Knight For A Lady (Brides By Chance Regency Adventures Book 3)

by Elizabeth Bailey

  The tone held a trifle of the old belligerence and Niall took a step forward, raising his pistol hand. “Don’t play games with me! You had Kilshaw here, in some other room, I surmise. Upstairs?”

  “He be over t’other side. ’Tis by way of a coffee room.”

  “Show me.”

  The landlord shuffled towards the door, keeping a wary eye on the pistols. Young Peter had followed Niall’s moves and now stepped back into the hall, waving his pistol to indicate the man should follow.

  “No tricks, you!”

  A grim smile curved Niall’s mouth as the landlord made haste to get himself across the hall and fling open a door on the other side. Peter pushed him in ahead and Niall followed behind.

  The room was small, containing a large table, a couple of wooden settles and little else besides. Light came through a leaded casement but it was gloomy, despite a couple of tallow candles, burning low and smoking. An empty glass and a bottle stood on the table.

  Niall crossed and picked up the bottle, sniffing at its open top. Wine? He held up the bottle to one of the candles and found only dregs. Setting it down again, he turned to the landlord. “You had Lord Kilshaw here, waiting for the cart which is now outside the back of your inn. Is it yours? Did he hire it from you?”

  Peter’s pistol jabbed into the man’s belly as he hesitated. “Answer!”

  The lad’s bark had less effect than the weapon, Niall guessed. But the landlord capitulated. “I didn’t know as he meant to bring leddy here, I swear it, yer honour! I’ll stake me oath he never said as that were why he wanted cart. I don’t hold wi’ violence, yer honour, nor I don’t hold wi’ tying leddies up neither.”

  The wheedling tone was nauseating, but Niall was far more concerned with the intelligence of the rude handling to which Edith had been subjected. If Kilshaw was capable of that —! His anxiety deepened, his voice sharpening.

  “How long was the lady here? When did his lordship leave?”

  The landlord shook his head, trying to edge away from Peter’s pistol, its barrel still directly pointed towards his oversized belly. “He weren’t here more’n a half hour after leddy come. Mebbe less. Fifteen, twenty minutes at outside, I’d say, yer honour.”

  Time enough. Niall’s guts clenched. He must not dwell on the possibility. He jerked his head to Peter to withdraw his pistol.

  “How long since he left?”

  Still holding his gaze on the gun, despite its being removed, the fellow scratched his chin. “Mebbe an hour? Mebbe not as much?”

  “Was he driving a curricle?”

  “Aye, that he be, yer honour. Bang-up set-out it be. Only he didn’t mean to travel all the way to Lunnon in it.”

  “How do you know?”

  A sour smile creased the landlord’s mouth. “For as that there groom of his arst me where his master might hire a coach, didn’t he?”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “Said as how he’d have to go nor Kington before he’d find one for hire. Bain’t no livery stable nearer.”

  Then it was safe to assume Kilshaw planned to make the change at a suitable inn within reasonable distance of Kington.

  “Which is the main coaching house at Kington, do you know?” Another scratch at the fellow’s chin and a ruminative look. Niall threw up his eyes. “You’ll get nothing out of me, fellow, if you expect to be rewarded for your information. I’m more likely to inform the nearest magistrate that you’ve aided and abetted in a kidnapping.” Which threat was enough to loosen the man’s tongue, though he turned surly.

  “Well, it be Coach and Horses. Not as you’ll catch ’im, not on horseback.”

  Niall curled his lip. “Saw us arrive, did you? It’s my belief you know more about this business than you’re saying. Was it you found the ruffian who snatched Miss Westacott? One of your customers, was he?”

  The landlord closed his lips firmly together, only his eyes betraying the truth of this accusation.

  Niall had no more time to waste on the man. Bidding him to watch out for the constable, he left the place with young Eddows close behind.

  The young man spoke as they mounted up. “Do we go on, my lord, or wait for my father?”

  “We go on. It’s to be hoped they are not long behind us. If that villain of a landlord is to be believed, Kilshaw has nearly an hour’s start.”

  The two horses trotted back onto the road and Niall urged his mount to a canter. Peter followed suit, keeping pace beside him.

  “Our quarry must stop to bait at some point, my lord, don’t you think?”

  “That is my hope.”

  And his fear, if truth be told. A halt for refreshment must give Kilshaw just the opportunity to make sure of Edith. With an inward shudder, Niall shifted his attention to Sorrell, by now on the road with the curricle, and mentally urged him to hurry.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  The light was fading when Kilshaw at last slowed the curricle’s rattling pace. He had as little regard for the comfort of his cattle as he did for hers, Edith reflected. His team was all but blown, steam beginning to rise from the horses’ flanks as they dropped to a trot and were guided through the streets of a small town. Lord Kilshaw slowed them to a walk, and began a turn towards an arched entrance leading to the back of an inn. A sign above the doorway informed Edith that it was the Peacock.

  The yard was clear of any other vehicle than a single coach. Edith regarded it with misgiving. She had been wondering if her captor proposed to travel all the way to London in his curricle, exposing her to the general view. Perhaps he did not so intend.

  She was tempted to break the silence she had maintained for miles, refusing all Lord Kilshaw’s attempts to engage her in conversation until he had laughed.

  “I will wait for you to come out of the sulks, my love.”

  Just as if she was the aggressor. Edith had returned no answer, biting her tongue on the sarcastic comments that itched in her head. If a hostile attitude inflamed him, as he had said, she had no intention of offering him that particular provocation. Above anything else, she must keep him at arm’s length.

  By this time, however, she was chilled, weary, hungry and heart-sore. Her wounds still hurt and her muscles ached. If this was a respite, she welcomed it. Besides, any delay at all must give Niall more time to catch up.

  Lord Kilshaw forestalled her question, turning his head to glance at her. “You will have an opportunity to refresh yourself here, my dear.”

  And eat too, she hoped. Without sustenance, she would not have strength to resist him, either with words or physically, if it came to that.

  She allowed him to assist her down from the curricle, pulling her hand from his the moment she was on the ground. A glance at his face showed his annoyance at this treatment, but the instant he met her eyes, the curling smile appeared.

  “Come, my love. A chamber is ready for you here.”

  Edith’s pulses came alive again, jumping in her veins. A chamber? God help her! She could not now remain silent. “I do not require a chamber, sir. I merely want food.”

  “You will have that too, my dear. A meal has been bespoken.”

  He took her arm in a strong hold and drew her towards the entrance.

  The inn was quiet and Edith’s heart sank. Small hope of raising a commotion by screaming or falling into strong hysterics, which she felt as if she might do at any moment.

  A bustling landlord appeared as his lordship guided her into a wide hallway.

  “Ah, my lord, here you are. All is in readiness. My lady wife has seen to the sheets and your dinner will be served in the parlour, snug as you please.”

  Relief surged through Edith’s bosom. Thank heaven! She’d been afraid she would be forced to eat with the threat of a bed in plain sight. Did the landlord suppose Kilshaw meant to spend the night? Had he made pretence of it? Edith had not the slightest belief that he would. Surely he would press on to put as much distance as he could between himself and Niall?

  �
�Come up, my lord, come up. And my lady too.”

  This form of address sent a flitter of unease through Edith. Had Lord Kilshaw told this man she was his wife? A hideous possibility raised its head as she perforce began to ascend the stairs in the landlord’s wake. Did Lord Kilshaw mean to await Niall’s advent? If so, his intention was clear. He would not have hired a bedchamber otherwise.

  A tattoo rose in her breast. Useless to wait for rescue. By the time it came, she would be ruined. Fit for nothing more than the life her Nemesis planned for her. Niall would have no choice but to let her go, for Lord Kilshaw intended to display her to him as his harlot.

  Through the rise of fear determination built. She would not succumb. She would die rather. Somehow, she would find a way to withstand him.

  The landlord opened a door to one side of the upper hall. “This is your bedchamber, my lord.”

  Edith could barely repress a shudder. But his lordship did not even glance at her and she breathed more easily as he spoke.

  “I feel sure it will serve. Where is your parlour?”

  Bowing, the landlord closed the bedchamber door and led the way to the front of the house. Ushered into a cosy apartment, Edith went directly to the window and looked out. She listened with only half an ear to the landlord as he outlined the details of the repast which was about to be presented. Darkness was closing in and she could see little beyond a swirl of dust and an urchin hurrying along the road. It must be well after eight if it was already dark. How many hours had passed since her capture? It felt like forever, but it could not have been much above three.

  The window let directly onto the street. There could be no escape by this route. But at least she might hope to hear the approach of any vehicle.

  “Come and sit down, my dear Edith. Or do you wish to refresh yourself before we dine?”

  Lord Kilshaw sounded perfectly composed, just as if her participation in his villainous scheme was in accord with normality. Edith turned to face him, summoning a like manner. “I should much like to freshen up, if I might be permitted a few moments alone.”

  His lip curled and a gleam came into his eye. “Oh, I think so. You will not object to my remaining outside the door? Not that you could get far if you chose to try and escape me.”

  “I am hardly likely to do anything so foolish, my lord. I can conceive of nothing more guaranteed to bring me to grief than to be running about the streets at this hour.”

  “I should have known I might rely on your good sense. Come!”

  The peremptory note was not lost on Edith, and a little trepidation assailed her as he held open the door. Did he mean to carry out an assault now? Had she miscalculated? She passed him with her eyes downcast, and walked with swift steps to the door of the bedchamber the landlord had shown them. He spoke as her fingers grasped the handle.

  “Don’t be long!”

  Edith whisked through the door and shut it behind her, leaning against it as a tide of relief washed through her. She cast a comprehensive glance about, looking for a weapon.

  A four-poster menaced in the centre of the room, its covers turned down in readiness for occupation. To one side was a narrow chest of drawers with a lighted candelabrum on its surface that threw flickering shadows across the bed. Edith’s eye caught on a washstand at its other side and she headed towards it. The jug held warm water, and she poured a little into the basin. With her face and hands washed, she felt a degree more capable of coping with the situation.

  She found a chamber pot under the bed and made use of it. As she dried her hands again on the towel that hung off the stand, she took due note of a heavy bible set upon the bedside table. At a pinch, she might manage to wield it against her captor. Or the jug perhaps? Either would slow him, but Edith doubted she could do sufficient damage to hold him, even could she hit him without retaliation. She would have to be fast, and the likelihood was he would catch her before she could grab either weapon.

  No, she must find something else. In the parlour. If she waited until he had her in this room, she would be lost. All the advantage lay on his side.

  A knock at the door was followed by Lord Kilshaw’s immediate entrance.

  “Are you not done? The covers have been taken through and I am devilish hungry, if you are not.”

  Impatience sounded in his voice, and Edith set down the towel she was still holding. “I am quite ready.”

  He held the door for her, a trifle of suspicion in his eyes. But he said nothing more, merely indicating she should go before him. “Go into the parlour, Edith. I will join you presently.”

  He vanished back into the bedchamber and Edith hesitated. Dared she run downstairs now? What if she told the landlord she was being held against her will? Would he believe her? Or had Lord Kilshaw primed him?

  No, she would do better to pretend to acquiescence. Lull him if she could. She stood more of a chance of besting him if he was off his guard.

  She withdrew to the parlour, casting her eyes over the various covered dishes a waiter was setting out, her mind instantly presenting her with images of ways she might incapacitate Lord Kilshaw. One of the silver covers would make a much better weapon than the bible or the jug. And there were two candlesticks on the table, lighted candles adding to the illumination provided by wall sconces and a candelabrum on the dresser to one side.

  Feeling more confident every moment, Edith took a seat at the table and allowed her attention to wander to what might be concealed beneath the covers. The aromas were enticing and her mouth watered, reminding her of her empty stomach.

  Lord Kilshaw reappeared just as the waiter laid aside his tray and made to lift one of the covers.

  “You need not wait. We will serve ourselves. I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

  Edith’s confidence faltered as he shut the door behind the waiter and grasped the key in the lock. She heard the click as it shot home and her heart sank. Her captor turned with the key in his fingers and held it up, the mocking curve creasing his fine lips.

  “There now, my lovely Edith. We will be perfectly private.” With which, he slipped the key into his pocket, still smiling, and came to take his seat at the table, directly opposite. His hand hovered over one of the silver covers. “Now, what have we to tempt you? Ah, a fricassee of some kind. Or would you prefer some of this beef? A little of both perhaps?”

  Feeling hollow inside, Edith opted for the fricassee. Her appetite had deserted her, but she knew she must take enough to sustain her for the coming battle.

  Lord Kilshaw offered her wine, which Edith refused, instead choosing to drink water. She needed her wits about her. To her dismay, he partook liberally of the claret himself, sinking quite half the bottle before he had consumed the plateful of sliced beef before him.

  Edith managed to swallow only a few forkfuls of her portion of fricassee, forcing them down through an increasingly tight throat. She ate slowly, her senses alert to the growing glitter in his lordship’s eyes and her ears straining for any sound of hoof beats from the street outside.

  Time dragged, but no hint of Niall’s catching up with them came to relieve Edith’s rising apprehension. She felt in urgent need of some stimulant that would not impair her capability of defending herself. Coffee!

  On the thought, she set down her fork and looked across at her Nemesis. “Would it be too much to ask if you will send for a pot of coffee?”

  He met her eyes, his own unsmiling. A sneer twisted his mouth. “So you may throw hot liquid in my face? I think not, my dear Edith. Do not imagine I am fooled by this show of docility on your part. I am perfectly aware you are plotting how you may best me. You won’t, of course, but who am I to protest if it amuses you?”

  “Amuses me?” Incensed, Edith gave him a sneer as mocking as his own. “To be sure, it is vastly entertaining for me to be rendered unconscious, tied up so tight I am bruised to pieces —” holding up her closed fists to show her damaged wrists “—thrown into the back of a filthy cart and handed over to a man who inten
ds my ruin. I had not looked for such adventure, I declare.”

  Lord Kilshaw’s lips creased into genuine amusement and he laughed. “Faith, I believe I could keep you indefinitely, Edith. I had thought to hand you over to one of my cronies when I tired of you, but —”

  “What, am I a parcel, my lord? All this, so you may have your fill of what you covet only to wrap me up and pass me along to the next man? I wonder you are taking so much trouble, if you mean to discard your prize so readily.”

  “And lose the pleasure of your wit? No, indeed, my love. The more you spar with me, the likelier I am to keep you.”

  “I am flattered, my lord. It did not occur to me that your desire was rooted in my head rather than elsewhere.”

  He went off into a virtual paroxysm of mirth, slapping the table with his hand and making the glasses jump.

  Seething, Edith waited for his laughter to abate. It sounded hollow in her ears and the glitter at his eyes warned her he was becoming enraged under the pretended mockery. Well, so was she enraged. And her apparent calm had not fooled him in the least.

  His laughter died and he upended her wine glass and poured from the bottle, half filling it with ruby liquid. “I regret you cannot have coffee, my dear. Content you with claret.”

  Feeling even more in need, Edith snatched up the glass and took a couple of swallows of the wine. Warmth slid down her throat and into her chest. She toyed with the notion of flinging the remainder into that hated face, but caution won. There was no saying how he might react, especially since he had refilled his own glass and was in the act of tipping it down his throat.

  Edith watched him empty the bottle into his glass. Merely dregs were left. Lord Kilshaw rose and reached for a second bottle set on the dresser to one side. He ripped out the cork with his teeth and spat it on the floor.

  In quick succession, he downed two full glasses and then set down the vessel and the bottle, smacking his lips and gazing across at Edith with an unmistakeable leer.

  “I’m ready for you now, my dear. Shall we repair to the bedchamber?”