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

to her chamber, then he turned to the innkeeper. “I need to hire two more carriages.”
    “Of course, sir. Dreadfully cold already, and they say there’s worse to come. I don’t have any carriages free myself, but I know the stableman at the Pelican—he’ll oblige me, and I’m sure he’ll have two he can let you have.”
    Del raised his eyes to the top of the stairs—and met Miss Duncannon’s direct green gaze. She said nothing, however, but with a faint lift of her brows, continued on into the gallery. “Thank you.” Returning his gaze to the innkeeper, he arranged for the members of his household and hers to be given whatever they wished from the tap, then left the now deserted foyer to climb the stairs to his room.
     
    Half an hour later, washed and brushed, he was in the private parlor when Miss Duncannon entered. Two maids had just finished setting a small table for two before the fire; they retreated with bobbed curtsies. Del strolled to hold a chair for his charge.
    She’d removed her pelisse, revealing a garnet-red gown trimmed with silk ribbon of the same hue, over which she’d draped a finely patterned silk shawl.
    Sitting, she inclined her head. “Thank you, Colonel.”
    Strolling to his chair on the other side of the table, Del murmured, “Del.” When she raised her brows, he explained, “Most people I know call me Del.”
    “I see.” She considered him as he sat and shook out his napkin. “As we’re apparently to be in each other’s company for some time, it would be appropriate, I suppose, to make you free of my name. It’s Deliah— not Delilah. Deliah.”
    He smiled, inclined his head. “Deliah.”
    Deliah struggled not to stare, struggled to keep her suddenly witless mind functioning. That was the first time he’d smiled at her—and she definitely didn’t need the additionaldistraction. He was ridiculously handsome when serious and sober; when his lips softened and curved, he was seduction personified.
    She, better than anyone, knew how dangerous such men were—especially to her.
    The door opened and the maids reappeared, ferrying a soup tureen and a basket of bread.
    She nodded her approval and the maids served. Deliah eyed the soup with something akin to gratitude, inwardly congratulating herself for having ordered it. One didn’t need to converse while consuming soup. That would give her just a little more time to whip her unruly senses into line.
    “Thank you.” With a nod for the retreating maids, she picked up her spoon and supped.
    He reached for the bread basket, offered it.
    “No, thank you.”
    He smiled again—damn him!—and helped himself; she looked down at her soup and kept her gaze on her plate.
    It had taken her all of the short journey, and most of the half hour she’d spent out of his sight, to untangle the skein of emotions besetting her. She’d initially attributed her skittering nerves and breathless state to the shock of finding herself looking down the barrel of a pistol, even if the gun hadn’t been pointed at her.
    The shot, the subsequent flurry, the rush to leave, the unexpected journey during which he’d remained stubbornly uncommunicative over his mysterious mission—the mission that had led to him being shot at—were all circumstances that might naturally be considered to have contributed to her overwrought state.
    Except she’d never been the sort to allow circumstances—no matter how dire or unexpected—to overset her.
    In the quiet of her chamber, she’d finally unravelled her feelings sufficiently to lay the truth bare—it had been that moment when she’d found herself on the wooden floor with his hard body covering hers that was the root of her problem. The source of her skittishness.
    If she thought of it, she could still feel the sensations—of his weight pinning her, hard muscles and heavy bones trapping her beneath him, his long legs tangling with hers, his heat—then the searing instant of…whatever it had been that had