Stephanie Laurens - The Elusive Bride

All four had been through thick and thin together, ridden side by side into battles uncounted. Even though the last years as commanders had seen them spend more of their time in the saddle apart, it hadn’t lessened their connection-that link that had been forged in the heat of battles in the Peninsula more than a decade before.

By choice, none of them knew what route any of the other three was taking home. He didn’t even know who was carrying the vital original of the document they had to deliver to the Duke of Wolverstone to ensure the end of the Black Cobra’s reign-he only knew it wasn’t him. His was a decoy’s mission, the parchment in his scroll holder, identical to the other three, no more than a copy.

But the Black Cobra and the cultists didn’t know that. Given what was at stake, he had fully expected the Cobra to chase him regardless. In that, he hadn’t been disappointed, which was all to the good.

Yet on this last leg before England, his orders from the man who had for years been known only as Dalziel were specific. He and his party were to do all they could to draw as many of the enemy as possible, and to reduce their numbers as much as fate permitted.

He’d interpreted those orders as indicating that whoever was carrying the vital original would also pass through the Continent on their way to England. Whichever of his three friends was running that most dangerous of gauntlets, their safety in part depended on him-on how effectively he carried out his mission.

He’d set out from India with Bister, Mooktu, and Arnia, all of whom-even Arnia-could take care of themselves in a fight. With just those three in his train, he’d been free to engage the enemy whenever and wherever he could.

But now he had Emily, Dorcas, Jimmy, Mullins, and Watson as well. Mullins could hold his own, but the other four, no matter their resourcefulness, weren’t safe in a fight. All four needed protection, Emily most of all.

Especially Emily, especially now…now she’d come to mean so much to him.

So much more than he’d imagined was possible, than he’d known could possibly be.

As the horses trudged on, he gazed, unseeing, out of the window at the passing streetscapes, and wondered how he was going to carry out his orders while keeping her, and the others who were important to her-all now in his care-safe.

They’d passed through the town center and were ambling through the northern suburbs, already on the highway that would take them to Lyon and beyond, when he became aware of Emily’s gaze on his face.

The feminine commentary had ceased. One glance revealed that Dorcas was already nodding, her eyes closed.

Turning his head, he met Emily’s bright gaze.

Tilting her head, she smiled. “I was wondering…you told me you’re an only child, but do you have cousins, other family?”

They were to marry, so she needed to know. He shook his head. “No. There’s just me, now. My parents were only children, too. They married later in life, so were older when I was born. My father was a vicar, but he was one of those the archdiocese used to fill vacancies temporarily, so we constantly moved about the county.” He held her gaze. “So I have no family, and there really isn’t anywhere I call home.”

“Where were you born?”

“Thame, Oxfordshire. You?” Turnabout was fair, and he wanted to learn about her more than he wanted her to learn about him. There was so little to tell.

Happiness lit her face as she said, “I was born at Eldridge Hall, my parents’ house-it’s just outside Thornby, in Northamptonshire. That’s home-for me, and all my brothers and sisters. At least it was until they married-there’s only me and Rufus still left in the nest, as it were, but the others visit often.”

“You’re one of eight, as I recall. I take it you have lots of cousins, too?” That, he realized, explained her ease with the Juneaux, her facility in interacting with them-something he’d lacked. Not that he’d known he’d lacked, not until he’d seen her engage with the large family in a way he would never have thought to do…probably couldn’t have done even if he’d wished. He simply didn’t know how, didn’t know the ways.

“Yes, there’s quite a clan-a horde of uncles, aunts, and cousins on both sides.”

He didn’t need to ask how she got on with her family-the answer was there in her affectionate smile, in the light that glowed in her eyes.

He’d never shared that sort of connection with anyone, not when he was a child, not later…until he’d joined the Guards and, from the first, had fallen in with Del, Rafe, and Logan.

“I don’t have any siblings”-he met her eyes-“but you might say I have brothers-in-arms.”

She looked into his eyes, studied them. “Those three in the officers’ mess?”

He nodded. She didn’t ask, didn’t press, but as they rolled on up the highway and the northern outskirts of Marseilles fell behind, he told her how he’d met the other three-told her tales of their exploits and adventures. When she laughed, he asked about her brothers and sisters, and she reciprocated, opening his eyes to a love he’d never known. The closest thing to it was the camaraderie, the connection, he shared with the other three, yet even that fell short of the warmth, depth, and breadth of togetherness Emily described, that she’d experienced and embraced within her family.

The more she told him, the more he yearned for something he’d never known. When he married her…

The thought circled in his brain as he and she fell silent, and the carriage rumbled steadily on.

“He is like a cobra himself.” The eldest of the three cultists sent to watch the highway leading north out of Marseilles hawked and spat on the rocky ground. “I would not be angering Uncle for anything today. He was in such a mood after the others from the docks came yesterday to report that they hadn’t seen the major or his party.”

The three were perched among rocks and boulders on a shoulder overlooking the highway.

The youngest grinned slyly. “Those men were lucky. I heard Akbar say that Uncle has lost so many men already that he won’t discipline any-he needs every able-bodied man he has, at least for now.”

“Ah-that explains it.” The third man nodded. “I have never known Uncle to be so lenient before. Usually, one mistake, and-” He drew his finger across his throat. “The cult does not tolerate failure.”

“This is true.” The eldest nudged the youngest with the toe of his boot. “You will be wise to remember that if-as seems likely-the major manages to take this road north before the others can catch him in the town. If that happens, Uncle will gather most of us and head north in pursuit-and I know for a fact that the Black Cobra has placed many, many of us along this channel up there. If the major goes that way, Uncle will follow, and then he’ll have plenty of men-and then it will once again be death if you fail.”

The youngest shrugged. The elder two exchanged glances.

Then the youngest raised the spyglass he held and trained it on the first of two carriages bowling north along the road.

The elder two settled back and returned to staring at the sky. Countless carriages had already passed by.

“Hi!” The excited exclamation broke their absorption. The youngest bounced with excitement, then lowered the spyglass and held it out. “That is them-I am sure of it. Look at the men beside the drivers. The first is the major’s batman, yes?”

The eldest had taken the spyglass. After a moment, he nodded. He handed the glass on to the third man, then turned to the youngest. “You stay here until they pass, then follow, but not close. Stay off the road and do not let them see you. We”-he collected his comrade with a glance-“will go and take the good news to Uncle. When he and the rest of us catch up with you, Uncle will commend you as you rightly deserve.”

Meanwhile the elder two, who had been staring at the sky for hours, would reap the glory of Uncle’s approbation, but the youngest cultist knew that that was the way of the world, so he nodded. “I will follow them, and wait for Uncle and the others to join me.”

Without further ado, the elder two scrambled back over the rocks to where they’d left their stolen mounts.

30th November, 1822

Mid-morning

In our carriage on the road to Lyon

That evening they arrived in Lyon. They’d made excellent time, and Gareth thanked the twist of fate that had sent them the Juneau cousins, Gustav and Pierre, as coachmen. Experienced, with just the right touch of belligerence, they’d already proved themselves up to the task of pressing ahead regardless of obstacles like traffic and overturned drays.

They’d barreled through, and they’d reached their first major town without seeing hide nor hair of any cultist.

That, Gareth felt certain, would change all too soon.

With Emily, smiling sweetly, beside him, he walked into the town’s largest hotel. It was a predominantly timber structure. He would have preferred stone, but the further they’d come north, the weather had turned damp and cold, and smaller establishments came with other hazards, namely easy access to the upper floors.