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

Ferrar’s gentleman’s gentleman and his master’s most trusted aide, or Ferrar himself. Del’s money was on Larkins.
    Although Cobby had questioned all those who’d been standing in the street, still stunned and exclaiming over theshooting, no one had seen the man with the gun well enough to describe, let alone identify. All they’d learned was that, as expected, he’d been fair-skinned.
    That the Black Cobra had struck so immediately and decisively had been a surprise, but on reflection, were he in Ferrar’s shoes, Del might have mounted a similar preemptive gambit. If he’d been killed, the ensuing chaos might have proved sufficient for Ferrar to gain access to his room and baggage, and the scroll-holder. It wouldn’t have played out that way, but Ferrar didn’t know that. Regardless, Del was perfectly sure that if it hadn’t been for Miss Duncannon’s quick thinking—and actions—he would very likely be dead.
    It was nearing seven o’clock. The night was dark, the moon cocooned in thick clouds. The carriage lamps beamed through the chill darkness as the four horses reached the macadam of the highway and lengthened their stride.
    Del thought of the rest of their combined households, traveling with the bulk of their luggage in two open wagons, all Cobby had been able to hire at such short notice.
    At least they were away, on the move.
    And they knew that Larkins, and presumably therefore Ferrar, were close, and chasing him. The enemy had broken cover and engaged.
    “I can’t understand,” Deliah said, “why you insisted nothing be said to the authorities.” She spoke quietly, her voice sliding beneath the repetitive thud of the horses’ hooves; she had no wish to communicate her dissatisfaction to anyone other than the man beside her. “Bowden said you paid for the windowpane but insisted nothing more be made of the incident.” She waited an instant, then demanded, “Why?”
    She didn’t turn to look at him. The interior of the carriage was a sea of shifting shadows; she couldn’t see well enough to read anything from his face—and she’d already realized that only showed what he wanted it to.
    Silence stretched, but she waited.
    Eventually, he murmured, “The attack was linked to mymission. Can you describe the man with the pistol? It would help.”
    The vision she’d seen through the window was etched in her mind. “He was somewhat above average height, wearing a dark coat—nothing all that fashionable, but decent quality. He had on a dark hat, but I could see his hair was close-cropped. Beyond that…I really didn’t have time to note every detail.” She let a moment tick past, then asked, “Do you know who he was?”
    “He sounds like one of the men linked with my mission.”
    “Your ‘mission,’ whatever it might be, doesn’t explain why you refused to alert the authorities to the action of a felon—any more than it explains why we’re racing away in the dead of night, as if we’d taken fright.” She didn’t know much about Colonel Derek Delborough, but he didn’t seem the sort to cut and run.
    He answered in a bored, superior tone. “It was the right thing to do.”
    “Humph.” She frowned, disinclined to let him stop talking. His voice was deep, assured, his accents—those of a man accustomed to command—strangely soothing, and after the excitement of the shooting, she was still on edge. Her nerves were still jangling. She grimaced. “Even if you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself, you might at least—”
    Del transferred his gaze to the unrelieved darkness outside. He’d glanced at her, seen her grimace, seen her lips pout…and felt a nearly overwhelming urge to shut her up.
    By sealing those pouting lips with his.
    And finding out how soft they were, and what she tasted like.
    Tart, or sweet? Or both?
    Quite aside from the audience lined up on the opposite seat, he felt reasonably certain any such action would result in him receiving at least one boxed