Strolling beside her, Del noticed her absorption. “I thought you weren’t all that interested in the latest fashions.”

“I’m not.” Her eye caught by a particularly fine crepe gown-very bravely worn considering the icy breeze that rattled the bare branches-she answered absentmindedly. “I’m more interested in the materials themselves.”

A moment passed. “Why?”

She blinked, realized what she’d said. Glanced at him, and saw from the intentness in his eyes that he wasn’t likely to accept an evasive answer. And truly, why should she conceal her success? Especially from an ex-East India Company man. “I…have an interest-a commercial interest-in cotton.”

His brows rose.

She hurried on, “My primary investments are in sugar cane, but I recently had an opportunity to buy into cotton farming and importation, and I did. Consequently, I’m interested in the degree to which cotton is used compared to wool or silk.”

He was now regarding her with fascinated interest. “You invest?”

Ladies weren’t supposed to, of course, but she was tired of hiding her light under a bushel. Tired of pretending to be a woman she was not. She nodded. “My uncle encouraged me to learn the ropes. While he’s terribly conservative in some ways, in others, he’s quite progressive. And, of course, in Jamaica it’s not so unheard of for ladies to be involved.”

She glanced at Del, wondering if he’d prove to be one of those gentlemen for whom the very notion of ladies being involved in making money was simply scandalous.

“What sort of company is it? Has it been operational for long? And are the returns as good as with sugarcane?”

His questions came thick and fast. Absorbed with answering, she strolled on beside him. The shrewdness behind his questions suggested he had more than a passing understanding of investing. Even more reassuring, he demonstrably viewed her involvement with respect, not derision.

She couldn’t recall ever discussing business in such depth with anyone other than her longtime brokers, now far away in Jamaica.

They came to the end of the Avenue, and he paused, then steered her across the carriage drive into a secluded walk leading deeper into Kensington Gardens. The gravel path was lined with thick borders backed by a row of even thicker bushes. “Keep talking,” he murmured.

“Are they following us?” When he nodded, she asked, “How many?”

He listened. “Three, I think. At least.”

“Are Tony and Gervase near?”

“Back behind the trees to our north. They’ll be keeping pace on that side.”

They walked on, chatting of this and that, no longer paying attention to their words. Along one side, other paths joined theirs, but the bushes along the north side continued in an unbroken line.

“They’re being rather furtive,” he eventually said. “Which suggests they might, at last, be cultists, rather than hired locals.”

By mutual unspoken accord, they slowed. Deliah, too, heard stealthy rustling following them along the line of bushes.

“They’re still there,” she murmured, “but we’re nearly at the end of the path.”

Del looked ahead. The path ended, opening onto a wide lawn, thirty yards ahead. Taking Deliah’s elbow, he slowed further. “We need to lure them out.”

Even as the words left his lips, the sound of giggles and light voices eagerly chatting came from behind them. Glancing back, they saw a party of very young young ladies and their attending beaux step onto the path a good way back.

The rustling ceased abruptly.

Deliah exchanged a look with Del. “Perhaps they’ll take one of the other paths and leave this one.”

Del’s jaw firmed. “Let’s keep walking.”

They did, slowly ambling, but the giggling, lighthearted party continued on the same path, drawing ever nearer.

Defeated, deflated, Del and Deliah reached the end of the path and stepped out onto the open lawn. They walked a few paces to one side and halted. The giggling party came out of the walk and, with exclamations of delight at the vista, continued on.

Once the chattering had died, Del glanced at Deliah. “We could head back the same way. Give them another chance at us.”

She nodded. “Let’s.”

They did, but there were no more rustlings in the thick bushes.

Whoever had been stalking them was gone.

Reaching the end of the walk, they stepped out onto the carriage drive. Looking north along it, they saw Tony standing chatting to Gervase under a large tree. Gervase looked their way, gave a very slight shake of his head.

“Come on.” Grim-faced, Del took Deliah’s arm. “We may as well go back to the hotel.”

December 13

Grillon’s Hotel

An hour and a half later, Del headed for his room. He and Deliah had repaired to the suite. She’d ordered tea, then Tony and Gervase had joined them.

There had been elusive shadows lurking in the bushes along the path. Tony and Gervase had hung back, watching, waiting for the shadows to make a move before they closed in, but suddenly the shadows had frozen, then drifted away.

They’d been locals, however, not Indians, not cultists. And their wariness suggested that the Black Cobra was now hiring better-quality help.

Not a good sign.

Reaching his room, Del opened the door and went in. Cobby was there, preparing his bath. Closing the door, Del shrugged out of his coat. He frowned abstractedly as he laid it aside. “I have an errand for you.”

“Aye?”

“I need tickets to some event or other-the opera, theater-whatever’s on. For Miss Duncannon and myself.”

“For this evening?”

“Yes.”

“Does the lady like music?”

“I have no idea.” Del drew off his cravat. “Any entertainment will do. Just find me something that might distract her.”

And him.

“If you’ve all you need here, I’ll go see the lads at the desk.”

Del nodded. Cobby left.

Stripping off the rest of his clothes, Del sank into the hip bath. The water was steaming. Leaning back, he closed his eyes.

Gervase and Tony were on their way to the tavern to keep watch for the Black Cobra’s man.

His duty tonight was to keep Deliah safe, yet after the events of their long day, spending the entire evening with her alone, in private, was the very definition of unwise.

Quite aside from that startling kiss and the sense of unfinished business in the way it had ended-on which he’d dwelled more than once during the day-there was the associated problem of the debilitating effect having her with him, literally beside him, while being stalked by the Black Cobra’s minions was having on his control.

It was a constant abrasion, a relentless weakening.

He didn’t like even the thought of her going into danger; having her beside him, knowingly taking her along with him, was a form of subtle torment. Something inside him, some part he’d rarely had to deal with and had rarely crossed, let alone provoked, invariably reacted, as if her being in danger was a grave and gross oversight on his part.

And it-that other side of him-prodded him, hard, to correct that oversight. To do something to ensure she wasn’t exposed. At all. Not just to ensure she was safe but to unequivocally take her out of the action so there was no chance she’d ever be in any danger at all.

He could imagine how she’d react if he let that part of himself loose, let it guide him.

The response she evoked in him was extreme, ridiculous in one sense, and by and large not something he understood. But he had too much on his plate with his mission, with the Black Cobra, to spend time thinking of it, thinking through it, now.

He just had to find ways to deal with it-to manage it for now. Later, once the mission was over, once the Black Cobra was caught, he’d have time to work through it and assuage it, but not yet. Not now.

When it came down to it, his mission was not proceeding well. They were drawing out the Black Cobra’s minions, but those minions were local hirelings, not cultists, yet it was the cultists he needed to remove.

They were the deadly ones, the ones with no rules, no lines they, in the Black Cobra’s name, would not cross. His decoy’s mission was to reduce their number so that the others following would have fewer to face.

That was the crux of his mission, and in that, he was failing.


Sangay stuck his nose out of the alley door of the fancy hotel. The icy wind whipped in, made him shiver uncontrollably, but the alley was empty. He had to go now.

Slipping outside, he shut the heavy door, then, sucking in a breath, holding it against the chill, he crept down the alley, away from the street at the other end, toward what he’d heard the other servants call the mews-the area for carriages and horses at the rear of the building.

The hotel stable was further along, tucked behind the bulk of the hotel itself. Reaching the mews, he peeked around the corner and saw the usual huddle of grooms and stableboys gathered outside the open door of the stable, warming their hands at a glowing brazier.

He wished he could spend a few minutes getting warm, but he dared not. He needed to get back to the docks. He prayed to Ganesh every hour that his ship would still be there, somewhere in the huge waterways around what they called the Pool of London.

It wasn’t really a pool, not to Sangay’s way of thinking. But he had to make it back, or he’d never see India, or his mother, again.

Sliding unobtrusively around the corner, hugging the deepening shadows along the wall, he crept soundlessly away from the stable, away from the hotel. He’d been safe enough there, warm enough there-he’d been fed enough there for the first time in his short life. But he didn’t dare stay.

The man would come for him, he knew. He had to go before he found him.