The Untamed Bride Plus Two Full Novels and Bonus Material

“No boy.” Turning, she arched a brow at Del. “Shall we move on?”

  Before he rose, Del looked under the billiard table itself, then he nodded and straightened. “He’s definitely not in here.”

  They only had two rooms to search on this level. The next proved to be a minor sitting room adjacent to the conservatory. The room was relatively small and contained no concealed cupboards. The two sideboards it did contain were easy to search, the few pieces of furniture easy to check beneath or behind.

  “He’s not here either.” Through the window, Deliah could see Vane and Patience going down the avenues between the plants in the well-stocked conservatory. Every so often, one would duck to look under this palm, or behind that plant; when next she straightened, Patience flung a frowning glance over her shoulder at her spouse. “Perhaps we should help in the conservatory.”

  Del came to stand beside Deliah. His lips curved as he looked into the glass-roofed room. “I think Vane has it in hand.”

  Arching her brows, Deliah turned away. “In that case, we may as well wait in the corridor.”

  As the searchers finished their allotted tasks, all returned to the wide corridors, shaking their heads when others looked inquiringly. Deliah considered the line of people gradually assembling along the wing. Richard and Catriona were strolling back to join them.

  Gaze rising, she looked upward, thinking of the bedrooms, sitting rooms, bathing chambers and dressing rooms above. “If I were Sangay, I’d curl up in some unlikely spot—one that might be overlooked.”

  Del nodded. “I’d wager that’s exactly what he’s done. And the rooms upstairs provide more scope for that.”

  Vane and Patience emerged from the conservatory. Vane shook his head. Patience looked down, straightening her gown.

  In the distance, Devil’s voice rang out. “All clear?”

  Vane called back from their wing. They heard Gabriel reply from the other. Sangay wasn’t on the ground floor.

  “Right, then!” Devil called. “Everyone back to the front hall, then it’s up to the first floor.”

  Like well-ordered troops, they all headed for the hall.

  Searching thoroughly ate the minutes; the light was starting to fade by the time Deliah and Del, along with all the others, trudged up the main stairs to the second floor.

  All the men were starting to look a trifle grim.

  Casting a glance at Del as she went past him into the first room they were due to search—a good-sized bedchamber—Deliah inwardly humphed. “I have to say that, quite aside from seeing a room through different eyes, Honoria was very wise in suggesting we search in pairs.” She halted by the foot of the four-poster bed and, hands on hips, surveyed the bedchamber. “At least this way there’s a lady with every overpowering man.”

  Del threw her an uncomprehending frown as he walked to the armoire standing against one wall. “We aren’t overpowering.”

  “Oh, yes, you are—even you. Or at least you’ll appear that way to a young boy who knows you’re after him.” She started with the bed, bending to check beneath it, then patting the pile of pillows and bolsters at its head.

  Even though Sangay had some knowledge of Del, Del was still a man of action—a hard, military man. Even though he’d been out of uniform the entire time she’d known him, there was absolutely no chance of mistaking his bearing. Those shoulders, the way he moved.

  As if seeking to refresh her memory, without conscious thought she glanced across the room.

  Turning from the armoire, he caught her gaze. Held it for an instant, then slowly arched a brow. “What?”

  She waved. “Nothing.” Suddenly feeling unaccountably warm, she turned and went to the window.

  Del watched her pat down the cushions covering the wide window seat, then focus her attention on the swagged curtains. Noted the way her hands fluttered as she fussed. That glance she’d cast him…no matter what she said, it meant something. Said something.

  Of how she saw him.

  Given his resolution of the morning, put in abeyance but only postponed by the search, that—how she saw him—was something he wanted to know. Needed to know.

  And, unlike every other couple he’d laid eyes on, he and she had yet to take a break from their searching to investigate other things.

  Rounding the bed on silent feet, he closed in on her.

  Finished with the window and its accoutrements, she turned—into his arms.

  She started, startled, but her body knew his and softened immediately his arms closed around her.

  Her widening eyes darted to the door.

  Her lips parted—on what protest he didn’t need to know.

  He swooped and covered them with his, took them in a long, lingering, searching kiss. With slow deliberation he filled her mouth, her mind, her senses, with something he wanted her to think about instead—him.

  He kissed, and persuaded. Lured her into the silent communion, then used it.

  Used the caress as a means to show her, to reveal and explain and cajole. He let all that he intended, all that he felt, well and flow through the interaction.

  From him, to her.

  This was what he felt for her, this was what he wanted, what he needed from her. The comfort, the inexpressible closeness, the simple joy.

  The pleasure, yes, but beneath that, more important than that, he wanted and needed…her.

  Just her, being there.

  Just her, in his arms.

  Just her lips against his and her body surrendered.

  Her commitment. To simply being there.

  For him.

  Deliah couldn’t mistake the tenor of his kiss, the truth, the simple honesty, the directness. As if barriers had fallen, as if he’d set some shield aside, she felt immeasurably closer, more linked.

  More a part of him.

  Sensed that he would be—wanted to be—more a part of her.

  Myriad images whirled through her mind. The faint color in Patience’s cheeks as she’d left the conservatory, the glint of something in Catriona’s fine eyes—and the devilish look in her husband’s—when they’d finally congregated on the floor below…was this what they’d been doing?

  And was that what she and Del were doing now?

  Simply being together, a couple together, acknowledging what lay between them…

  Admitting what lay between them.

  Yes, that was it.

  She knew it was unwise, but as his lips moved on hers, as his tongue caressed hers, she sank into the kiss, sank her hands into his hair and gave herself over to it. Gave herself up to it. Surrendered.

  To the simple communion of two people who shared.

  The caress stretched, warm, real. They’d reached some plateau—of reality, of understanding—and lingered there for some time, long enough to feel settled, before, with obvious reluctance, he drew back.

  It was with real regret that she relinquished his lips and, with a sigh, returned to the mundane world.

  Opening her eyes, she looked into his. Dark, rich, inexpressibly warm, his gaze held her.

  Told her. Spoke to her. Reminded her of all they’d just shared.

  He’d meant it, she realized. Meant her to see, to sense, to know. To experience and understand how he felt for her.

  Her heart swelled with the knowledge that she felt the same for him.

  For long moments, they stood locked in each other’s gaze, communing silently as they had through the kiss.

  A noise—a stealthy shuffle of leather on wood—had her blinking.

  Had Del frowning. Raising a finger, he laid it across his lips, then hers.

  She nodded. They remained as they were, unmoving and silent. Earlier, locked in the kiss, they must have been all but soundless and motionless for minutes—five, or even more. Long enough for someone hidden to have assumed they’d gone.

  But where the devil was he?

  Slowly, she turned her head, visually searched one side of the room while Del did the same for the other.


  She didn’t immediately see it, not even when another slight sound reached her ears. But the sound fixed her attention on the window…on the window seat.

  Del had turned, too. He studied the seat, then glanced at her.

  They exchanged a look, then he nodded.

  His arms fell from her. Together they turned and silently crept across the floor to the window.

  It was a bay window. Without touching anything, she peered around and out, looking through the side panel along the wall of the house. She saw the window of the next bedchamber along—another bay. It would be identical to the window they were studying, and it told her what she needed to know.

  Groping blindly, she grasped Del’s sleeve, tugged. Glancing at him, she pointed out of the side window, then silently stepped back.

  He looked, saw, but when he turned back to her, incomprehension lit his eyes.

  With her hands, she sketched in the air what he’d seen—the protrusion of the bay beyond the wall. It didn’t stop at the bottom of the window, as some bays did, nor did it stop at the level of the window seat. The built-out section continued to floor level, including the area between the seat and the floor.

  There was a cavity of some kind beneath the seat.

  Understanding dawned; Del pointed below the seat, and she nodded.

  Carefully, they lifted the cushions off the wooden seat. Del felt with his fingers, and located the hinges set in the wooden top near the wall.

  He glanced at her, and reached for the edge of the window seat.

  She did the same, grasping the wooden edge.

  She drew breath, then together they swung the seat back.

  And looked down into a shadowed box, and a pair of stunned dark eyes.

  “Aii-yii!” Sangay let out a wail, struggled to his feet, and tried to leap from the box.

  Del caught him, initially by the collar, but when Sangay, head down, flailed at him, he grabbed one thin arm, then the other, swung Sangay around and, pinning his arms to his body, hoisted him out of the window seat and stood him on his feet on the floor.

  Trapped with his back to Del, Sangay wriggled, squirmed, then tried to kick.

  “Sangay!” Deliah loaded the word with command, and was relieved when the boy slowed his struggles to glance at her. “Stop it. You’ll only hurt yourself. The colonel doesn’t want to hurt you—no one will hurt you if you’ll just stand still.”

  Eyes huge, he stared at her, sniffed.

  Then his face crumpled. “Oh, no, miss—you don’t understand. The man—the evil sahib—he will hurt my maataa if I don’t—” He caught his breath on a giant sob. “If I don’t, he will…”

  Overcome, Sangay opened his mouth to wail again.

  “No, he won’t.” Releasing Sangay’s arms, Del dropped a hand on his bony shoulder, gripped firmly. “The evil-sahibs won’t be able to hurt your maataa, Sangay.”

  Very slowly, Sangay turned his head to look up at Del. The dawning, all but disbelieving hope in his eyes was painful to see. “They won’t?”

  Del shook his head. “I don’t think they’ll be able to. But to be sure, you’ll need to tell us your tale—where you come from, and how you came to be working for the evil-sahibs.”

  Sangay swallowed, his eyes locked on Del’s face. “Only one, colonel-sahib. I have seen only one evil-sahib.”

  Del nodded solemnly. “I see.”

  “I didn’t want to be working for him,” Sangay replied, equally solemn.

  “We know that, Sangay,” Deliah said. “He told you that he’d hurt your mother if you didn’t bring him the colonel’s scroll-holder. Is that right?”

  Sangay, all round eyes, nodded. “Yes, miss. That is it exactly.”

  “Where were you when the evil-sahib found you?” she asked.

  “I was in London, at the East India Docks. My captain—I was on a ship from India, you understand. First cabin boy, I was, until…” Sangay blinked. “My captain sent me to fetch him some tobacco from the shop near the docks. The evil-sahib saw me. He took hold of me and dragged me aside, into an alley. He told me his men had my maataa and she would die a terrible death if I didn’t do what he wanted.”

  Eyes like bruised brown pansies, Sangay shrugged. “So I had to go with him, and he took me in a coach to some other town with ships—then he sent me into the inn where you were staying to find the scroll-holder.” Sangay paused, then went on, “Then there was the pistol shot, and then there was the panic, and because I had to search the luggage Cobby put in the carriage, I went with it.” He looked up at Deliah, then Del. “With you.”

  Sangay studied Del’s face, then swallowed. In a small voice, he asked, “If I tell you all I know of the evil-sahib, will you let me go, and let me give to the sahib this scroll-holder so he will not kill my maataa?” He shifted, looked down, straightened the sleeve of the page’s coat he wore. “I know you don’t think he will be able to do that last, but how can you be sure? And”—dragging in a deep breath, Sangay looked up again, into Del’s face—“you see, I must be sure.”

  Del looked down into the boy’s big eyes, read the tortured uncertainty that held him. Crouching down so his eyes were level with Sangay’s, he said, “We’re going to find a way to keep you safe, and also to ensure—make absolutely sure—that your maataa is safe, too. I don’t know at this stage exactly how we’ll do it, but we’ll make a good plan, and we’ll make sure.” Del searched Sangay’s dark eyes, then added, “I’m thinking that killing the evil-sahib would be a good first step. What do you think?”

  Sangay’s eyes fired, finally came alive with a hint of the vitality that should be in any boy’s eyes. “Oh, yes, sahib. That sounds an excellent plan. That one—the evil-sahib—is definitely by way of needing killing.”

  “Good. Then that’s what we’ll do.” Rising, Del looked at Deliah, then glanced down at Sangay. “So now we need to go downstairs and talk to the duke and his cousins and all the others, and together we’ll work out a good plan.”

  Sangay actually smiled.

  “Well, then.” Deliah looked at Del. “I think it’s time we told the others they can all stop searching.”

  Everyone reassembled in the library, including Sligo and Cobby.

  “It might help to have the rest of our staffs in, too,” Deliah suggested to Del. “Not the girls, but the others. They’ll need to understand.”

  Del nodded, looked at Cobby.

  Cobby saluted. “I’ll fetch them.”

  As they resettled on the sofas, chaises and armchairs, two footmen briskly restoked the fire into a roaring blaze while maids bustled about, drawing the curtains. Then Mrs. Hull arrived, supervising a trolley laden with teacups, saucers, and plates piled with biscuits and pieces of cake—and a glass of milk for Sangay. Seated on a straightbacked chair beside Devil’s desk, he accepted it gratefully.

  The rest of them accepted cups of tea from Honoria, and made their selections from the cakes and biscuits.

  From her position on one chaise, Deliah noticed that Sangay’s feet didn’t even reach the floor, and that he sat with his knees pressed tight, head ducked, as if to quell knocking knees and make himself invisible. She hesitated, then leaned forward, picked up one of Mrs. Hull’s justifiably famous jam tarts, rose, and went to give it to Sangay.

  He looked up at her, surprised, but then took it with a murmured word of thanks.

  The tart was gone, every last crumb, before Deliah resumed her seat. She thought it likely Sangay hadn’t eaten at all that day.

  Then Cobby arrived, ushering in her senior staff and Del’s. Both Matara and Amaya stopped by Sangay’s chair. Straining her ears, Deliah heard them telling him to be a good boy and answer the sahibs’ questions directly—by which they meant truthfully—and all would be well.

  As Deliah had suspected, Sangay was comforted by the other servants’ presence. Still…he remained very much alone on his chair by the desk.

  Surrendering to impulse, she rose, set down her teacup and crossed to where another straight
backed chair stood against the wall. She started to lift it. Vane came to help. She directed him to set it next to Sangay’s chair.

  Once he had, she thanked him with a smile, and sat, then reached out and patted Sangay’s thin hand. “All you have to do is what Matara and Amaya told you. Just answer the questions, and everything will be all right.”

  Sangay met her eyes for a moment, then bobbed his head.

  Devil chose that moment to call the gathering to order. “Now we’ve found our missing young man, let’s hear what he has to say.” He smiled at Sangay, perfectly innocuously, but Sangay no longer trusted the smiles of powerful men, and there was nothing wrong with his instincts. Deliah sensed the tension holding him increase.

  But then Del came around the front of Devil’s desk. He relaxed against it and smiled at Sangay.

  Sangay looked back. He didn’t smile, but his tension eased.

  “Sangay, we need to tell these people where you came from, and all that you know of the evil-sahib, the man who bullied you into stealing the scroll-holder.” Del paused, then asked, “Incidentally, where is it?”

  “In one of the bins in the big storeroom near to the back door, sahib. The bin nearest the back of the room.” Sangay started to slide off the chair, but Del waved at him to stay and looked at Sligo and Cobby instead.

  “That’s the pantry,” Sligo said.

  “I’ll fetch it.” Cobby headed for the door.

  Del turned back to Sangay. “Meanwhile—”

  With a series of simple questions, Del led Sangay through his story. He didn’t rush, didn’t let the ladies’ sympathetic murmurs and outraged exclamations distract him or the boy. Sangay’s answers came haltingly at first, but with each point he relaxed and grew more confident, until, when Del asked for a description of Sangay’s evil-sahib, an excellent word picture tripped off the boy’s tongue.

  Del glanced at Devil, seated silently behind the desk. “Larkins.”

  Devil frowned. “Why so sure?”

  “The deeply tanned skin plus the close-cropped hair—not many Englishmen would fit that description.”

  Devil conceded that with a nod.

  Turning back to Sangay, Del saw the question in the boy’s face. “I think the evil-sahib’s name is Larkins.”