They’d chosen not to take the Great North Road, the obvious route to Cambridgeshire. With its constant stream of carriages, coaches and carts, wagons and riders, that route would be no help in tempting the Black Cobra into an attack. They’d opted instead for the lesser road through Royston. They should reach that minor town in the open country beyond London’s sprawl by lunchtime.

It was after that, once they’d lunched and taken to the road again, traveling along a straight but less frequented stretch to Godmanchester, then along a series of progressively quieter country roads to Somersham, that they expected their invitation to be accepted and the fiend to stage an ambush.

The view beyond the carriage window was growing more countrified. Deliah stirred, glanced at Del. “This house-Somersham Place. Why are you, and Tony and Gervase, so sure no attack will be made after we reach there?”

His lips curved in clear reminiscence. “You’ll understand when you see it. It’s a principal ducal residence, and it’s huge-massive. You could lose a company in it without effort.” He glanced at her, met her eyes. “I visited there years ago-in my school days. I knew houses could be large, but it was a revelation.”

“Is it the duke you know from…Eton?”

He nodded. “Sylvester Cynster, as he was then, known from the cradle by all as Devil. For good reason.”

She arched her brows. “Are you sure-if he was named that from the cradle-that it wasn’t simply a case of him living up to the title?”

He smiled. “That, too. Regardless, when the word went out for extra troops, cavalry in particular, in the lead up to Waterloo, Devil and his Cynster cousins joined as a body of six. We’d kept in touch. Through a feat of string-pulling, they were attached to my troop, so we fought together there.”

“Side by side?”

“Mostly back to back. It wasn’t pretty fighting, that day.” His voice, his expression, had turned grim.

She waited.

After a moment, Del shook aside the darker memories, refocused, then smiled again. “You’ll meet them-the six cousins. Apparently they’re all at Somersham with their wives.” That he was waiting to see. The idea of those hellions brought to heel by a pack of ladies…he wasn’t quite sure he believed it, but he was certainly curious, and looking forward to meeting the ladies involved. “They-the whole family-always gather at Somersham for Christmas, but this year the six families came early so the men could assist with Wolverstone’s plan. They know the other three couriers who are ferrying in the scroll-holders almost as well as they know me.”

“So it’s a reunion of sorts?”

He nodded. “A reunion with the benefit, at least for the Cynsters, of seeing some action again.”

“I wonder how their wives feel about that?”

He wondered, too, but didn’t reply to the faintly caustic question. “The only other couple who will be there, at least that I know of, is Gyles Rawlings, the Earl of Chillingworth, and his wife. Gyles, Devil, and I were all at Eton in the same year. Devil and Gyles were the friendly foes, and I was the peacemaker.”

Deliah glanced at him-an assessing, slightly cynical, but affectionate glance.

He pretended not to notice. “But to answer your question, the reason we consider the Place a safe house, one where no attack is likely after we’ve settled there, is because once Ferrar or Larkins gets the slightest inkling of the number of ex-military men in the house, they’ll pull back. The original idea was to use it as a bolt-hole-a safe place for us to run to once we’d engaged with the cultists, hopefully drawing them along, snapping at our heels, straight into the Cynsters’ arms. Whether we manage that or not-” He broke off, lightly shrugged.

After a moment, he went on, “Wolverstone’s waiting on one of his estates conveniently nearby, so the Place is ideally situated to be a secondary barracks of sorts. We’ll learn more when we get there.”

Deliah paused to take mental note. It seemed she was shortly to meet a duchess, a countess, and at least five other ladies of their circle, all most likely a few years younger than she. Certainly a lot more haut ton than she. At least, courtesy of their visit to Madame Latour’s salon, she had a suitable wardrobe.

Dismisssing the distracting thought-she’d deal with the ladies when she met them-she refocused on the here and now, on Del and his mission.

With a better picture of the wider plan taking shape in her mind, she murmured, “So once we reach Somersham Place, any chance of the cultists mounting an attack on us will be past?”

Del nodded. Folding his arms across his chest, he volunteered nothing more.

He didn’t have to; she could read his hopes and fears with ease.

They hadn’t sighted a single one of the Black Cobra’s own men, except perhaps for the man she’d seen in Southampton, the one Del thought was Ferrar’s gentleman’s gentleman. Despite their plans for the day-plans she now realized were a final throw of the dice-Tony, Gervase, and even more so Del, were tending glum.

They felt they were failing in their mission-in their decoy’s task of drawing out the enemy and reducing his numbers. She could imagine how they were going to feel tonight if they reached the Place without incident.

If they failed to tempt the Black Cobra into the open, into risking his cultists against them.

Relaxing against the seat, she faced forward and thought of their strategy, and of the time they had left.

They were deep in the countryside with signposts to Royston flashing past at every crossroads when she said, “This isn’t going to work.” Turning her head, she caught Del’s eye. “Not if you want to draw out however many of the cultists are following us.”

Arms still crossed, he frowned. “We’re in slow carriages overburdened with females and luggage, and traveling on increasingly less populated byways. At some point, Ferrar-or Larkins, more likely-will risk his hand. He’ll feel he has to.”

“Not if he hasn’t that many men, and he knows about Tony and Gervase.”

He didn’t immediately reply. He studied her eyes, then, still frowning, asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that at least one of the Black Cobra’s men is English-Larkins. It wouldn’t have been that hard for him to discover through watching Grillon’s that there are two other gentlemen who are also of our party-who breakfasted and dined with us, but who otherwise weren’t seen with us. On top of that, we know someone searched our rooms. I think it very likely-indeed, we should assume-that the Black Cobra knows about Tony and Gervase, and if he’s as colossally clever as you say, he’ll have seen through that trap. We should assume he knows that if he attacks our apparently tempting little convoy, he’ll have Tony and Gervase to deal with as well.”

She paused, assembling her arguments. “You mentioned that the cultists won’t use pistols. That puts them at a disadvantage when facing opponents who will.” She looked pointedly at the pistol Del had placed on the seat between them.

“That won’t deter the Black Cobra. He’ll sacrifice foot soldiers without a blink…” Del’s voice died away, his eyes widening slightly.

Deliah nodded. “That’s my point. He might not yet feel he’s in a position to sacrifice any, because he might not yet have enough in the country. You said he-Ferrar-arrived with only his manservant, this Larkins, and only a bare week ahead of you. None of his men on your ship survived. Others presumably would have arrived by now, but surely he’s had to spread them about, keeping watch for the other three couriers. He knows who they are, but not where they are, or where they might land, or where they’ll go after that, or when. And now we’ve moved out of London, his men have to follow us, too.”

Shifting on the seat, she faced Del. “He won’t be able to hire locals for that purpose-which is what we wanted, but conversely, his numbers may well be limited to the point that he’ll feel forced to hold back, at least while he knows Tony and Gervase are with us.”

Pausing, she frowned, putting herself in the Black Cobra’s shoes. “On top of that, he doesn’t know where the scroll-holder is. That’s why someone searched our rooms at Grillon’s.” She met Del’s eyes. “Until he or one of his men actually sight it, Ferrar can’t even be sure you have it with you. That you still have it, decoy or not. It might be with Tony or Gervase. You might have left it in safekeeping in London. If he chances his men now, against our three carriages, it might well be for nought. He knows he’ll lose some men, at least, and he might not as yet be able to spare them, especially if he gets no return.”

Increasingly convinced she was right, she sat back. “If I’m correct, and he doesn’t have enough men to waste on an attack that might prove a worthless trap, when he doesn’t even know if the scroll-holder is with us, available to be snatched, then…” Eyes narrowing, she went on, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but if all is as I surmise-that he’s following us with a limited number of men, and knows Tony and Gervase are near-then the only way for him to successfully get the letter from us is if he swoops in quickly, grabs the letter and runs…but he doesn’t even know that the letter is definitely with us, let alone which carriage it’s in.”

She met Del’s gaze. “At present, you have him stymied. Frustrated, certainly, which is to our advantage, but as he’s so clever, he won’t make any move. He can’t. The odds aren’t in his favor-they’re too great that he’ll lose vital men and gain nothing in return.”

Del couldn’t fault her analysis. Slumping back against the seat, he closed his eyes, softly groaned. “You’re right.” After a moment, he opened his eyes. “In reality we have no chance of luring him into mounting an attack.”

An instant of silence followed, then Deliah said, “I didn’t say that.”