The two remaining cultists drove forward. Resolutely he beat them back.

The opposite carriage door was abruptly wrenched open.

With a start, Deliah turned-and met a horrible smile and fanatically glowing dark eyes. Dark fingers reached for her.

She didn’t even think before she fired.

The cultist’s eyes flew wide. Sheer shock seized his features. He dropped his long knife. It landed with a clatter on the carriage step as, clutching the patch of red blossoming on his chest, he staggered back, then fell.

The fighting raged on.

Dragging in a breath, telling herself this was no time to succumb to hysterics, Deliah realized she was weaponless. Defenseless should another cultist come for her. Setting the used pistol aside, she reached down and pulled the cultist’s knife to her.

It didn’t look used.

She picked it up, gripped the hilt. The blade was longish, but not as long as a full-sized sword or a cavalry saber. It wasn’t so heavy she couldn’t wield it. Use it if need be.

Then someone slammed the open carriage door shut. Tony. He was immediately engaged by a cultist, but he and Kumulay were now fighting one on one. She felt certain both would prevail.

She looked the other way, at Del, then edged toward that door. There were more cultists on that side of the carriage. Gervase was still trading blows with the two before him. Del had done some damage, but still had two vicious opponents attacking him.

Drawn, she inched closer, then, knowing better than to distract him, she crouched down inside the door and silently watched.

With an ear-splitting yell, one of the cultists jabbing at Gervase abruptly whirled and, sword raised high, raced toward Del.

Toward his back, exposed because the other cultists had drawn him to one side.

Fully engaged with the opponents before him, there was no chance he could turn and meet the attack.

Deliah swung the carriage door open and stepped out onto the high step.

The cultist saw her and changed direction.

Eyes alight, he charged toward her.

Desperately she freed the sword from her skirts. Gripping it with both hands, she brought it up to ward him off.

He ran straight onto it.

The shock on his face was mirrored on hers.

Stunned, his mouth still wide open, but with no sound any longer issuing forth, the cultist looked down. Stared at the long blade embedded in his chest. His own knife fell from his nerveless fingers, then his eyes closed and he crumpled, jerking the sword from her slackened grasp.

Her appearance had spurred Gervase and Del to even greater efforts. Cursing, they left their opponents writhing and moaning on the ground, clutching wounds. They exchanged a single glance, then Del whirled and strode for the carriage while Gervase raced around to the other side.

When Del reached Deliah, she was still staring, stunned, at the fallen cultist. Hand to her midriff, he pressed her back. “Sit down.”

His tone, the one he used on the battlefield, had her blinking and shuffling back. She dropped onto the seat as he climbed in and slammed the door shut.

From above, Cobby yelled, “All aboard!”

Their agreed signal for “cut and run.”

Gervase yanked open the other door and scrambled in. Tony followed on his heels, slamming the door shut behind him as the carriage dipped heavily-Kumulay climbing up again.

Cobby didn’t wait for anyone to settle. He sprang the horses, spooked by the rising scent of blood and more than ready to race on.

In a blink, they were away from the trees and thundering out into the open.

For long minutes, they all just sat there, breathing heavily, regaining their sanity.

Eventually, Tony stirred. “How many did we get?”

Deliah swallowed, looked at Del. “Fourteen. All told, there were fourteen.”

When he met her gaze, she raised her brows. “Satisfied?”

His eyes were still hard, his jaw still set. “It’s a start.”


What could he say?

They’d made a respectable dent in the Black Cobra’s forces, but…

She’d been far too involved, too exposed to real danger and death. So much for his careful planning. When he’d glanced across and seen her standing on the carriage step, one of their long knives in her hand with a cultist skewered on the end of it, his blood had run cold.

Not at all helpful in the middle of a fraught clash.

He’d wanted to roar at her for disobeying his strict orders, but if she hadn’t…he’d have been in much worse strife-possibly not able to roar at her at all.

Certainly not able to ease her back into the carriage and, under cover of her skirts, hold her hand-probably too tightly-all the way to Somersham Place.

He’d contented himself with that-with the simple contact-while the horses had raced on through the increasingly dark afternoon.

A winter storm was massing, roiling and boiling, ready to sweep in from the North Sea. One glance at the horizon, at the color and density of the clouds building there, confirmed snow by nightfall was a certainty.

It was early evening, already full dark, by the time they reached the massive pillars that marked the drive of the Place. Cobby had never been there before, but Del had described the pillars; the carriage slowed, turned into the drive, then continued bowling steadily along.

A welcoming light shone through the bare branches of massive oaks. Then the carriage rounded a corner and the house lay before them, as massive as he remembered, and as welcoming. Lamps on the porch were burning, casting a warm glow down the porch steps, illuminating the couple who walked out, alerted by the rattle of wheels on the gravel.

The gentleman halted at the top of the steps. Del felt his lips curve; Devil looked the same as ever, but the lady who came to stand by his shoulder, linking her arm with his, was new.

The carriage slowed, then rocked to a stop. A footman hurried to open the door and let down the carriage steps. Gervase and Tony waved them on. Del descended first, then turned to give Deliah his hand. She descended, twitched her plum-colored skirts straight, then, head rising, spine straight, allowed him to lead her up the porch steps to where Devil waited with his duchess.

As they neared, Devil’s lips curved and his pale green eyes lit. “Del! Welcome, once again, to Somersham.”

A spontaneous smile wreathing his face, Del clasped Devil’s proferred hand. “It’s beyond good to be here again.”

Devil hauled him into a brief embrace, clapped his back. “I confess I’m amazed you’re still hale and whole-I would have sworn someone would have skewered you by now.”

Del made a rude, if muted, noise in reply as they both turned to their respective ladies.

Who hadn’t waited for them.

“I’m Honoria-this reprobate’s duchess.” With an engaging smile for Deliah, Devil’s duchess held out her hand.

“Deliah Duncannon.” Deliah rose from a curtsy and touched fingers, adding, “I unwittingly became embroiled in Delborough’s mission, and so have had to tag along. I hope my unexpected presence, and that of my household-they’re following-won’t discompose yours.”

“Not at all! I’m delighted-and so will all the other ladies be-to welcome you.” Honoria’s gray eyes testified to her sincerity. “You’ll be able to give us a female view on all that’s going on.”

The duke smiled and smoothly introduced himself-as Devil-to Deliah.

She gave him her hand, and curtsied as he bowed. He was much like Del-tall, starkly handsome, dark-haired and broad-shouldered, with the long, powerful frame of a natural horseman-but in place of Del’s military bearing, Devil exuded aristocratic command.

Then Tony and Gervase joined them. Del made the introductions, and discovered Devil had met the other two before.

“At Wolverstone’s wedding,” Gervase explained. “There was a spot of bother we all helped him tidy up.”

“Indeed?” Honoria’s finely arched brows rose. She shot a look at her husband. “I must ask Minerva for the story. Now, however”-she took Deliah’s arm-“do come in out of the cold. It’s positively frigid out here, and much warmer inside.”

Warmer because of the huge fire blazing in the massive hearth at the far end of the long halfpaneled hall, and warmer because of the almost joyous welcome accorded them by the others gathered about the tables and comfortable chairs. Although it was too early for the customary yuletide decorations, here the emotional ambiance of the approaching season seemed already to have taken hold. Deliah felt herself literally thawing, both her flesh and her reservations.

She, Del, Tony and Gervase were taken on a circuit of introductions. The men all either knew each other, or knew of each other. She was the only true newcomer to the group; she’d expected to hang back, to find herself left on the fringe. Instead, as Honoria had foretold, the ladies, one and all, were not just delighted to meet her but keen and eager to hear all she could tell them.

For all their warmth, the couples littering the big hall were an imposing and impressive lot. The males were especially notable. Scandal Cynster, who his wife Catriona called Richard, was clearly Devil’s brother, with similar features and build, but cornflower blue eyes. The duke’s cousins included Demon Cynster, with wavy blond hair and blue eyes, and his diminuitive wife, Felicity-whom he referred to as Flick-and his older brother, Vane, a harder, quieter man, yet very much in the Cynster physical mold but with brown hair and gray eyes, and his wife, Patience. Then came a Lucifer Cynster, all dark-haired, blue-eyed elegance, and his wife, Phyllida, and a Gabriel Cynster, the epitome of sophistication, brown-haired and hazel-eyed, and his wife, Alathea.

All the Cynster men had fought alongside Del and his three friends-the other three couriers-at Waterloo. In addition, the Earl of Chillingworth-who, from his interaction with Del and Devil, Deliah placed as Gyles Rawlings, the third of the schoolboy trio-was there, with his countess, Francesca; brown-haired and gray-eyed, he, too, possessed a commanding presence.