Free The Untamed Bride Plus Black Cobra 02-03 and Special Excerpt by Stephanie Laurens

maid—and I believe you mentioned a household? As you’ve already ordered a carriage—”
    Her green eyes flashed. “With all due respect, Colonel, you are talking through your hat!” Belligerent, determined, she stepped forward, face tipping up as if she intended to go nose-to-nose with him. “The notion of me traveling north, in this season or any other, with no suitable gentleman arranged and accepted by my parents as escort, is quite simply ineligible. Unacceptable. Absolutely ‘not done.’”
    She’d come so close that a wave of tempting warmth slid over the front of him, cascading down to heat his groin. So long had it been since he’d experienced such an explicit reaction he was, for just an instant, distracted enough to simply stand and enjoy it, drink it in….
    Her gaze abruptly shifted to his left. She was tall enough to see over his shoulder. He saw her focus, saw her gorgeous jade-green eyes widen—then flare.
    “Good God!”
    She seized his lapels and dragged him, hauled him, tumbled him down to the floor.
    For one crazed instant, his brain interpreted her actions as lust gone wild—then the reverberating explosion and the tinkle of shattered glass raining down upon them jerked his wits back to reality.
    She had never left it. Trapped half beneath him, she wriggled and squirmed to get free, her horrified gaze locked on the shattered pane.
    Slamming a mental door on the effect of her curvaceous form bucking beneath him, he gritted his teeth and pushed back to his knees. After a quick glance out of the window at the stunned crowd milling in the darkened street, he got to his feet, and was assisting her to hers when the door slammed open.
    Mustaf stood in the doorway, saber in his hand. Cobby stood beside him, a cocked pistol in his. Beyond them towered another Indian, swarthy and tall—Del stiffened instinctively. He started to step in front of Miss Duncannon, only to have her hand on his arm hold him back.
    “I’m quite all right, Kumulay.” Her small, warm hand still resting on Del’s bicep, she looked up at him. “It wasn’t me the man was trying to kill.”
    Del met her eyes. They were still wide, her pupils dilated, but she was utterly in control.
    A hundred thoughts churned through his head. Every instinct screamed “ Chase! ” but this time that wasn’t his role. He looked back at Cobby, who had lowered his gun. “Get ready to leave immediately.”
    Cobby nodded. “I’ll get the others.” He and Mustaf drew back.
    The other man—Kumulay—remained in the open doorway, his impassive gaze locked on his mistress.
    Del glanced at her. Met the green shards trained on his face.
    “You are not leaving without me.” Each word was carefully enunciated.
    He hesitated, giving his mind one more chance to come up with an alternative, then, jaw set, nodded. “Very well. Be ready to leave within the hour.”
     
    “Finally!” More than two hours later, Del shut the door of the post chaise Miss Duncannon had been farsighted enough to hire, and dropped onto the seat beside his unlooked-for charge.
    Her maid, Bess, an Englishwoman, sat in the corner on her other side. Along the seat opposite, in a colorful array of saris and woollen shawls, sat Amaya, Alia and another older Indian woman and two young girls, the latter three all members of Miss Duncannon’s household.
    Why she had a largely Indian household he had yet to learn.
    The carriage rocked into motion, rolling ponderously up the High Street. As the vehicle tacked around Bargate, then headed on toward the London road, Del wondered, not for the first time over the last two and more hours, what had possessed him to agree to Miss Duncannon traveling on with him.
    Unfortunately, he knew the answer, and it was one that left him with no other possible course. She’d seen the man who’d shot at him—which meant the man had almost certainly seen her.
    Given cultists rarely, if ever, used firearms, that man was most likely Larkins,