The Elusive Bride

The second book in the Black Cobra Quartet series, 2010


Dear Diary,

I have waited for so long and will admit that I had fallen into the habit of imagining it would never happen, that now that it might have, I find myself rather cautious. Is this what my sisters meant when they said I would simply know? Certainly, my stomach and my nerves proved to be singularly sensitive to Major Hamilton’s nearness, but how reliable is that indicator?

Until I know more about Major Hamilton, I cannot know if he is “the one”-my “one,” the gentleman for me-so my most urgent need is to learn more about him, but from whom?

And I need to spend more time with him, too-but how?

I must devote myself to finding ways-I have only a few days left.

And after all these years of waiting for him to appear and coming all this way before meet-ing him, sailing away and leaving my “one” behind just doesn’t bear thinking about.

E.

Prologue

September 2, 1822

Road from Poona to Bombay

Ul-ul-ul-ul-ul!”

The battle cries of their pursuers faded momentarily as Emily Ensworth and her escort thundered around the next bend. Gaze locked on the beaten surface of the dirt road, she concentrated on urging her mare even faster-on fleeing down the mountain road as if her life depended on it.

She suspected it did.

They were halfway down the hill road from Poona, the monsoon capital for the upper echelons of the British governing Bombay. Bombay itself was still hours of hard riding ahead. About them, the usually serene beauty of the hills, with their majestic firs and cool crisp air, was again fractured by the ululations of the riders pursuing them.

She’d got a good look at them earlier. Clad in traditional native garb, their insignia was a black silk scarf wound about their heads, long ends flying as, swords flashing, they’d charged wildly in their wake.

Their pursuers were Black Cobra cultists. She’d heard the grisly tales, and had no wish to feature in the next horrific installment.

She and her escort, led by young Captain MacFarlane, had fled at a flat gallop, yet somehow the cultists had closed the distance. She’d initially felt confident she and the troop could outrun them; she was no longer so sure.

Captain MacFarlane rode alongside her. Her eyes locked on the sharply descending road, she sensed him glance back, then, a moment later, he glanced at her. She was about to snap that she was an accomplished rider, as he should by now have noticed, when he looked ahead and pointed.

“There!” MacFarlane waved at his lieutenant. “Those two rocks on the next stretch. With two others I can hold them back long enough for Miss Ensworth and the rest of you to reach safety.”

“I’ll stay with you!” the lieutenant shouted across Emily’s head. “Binta and the others can carry on with the memsahib.”

The memsahib-Emily-stared at the rocks in question. Two tall, massive boulders, they framed the road, with the sheer cliff face on one side, and an equally sheer drop on the other. She was no general, but while three men might delay their pursuers, they’d never hold them back.

“No!” She glanced at MacFarlane while they continued to thunder on. “We all of us stay, or we all of us go on.”

Blue eyes narrowed on her face. His jaw set. “Miss Ensworth, I’ve no time to argue. You will go on with the bulk of the troop.”

Of course she argued, but he wouldn’t listen.

So complete was his ignoring of her words that she suddenly realized he knew he wouldn’t survive. That he’d die-here on this road-and it wouldn’t be a pretty death.

He’d accepted that.

His bravery stunned her, rendered her silent as, reaching the rocks, they pulled up, milling as MacFarlane snapped out orders.

Then he reached over, grabbed her bridle, and drew her on down the road.

“Here.” Drawing a folded parchment packet from inside his coat, he thrust it into her hand. “Take this-get it to Colonel Derek Delborough. He’s at the fort in Bombay.” Blue eyes met hers. “It’s vital you place that in his hands-his and no others. Do you understand?”

Numb, she nodded. “Colonel Delborough, at the fort.”

“Right. Now ride!” He slapped her mare’s rump.

The horse leapt forward. Emily shoved the packet into the front of her riding jacket and tightened her grip on the reins. Behind her, the troop came pounding up, forming around her as they again fled on.

She glanced back as they rounded the next curve. Two of the troop were taking up positions on either side of the rocks. MacFarlane was freeing their horses, shooing them on.

Then they swept around the curve and he was lost to her sight.

She had to ride on. He’d given her no choice. If she didn’t reach Bombay and deliver his packet, his death-his sacrifice-would be for naught.

That couldn’t be. She couldn’t let that happen.

But he’d been so young.

Tears stung her eyes. Viciously she blinked them back.

She had to concentrate on the godforsaken road and ride.

Later that day

East India Company Fort, Bombay

Emily fixed the sepoy guarding the fort gates with a steady direct gaze. “Captain MacFarlane?”

As the niece of the Governor of Bombay, visiting her uncle for the last six months, she could ask and expect to be answered.

The sepoy blanched, olive skin and all. The glance he bent on her was sorrowful and compassionate. “I am very sorry, miss, but the captain is dead.”

She’d expected it, yet…looking down, she swallowed, then lifted her head, drew breath. Fixed the guard with an even more imperious gaze. “I wish to speak with Colonel Delborough. Where may I find him?”


The answer had been the officers’ bar, the enclosed front verandah of the officers’ mess. Emily wasn’t sure it was acceptable for her-a female-to go inside, but that wasn’t going to stop her.

Idi, the Indian maid she’d borrowed from her uncle’s household, trailing behind her, she mounted the shallow steps. Moving into the dim shadows of the verandah, she halted to let her eyes adjust.

Once they had, she swept the verandah left to right, registering the familiar click of billiard balls coming from an alcove off one end, several officers in groups of twos and threes gathered about round tables, and one larger group haunting the far right corner.

Of course they’d all noticed her the instant she’d walked in.

A serving boy quickly came forward. “Miss?”

Transferring her gaze from the group to the boy’s face, she stated, “I’m looking for Colonel Delborough. I was informed he was here.”

The boy bobbed. “Yes, miss.” He swung and pointed to the group in the corner. “He is there with his men.”

Had MacFarlane been one of Delborough’s men? Emily thanked the boy and headed for the corner table.

There were four very large officers seated at the table. All four slowly rose as she approached. Remembering Idi dutifully dogging her heels, Emily paused and waved the maid to a chair by the verandah’s side. “Wait there.”

Holding the edge of her sari half over her face, Idi nodded and sat.

Drawing breath, head rising, Emily walked on.

As she neared, she scanned, not the men’s faces-even without looking she knew their expressions were bleak; they’d learned of MacFarlane’s death, almost certainly knew the manner of it, something she was sure she didn’t need to know-but instead she searched each pair of broad shoulders for a colonel’s epaulettes.

Distantly she registered that, in common female parlance, these men would be termed “impressive,” with their broad chests, their height and their air of rugged physical strength. She was surprised she hadn’t seen them in any of the drawing rooms she’d visited with her aunt over recent months.

Another captain-blonder than MacFarlane-and two majors, one with light brown hair…she had to tug her gaze on to the other major, the one with rakish dark hair, then she finally found the colonel among them-presumably Delborough. He had dark hair, too.

She halted before him, lifted her gaze to his face, set her teeth against the emotions surging about the table; she couldn’t let them draw her in. Down. Make her cry. She’d cried enough when she’d reached her uncle’s house, and she hadn’t known MacFarlane as, from the intensity of their feelings, these four had. “Colonel Delborough?”

The colonel inclined his head, dark eyes searching her face. “Ma’am?”

“I’m Emily Ensworth, the governor’s niece. I…” Recalling MacFarlane’s instructions-Delborough’s hands and no others-she glanced at the other three. “If I could trouble you for a word in private, Colonel?”

Delborough hesitated, then said, “Every man about this table is an old friend and colleague of James MacFarlane. We were all working together. If your business with me has anything to do with James, I would ask that you speak before us all.”

His eyes were weary, and so sad. One glance at the others, at their rigid expressions-so contained-and she nodded. “Very well.”

There was an empty chair between the two majors. The brown-haired one held it for her.

She briefly met his eyes, a tawnier hazel than her own. “Thank you.” Ignoring the sudden flutter in her stomach, she sat. Determinedly directing her gaze forward, she found herself staring at a three-quarters empty bottle of arrack at the table’s center.

With a shuffle of chairs, the men resumed their seats.

She glanced at Delborough. “I realize it might be irregular, but if I could have a small glass of that…?”