Del offered Deliah his arm, and they went in with the others, all chatting and commenting in relaxed and easy camaraderie, all glad the day was ending so well. While it might not have yielded the ultimate victory they wanted—not yet—a definite blow had been struck, and they’d all come away without hurt or harm.
Once the glasses were charged, at the head of the table Royce rose to address them. An expectant hush fell over the room. He looked down the long board, lips lightly curving as he included them all. “We’ve drawn first blood. In the last days, we’ve won a number of skirmishes and, this morning, the first battle. Yes, we haven’t yet won our war, but we’ve made an excellent start.”
He raised his glass to Del, seated halfway down the table. “To Delborough, and the successful conclusion of his part in this mission.”
They all cheered and drank.
Del smiled and inclined his head in acknowledgment.
“The next engagement,” Royce continued, “will be on us soon—as Hamilton draws near, which, with any luck, will be tomorrow.”
Cheers from all the men greeted that news.
“However,” Royce went on, his gaze returning to Del, “tonight is for celebrating the success of today. For that, and for all that’s to come, I give you a toast.” He raised his glass high. “To justice for all who deserve it. And death to the Black Cobra.”
“Hear, hear!” came from all around. The men all rose, raised their glasses high and drank. The ladies drank, too. Not one shied from the sentiment declared.
Then everyone subsided, and the meal began.
Excellent food, excellent wine, and excellent company. Free-flowing conversations and the warmth of good cheer wrapped Deliah in their comfort, welcomed and reassured. As the meal progressed, she became increasingly aware of the quiet happiness welling within her. Content beyond measure, she glanced at Del, seated beside her, and saw the same appreciation in his eyes.
They shared a smile, knew without speaking what was in the other’s mind. This was home—at last, they were here. For both of them the journey had been long, but they were there now; at last they knew what their future would hold.
His eyes still locked with hers, Del found her hand, raised it, placed a kiss in her palm, then closed his hand over her fingers. He turned his head to answer a question from Devil.
Deliah studied his profile, let her happiness continue to well.
Home is where the heart is.
She’d heard the phrase before.
Now she understood it.
All their ladies seemed to have taken being tied up that morning relatively well.
Later that evening, back at Somersham Place, Del followed Deliah up the stairs to her room—just as all the other men were following their wives, metaphorically trotting penitently at their heels to face whatever penance was to be theirs.
And just like all the other men, he had to fight to keep a smile from his face.
In his case, the only thing that had marred his day was Ferrar escaping, but as he hadn’t really expected the bastard to even be there, he couldn’t repine too much. Tomorrow, as Royce had intimated, was another day.
Overall, as Deliah halted before her door and he reached around her to open it, he was feeling distinctly…mellow. It had been such a long time since he’d felt that way that the word took a moment to come to his mind.
Following Deliah into the room, he shut the door behind them. She was unbuttoning her pelisse. He crossed to lift it from her shoulders.
The pale green gown she wore beneath, another of Madame Latour’s creations, fitted Deliah’s lush curves exceedingly well; he’d admired the result throughout the evening. He vaguely recalled paying a pretty penny for the gown, and considered it money well spent.
He laid her pelisse over a chair. Her back to him, she glanced at him over her shoulder, then glided into the room.
“This morning…” She said nothing more, but crossed to the dresser. On its top, he saw the two colorful scarves he’d used to secure her to the bed. She picked them up, slowly ran the silk through her fingers as she turned to, across the dimly lit room, regard him.
She tilted her head. “You tied me up.”
Despite his conviction that all was well, more than well, and settled—definitely settled—between them, his stomach contracted at her distant and chilly tone. But…lips thinning, he nodded. “I had to. If you’d been at the cathedral when the fiend, or even Larkins, was there…”
He inwardly shuddered at the thought even now.
Her brows rose. “I would have distracted you?”
He nodded. “I would have been thinking about you—focusing on you, and not on what I was doing.”
“Hmm…that’s what the others said.”
“The other ladies?”
When she nodded, he eased out a breath, and walked forward, closing the distance to halt just before her.
She studied his face. “They also said you…fussing protectively over me was a measure of how much I mean to you. Were they right in that, too?”
Some part of him squirmed, literally squirmed at the thought that she—and the other ladies—saw through him so easily. But he forced himself to nod, albeit curtly. “Yes.”
She smiled. “In that case, all else they said on that subject is presumably correct, too.” She pulled the scarves taut between her hands.
He suddenly felt exceedingly wary. “What else did they say?”
“Actually, it was Minerva who recommended the…procedure. As you might imagine, we spent some time after dinner discussing what recompense would be most appropriate to demand for your high-handedness in tying us all to our beds. A piece of male arrogance that, as you might expect, we were not, individually or collectively, inclined to let pass unanswered. Unremarked on. Unpaid for.”
He was perfectly sure he didn’t want to know the answer, but had to ask, “What is this procedure?”
“It’s very simple.” Her smile was the epitome of feminine triumph. “It’s along the lines of, ‘What’s sauce for the goose is also sauce for the gander.’”
“Ah.” He looked down at the scarves she kept tugging taut between her hands. “I…see.”
“I’m told it works best if you first remove your boots and stockings, coat, waistcoat and cravat.” Stepping back, she gestured with a wave to the bed. “So if you will?”
He eyed the bed, glanced briefly her way, then relucantly shrugged out of his coat. Laying it aside, he set his fingers to the buttons of his waistcoat, rapidly assessing her tack, her options, the likely outcome.
It wasn’t all bad.
Dispensing with his waistcoat, he caught her eye. “Just promise me one thing—you won’t leave me tied naked to your bed in the morning.”
She laughed, a distinctly sultry sound. “We’ll have to see how well you perform in fulfilling your penance.” She turned to survey the bed, as if measuring him lying upon it. Then she walked toward it. “Just console yourself with the thought that every man who sinned is paying the same price.”
“They are?”
“Well, of course.”
That cast the matter in a completely different light. Del inwardly grinned, wondering what comments he, Devil, and the others would be sharing tomorrow morning.
Tossing his cravat aside, he followed her to the bed, where she was lacing the scarves through the ornate headboard, just as he had that morning.
She straightened and turned as he neared.
He caught her in one arm, bent his head and kissed her soundly.
Lifting his head, he looked into her jade eyes, already hazed with rising passion. “I’ll do anything you ask of me—anything and everything—just as long as, come the morning, you’ll still be mine.”
She looked into his eyes, studied them, then smiled. “Always.” Her smile deepened. She raised a hand, laid her palm to his cheek. “Always and forever.”
A heartbeat passed, then she lightly patted his cheek. “Now get on the bed.”
&nb
sp; He did, and gave himself up to her torment.
To giving his all, and accepting hers in return.
The night rolled on as passion roiled about them, as desire surged, then, sated, waned. Only to wax anew, and take them again.
They found new ways to use the scarves, experimented and laughed, then fell silent as desire and joy twined again, crested again, wracked them again.
At the end they lay entwined, his arms around her, their legs tangled, and traded whispers and hopes, thoughts and ideas of what their joint life would be like once the Black Cobra was brought down.
Ultimately, sleep crept in on quiet wings and enfolded them.
Deliah’s last thought was that for her part in Del’s mission she’d gained a reward far greater than she ever would have—ever could have—imagined. She’d gained the love of an honorable, courageous, handsome, and passionate gentleman—something she’d been so often told, and had for so long believed, she could never have.
He was with her now, hers now, and she was his forevermore.
She closed her eyes, hugged that glorious truth close, and let sleep claim her.
Del listened to her breathing slow, felt her warmth filling his arms, and knew he’d already gained the greatest reward he could possibly expect from this mission. He’d defined and secured his future—their future.
It lay waiting for them, just ahead on their road, a shared life in which she would be his—his wife, his lover, his helpmate, his heart—while he would be hers, her husband, her protector.
Even if he had to pay a penance every time he exercised the latter right.
His lips curved as sleep tugged him down. He surrendered as one last thought slid through his mind.
Home.
He was finally there.
Home for him lay in Deliah’s arms.
December 19
Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk
In the darkest hour of the long night, Roderick Ferrar strode up to the back door of the house in Bury St. Edmunds that the cult had made its own.
The door opened before he reached it. He strode in, fighting to keep the shivers that racked him at bay. He went straight through the house to the drawing room, barely noticing the silks now draping the walls, the incense permeating the air, the servants and cultists who bowed low as he passed.
Alex and Daniel were waiting, playing cards at a small table set between two armchairs angled before the hearth. They looked up as he entered. Stiffly, he walked to the hearth, and bent to warm his icy hands at the blaze.
One look at Roderick’s face, and all expression leached from Alex’s. “You’re exceedingly late. What happened?”
Roderick straightened, drew a tight breath, then faced them. “It was a trap. They turned Larkins’s brilliant plan into a trap, and Larkins walked right into it.”
Alex blinked, slowly. “Where is Larkins?”
Roderick snorted. Gripped the mantelpiece. “He’s dead. He’d been seen by a bevy of them—St. Ives was there, for heaven’s sake! And Chillingworth. And a host of others of that ilk—including Delborough, of course. They all saw Larkins take the scroll-holder, open it, read the letter, then pocket it—then, of course, he moved to silence the boy. That’s when they showed themselves. There were a dozen of them, maybe more. I didn’t wait to count. I had to get to Larkins, had to kill him. They had more than enough testimony to take him up, to prove he was after the letter with my seal. And once they had him—”
“He would have given us up to save his miserable hide.” Daniel nodded. “I take it you managed to eliminate Larkins without being seen yourself?”
Roderick wiped a hand over his mouth. “Just. It was a near-run thing, but I got clean away.” He looked at Alex. “That’s why I’m so late. I stopped in Newmarket—in a tavern—to make sure I wasn’t followed.”
“Sound thinking.” Alex leaned back in the armchair.
Roderick started to pace before the fire. “This is unbelievably irritating. Where the hell am I to find someone to replace Larkins? Someone who understands our needs, knows how the cult operates, is willing and able to do what’s required, and above all, given these damned couriers and our present need, is an Englishman?”
The other two exchanged a glance, but neither leapt to answer.
Eventually, Daniel murmured, “Larkins did have his uses.”
“I didn’t want to kill him.” Roderick ran a hand through his hair. “Lord knows, he’s been with me for decades.”
“You did the right thing,” Alex reassured him, in a voice of infinite, collected calm. “If he’d been taken up, as inevitably he would have been—impossible to hide him forever—he would have given you, and us, up. There’s no doubt of that. You would have been a fool to wager your neck on his loyalty. You had to act as you did.”
Alex’s words had the desired effect. Roderick calmed, grew less agitated.
“There’s too much at stake in this game,” Daniel said. “We have to play to win.”
“Indeed, “Alex concurred. “Those who are weak enough to get caught…have to be eliminated.”
Neither Roderick nor Daniel argued.
After a pause, Alex continued, “You mentioned Delborough’s scroll-holder. What happened to it?”
“Larkins’s last useful act. He had it when he met me.” Roderick felt in the pockets of the greatcoat he still wore, pulled out the scroll-holder, and handed it to Alex. “I checked. It’s a copy, not the original.”
Alex’s lips twisted wryly. “So I was right. Delborough was a decoy.”
“Your prescience is not much use after the fact,” Roderick said. “But at least we now know why Delborough went to Somersham Place. What better reinforcements than a whole troop of Cynsters?”
Daniel shrugged. “So they rattle their sabers around these parts. We’ll just make sure all the action henceforth takes place far from here.”
“Exactly.” Alex looked at Roderick. “So where is Hamilton?”
Roderick gave a brief report. “So in the matter of the major, we’ve done all we can—put everything in place—that we can to this point. But Hamilton and Miss Ensworth are already at Chelmsford. They appear to be heading this way.” He glanced at Alex and Daniel. “The question is, are they heading to Somersham Place as well, or somewhere else?”
“It’s possible, of course, that they’re heading to Somersham.” There was a frown etched on Alex’s face. “I just wish we’d known about the damned Cynsters in time to act earlier, at least to keep Hamilton from getting this close.”
“Too late for that now,” Daniel observed. “He’s virtually on our doorstep.”
“True,” Alex allowed. “But what worries me more is these others our puppetmaster has drawn into this fight. We’re not, as we thought we would be, facing only the colonel and his three friends. We’ve the Cynsters getting in our way up here, and bodyguards escorting our pigeons from the moment they land. Delborough had two, and now you say Hamilton has another two—a different two—who were waiting for him when he landed.”
Head slowly shaking, Alex met Roderick’s, then Daniel’s eyes. “This is all too expertly organized. We’re facing an enemy more able than we’d thought, and being forced to fight on a front far wider than we’d anticipated.”
When Alex fell silent, Daniel prompted, “So?”
Alex pulled a face. “I just wish I knew who was behind this. It’s much easier to triumph over an enemy if you know who that enemy is. How else can you learn his weaknesses?”
Neither of the other two answered.
Roderick shifted his weight. “What we do know is that, whoever he is, he poses a very real danger to us—or will if the original letter gets through to him.”
Alex examined the scroll-holder Larkins had died for. “The usual contraption.” The cult used similar devices to transport sensitive communications.
With quick flicks, Alex manipulated the levers, unlocked the scroll-holder, opened it, and drew out the single sheet of parchment it held.
r /> Daniel looked at Roderick. “While our men are taking Hamilton down, we should put more effort into identifying who our puppetmaster is. Chances are it’s someone with links both to the Cynsters and to these other men—the ones acting as bodyguards. What do you know of them? Are they from some arm of the services, or…?”
“At this point,” Roderick said, “I don’t even know who they are.”
While Daniel and Roderick discussed ways and means to identify their unexpected opponents, Alex unrolled the letter and, after checking—just to make sure—that it was indeed a copy with no incriminating seal, idly scanned the contents.
The rumble of the others’ voices filled the night’s silence. Alex’s eyes traveled the sheet, then halted.
Neither Alex nor Daniel had previously seen the letter. Neither had had any idea of its full contents.
A long moment passed. Alex’s eyes remained locked on the letter, on a single line. Roderick and Daniel continued to talk.
Abruptly, Alex looked up. “You used my name.”
The words resonated with accusation and incipient black fury.
Roderick looked at Alex, frowned. “Of course I mentioned you. If you recall, I was trying to persuade that bastard, Govind Holkar, to commit more deeply—men and money. We’d discussed mentioning you visiting Poona as an incentive—you knew I’d be mentioning it.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Alex bit off each word, gaze boring into Roderick. “You used my real name.”
Both Roderick and Daniel blinked. Then both froze.
In a movement redolent with rage, eyes narrowed to glittering shards, Alex tossed the letter on the table. “And just what do you think, brother-mine, will happen if our dear father is shown this letter? Even a copy of this letter?” The words were vicious, lashing, scathing as Alex’s voice rose. “You don’t think, perhaps, that he might be tempted to throw me and Daniel to the wolves to save you? To save the honor of his house?” Eyes blazing, Alex pushed upright. “Of course he will!”