprised. ‘Childe Harold’ was quite…adventurous.”
He merely looked at her.
She smiled and faced forward.
They spent some time loitering deep between the shelves, pretending a spurious interest in this or that, while he kept a weather eye on the others who drifted quietly up and down the aisles.
An assassin would have found the shop very much to his liking. It would have been quite easy to take someone intent on the books unawares. But Del was fast coming to the conclusion that those following them had been hired merely to watch, and nothing else.
Which worried him.
Where was the Black Cobra and his assassins? He couldn’t believe there weren’t more cultists in England, supporting their evil master. Aside from all else, their evil master was far too canny not to have brought as many men as he could with him. And he’d had days, if not weeks, to build up his troops.
His mind absorbed with speculation, his eyes scanning their surrounds, he didn’t see the danger directly before 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 dare kiss me-not here.”
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?”