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

by Elizabeth Bailey

  His ruminations were interrupted by the landlord of the Bear, a beefy individual, whose muscular arms and shoulders belied his deferential manner.

  “How can I serve you, my lord?”

  “I’ll take a jug of your best ale, Gifford, if you please.”

  The fellow was evidently gratified to have his aristocratic landlord choose to patronise his modest inn, which was in general in use by lesser men, which at least gave some point to his expedition. He’d come on purpose to check on Edith Westacott and had anticipated her offering him refreshment at the vicarage.

  Niall took a seat by the window in the tap room and was presently served with a foaming tankard. He took a pull and set it down, watching the perambulations of the couple on the green. He could not judge at this distance whether or not Edith relished the attention. It was idle to suppose her apparent fears had an origin in maidenly confusion. And she had not looked as if she was enjoying Kilshaw’s company.

  On the other hand, if the fellow cared for her and meant to offer for her, who was Niall to interfere? However much it might gall him to stand aside. She’d given no sign of preferring himself, and now he’d seen Lord Kilshaw, he could not imagine how she might. The wretch had everything he had not. Looks, address, grace and an established position in Society. True, he was an older man, already burdened with daughters. But if he was a widower and needed a son, it was not remarkable he would seek a second wife.

  What was surprising was that such a man would seek one in the schoolmistress who taught his daughters. Which thought, coupled with Edith’s evident distress and fear, did not augur well. No, there was more to this than met the eye.

  He saw that the couple were headed back towards the vicarage and took another draught of ale. Let him see what Kilshaw did. If he left, Niall would seize opportunity and tackle Edith. He could at least satisfy himself she stood in no danger. If the fellow’s intentions proved to be genuine and honourable, and if Edith was able to return his regard…

  The thought died. Niall discovered he could not contemplate with equanimity the notion of Edith being in the least in love with Lord Kilshaw. What that said of his own feelings he refused to examine. Time enough to think of that when he’d garnered sufficient information to be able to work out a tactical strategy.

  Edith and Kilshaw had reached the vicarage gate. Niall watched while they appeared to talk over it. And then Edith turned for the house and Kilshaw came away.

  To Niall’s surprise he headed in a path directly towards the tavern. Had he the intention of refreshing himself? Or was he coming in search of Niall? A rush of the feeling he experienced before battle ran through him. Now they would see.

  It did not take Lord Kilshaw many minutes to cross the green and Niall was ready for him when he entered the tap room and glanced around. The moment he caught sight of Niall their eyes met. Kilshaw turned to the hovering landlord.

  “Ale, I think, my good man.”

  And then he had reached the place where Niall was seated. Seizing a chair, he dragged it forward and sat down, gesturing towards the window.

  “No doubt you guessed I should come to seek you out.”

  Niall eyed him. “I didn’t. I saw you return Miss Westacott to the vicarage, however.”

  The other’s brows rose over the dark eyes. “Awaiting your moment? Then I haven’t wasted my time coming over here.”

  Was this an opening gambit? Kilshaw was clearly determined on candour. Niall braced as the landlord brought the fellow’s tankard over and set it down on the small table between them. Kilshaw nodded and cast a glance about the tap room. He lowered his voice. “I would bespeak a private parlour, but I dare say we are attracting enough attention as it is.”

  In fact there were few customers, and although the usual country interest had ensured several stares as the stranger entered, these had already returned to the more interesting business of consuming ale and smoking a pipe of tobacco.

  “They’ve grown used to me. I doubt anyone will listen to our conversation.”

  “Ah, this is your territory, I take it? Then I am in your hands, my dear fellow.”

  He might well be, should Niall find his throat within reach. Dismissing the savage thought, he took a soothing drink from his tankard, watching as the other followed suit.

  “Quite tolerable.” Kilshaw set down his jug. “Let us put our cards on the table, my dear sir.”

  Niall maintained a cool front, but he was not going to help. “Certainly.”

  The other smiled, but there was no friendliness within it. “I mean to be perfectly frank, Hetherington, between gentlemen.”

  Niall lost patience. “Cut line, Kilshaw. What do you want with me?”

  The brows rose again and the other man tutted. “You military men are so direct. I was trying to be tactful.”

  “Don’t trouble. I can stand a knock or two and I prefer plain speaking.”

  A look of satisfaction came and Kilshaw’s eyes gleamed. “Just as I supposed. Plainly then, Hetherington, if, as I suspect, you have an interest in Miss Westacott, I must inform you that I have the prior claim.”

  Niall set his teeth. “Indeed? And does Miss Westacott accept that?”

  “She will.”

  “In other words, she does not.”

  Kilshaw heaved a sigh. “I had hoped not to be obliged to say this, but I perceive you are more épris than I thought.”

  “We will leave my emotions out of this discussion.”

  Lord Kilshaw spread his hands. “As you wish. But do not blame me if what I must impart may be — shall we say, disconcerting? — to you.”

  Niall did not answer. He held the man’s eyes, every muscle taut as he fought to refrain from setting his fist into the fellow’s pretty face. Another sigh came and Kilshaw took a pull of his ale. Niall waited in barely contained impatience.

  The dark eyes met his again. “You see, Hetherington, the matter is not open for debate. Miss Westacott has little choice.”

  Niall’s irritation surfaced. “I wish you will not talk such fustian, sir. Of course she has a choice. You can’t force an unwilling bride to the altar in these days.”

  “Bride?”

  There was no mistaking the tone. Niall’s senses snapped to. “You don’t intend marriage then?”

  “Have you run mad, Hetherington? What in the world makes you suppose I could mean marriage? For one thing, I am not free. For another, you clearly don’t know Miss Westacott for what she is.”

  Niall’s breast rioted with a maelstrom of feeling, uppermost a strong desire to spit the man on the point of his sword. But he was not a soldier for nothing. Poker-faced, he managed a clipped tone. “No doubt you are going to tell me?”

  The fellow spread his hands again, but Niall was alive now to the mockery of his play-acting. “My dear Hetherington, did I not say at the outset that I have a prior claim?”

  “You mean you seduced her.”

  He said it with the flat, unemotional tone of disinterest, but it was plain Kilshaw had divined something of his held-in fury.

  “She was not unwilling, if that is what you suppose,” he said gently, his tone soft. “That, my dear sir, would be rape.”

  Controlling himself with an effort, Niall eyed the man. Was it the truth? Why then should Edith be so afraid of him? No, she was not willing. If she had been, then it was no longer so. He wanted to give the fellow the lie, but he hesitated. Always best to know your enemy thoroughly before you attacked.

  “What do you intend, Kilshaw?”

  “With Miss Westacott?” The mocking smile again. “You know the drill, I am persuaded, Hetherington. I have a charming little house and I am prepared to be generous. She is worth it.”

  Niall ground his teeth. “I don’t doubt it.”

  “Ah, you have been taken with her beauty, have you not? I declare, it will be a pleasure to display her to my intimates.” A gentle laugh came. “I must trust my royal crony may not take to her and offer to relieve me of her too soon. No
, on the whole, I may do better to refrain from taking her with me to Brighton. She may await me in the pretty little establishment in the metropolis. I cannot think she will be bored there, for she has never been to London.”

  Revolted, Niall listened with creeping horror. Whatever he had expected, it was not this distressing programme of Edith’s introduction into the life of a courtesan. He managed to infuse calm into his tone. “I understand you, I believe.”

  Lord Kilshaw sat back, complacency in every line of his fine figure. “There now, I knew candour would serve me best. I am so glad I decided to confide in you, Hetherington.”

  “Yes, but I suspect you have been less than frank with me, sir.”

  Kilshaw stilled and his brows rose. “How so?”

  “Miss Westacott did not strike me as altogether delighted to see you again. I wonder why, sir.”

  “Maidenly confusion?” Kilshaw’s laugh grated on Niall’s ears. “Well, let us be honest. She begged me not to follow her here. Naturally she does not wish her uncle to know the path she is treading. But I am not wholly unfeeling, sir. I have allowed the worthy vicar to suppose me a suitor for her hand. You will, I trust, support this pretence. For the sake of Miss Westacott’s honour in the village, you know.”

  He dared speak of her honour? Again Niall wanted to smash his fist into the comely countenance. But he was obliged to deny himself this solace. Until he had spoken with Edith, it suited him best to keep his true feelings in check. And concealed from the callous and philandering Kilshaw.

  “I should not dream of distressing the Reverend Westacott.”

  Let him make what he chose of that. It did not greatly limit what Niall might say or do with regard to Edith’s uncle. That must depend upon the truth.

  Kilshaw looked perfectly satisfied. No doubt he thought he had effectually silenced a possible rival. Niall watched him drain his tankard and set it down. He threw a couple of coins onto the table and rose.

  “My errand is done. I must retrieve my curricle, which I left at the smithy. No doubt we shall meet again.”

  Niall rose. “You may count on it.”

  “Yes, since my campaign will likely keep me here some days. I trust to your discretion, my dear fellow.”

  Niall had no intention of fulfilling that trust and did not choose to reply.

  He watched the man leave and sat down again to resume his vigil from the window. Lord Kilshaw went past, walking along the lane towards the blacksmith’s forge, which lay just beyond the green. Niall wanted to make sure the fellow did not turn his steps back towards the vicarage. He was quickly out of sight and Niall left his own douceur on the table and walked out of the tavern.

  His quarry was still within sight, but he had nearly reached the smithy. A sigh escaped Niall and he realised he had been holding his breath. All that remained was to decide whether or not to go to Edith now. Should he give her time to recover her countenance? Indeed, he felt he needed time himself, to absorb and sift what he’d been told.

  To be truthful, he knew not what to believe. Except for one thing. He was convinced of Edith’s unwillingness. Whatever had occurred in the past, she did not now wish to resume the liaison. On that he would stake his earldom.

  He had drifted along with his thoughts, shifting onto the green, and so he was in an excellent position to see a curricle pulling out of the smithy yard. A groom ran alongside and swung himself up behind as the vehicle turned into the far lane and started off in the direction of Long Itchington village. That it was also the direction towards his own home dictated his decision. He had stabled his horse in the mews behind the tavern and directed one of the boys to take care of it. The animal would by now be sufficiently rested to carry him home. But he did not wish to encounter Kilshaw again.

  On the other hand, he had an ardent desire to see Edith, to find out the truth from her own lips. Would she tell him? She’d refused to confide in him before, but he could swear he’d seen a signal in her eyes when he met the two on the green.

  He started towards the vicarage, but his eye caught a figure stealing from the back gate. Edith! She began to hurry down the lane towards the woods, her manner clearly distrait.

  Without hesitation, Niall started after her.

  Chapter Eleven

  The unpleasantness of the interview with Lord Kilshaw had drained every ounce of Edith’s returning confidence. Worse, she’d been mortified by the meeting with Lord Hetherington. That he should see her apparently on terms with that evil-minded creature! What must he think?

  She’d been so deeply ashamed, she’d answered Kilshaw at random, hardly taking in his words. Until at last he became irritated.

  “My dear Edith, I trust this maidenly confusion you are exhibiting is not on account of this Hetherington fellow?”

  The note of jealousy was not lost on her and she cast him a glance of loathing.

  “I scarcely know him, but the little I do know is enough to convince me he is a far better man than you.”

  The mocking laughter was for once absent. “Ah, then you do favour him?”

  “I did not say so.”

  “You did not need to, my dear. But if you imagine I will allow him to take you from me, you are wide of the mark.”

  A wild sort of laugh escaped her. “There is no talking to you, sir. You are mad!”

  His hold on her arm, crooked willy-nilly into his elbow, tightened. “Yes, mad with love for you, my dear.”

  Edith began to feel hysterical. “Love? This is not love! If you loved me the least little bit you would not importune me in this way.”

  “Ah, but my love is of a peculiar kind.”

  “That is the truest thing you’ve yet said.”

  “You bring spice to the challenge, my dear Edith, with each little spark of rebellion.”

  The mockery was back and hope withered in her breast. She could make no impression upon him, no matter what she said. The feeling of entrapment intensified. She fell back upon convention. “My uncle will be home soon. I must go back.”

  To her relief, he directed their steps towards the vicarage.

  “The next time I will beg him to grant me a longer time with you. I anticipate no difficulty in persuading him.”

  Nor, to Edith’s chagrin, did she. Unless she told her uncle the full story, he would persist in his belief of the man’s honest intentions. After what had been said this morning, she doubted her ability to open her lips upon the subject. Would Uncle Lionel believe such a tale? It was preposterous.

  She was surprised when Lord Kilshaw released her at the gate.

  “I shall say au revoir, my dear. Until tomorrow? One more outing and then I shall ask the goodly vicar for your hand.”

  Edith had gone through the gate and she turned to look at him. “Are you proposing to carry this farce as far as going through a marriage ceremony?”

  “Good God, no! What in the world gave you so ludicrous a notion? No, no. Our ardour will prove too strong to wait and we shall elope. I have it all planned.”

  Edith stared at him. He must know she would not willingly embark upon such an adventure. He meant to carry her off willy-nilly. Once in his power she would be lost indeed.

  She made no objection when he kissed her hand with great punctilio, just as if he was a suitor. Truth to tell, she was incapable of objecting.

  She re-entered the vicarage and the familiarity of it warmed the soiled edges of her heart a little. But her body trembled in reaction and she made for the parlour, sinking down onto the chaise longue.

  Mrs Tuffin found her there and began tutting at once. “Goodness me, Miss Ede, you look perfectly white! Too much for you, I’ll be bound, meeting his lordship again and walking on the green. Coffee! You need reviving. I have a pot boiling on the stove. Just you stay there and I’ll be back in a twinkling.”

  She was as good as her word, and Edith drank as she was bid, thankful for the excuse afforded by her debilitated condition. As her symptoms subsided and she was able to feel again, her
agitation returned.

  Without Lord Kilshaw’s menacing presence, she could think with more coherence. Her thoughts were all of escape. She had not truly known how determined he was, though she’d feared he might follow her. His persistence was incomprehensible. She could not understand how a man could desire a woman who recoiled from him.

  The things he’d said made her blood run cold. She now believed him capable of every sort of vicious savagery. And the more she rebelled, the more he appeared to revel in the thought of conquest.

  Was that it? Were she to feign willingness would he lose interest? No, for he would recognise her pretence. She’d been too vehement in her denials to hope to fool him now with a volte-face.

  But what if she allowed him to think her defeated? A condemned man was said to accept his fate. If she was sullen, but accepting? Would it lull him sufficiently to relax his guard? And then what? How was she to escape from him? Where was she to go? He would run her to earth in a matter of hours or days.

  Edith began to feel hunted. She could not be still. Even the house became stifling. Unsafe since her uncle could not be brought to recognise her danger. She must get out!

  Rising, she put a hand to her head and discovered she had not even thought to remove her hat. So much the better. She was through the hall and out of the back door before she could even think of the wisdom of going out alone. It occurred to her as she reached the back gate, but she dismissed the risk. Even were Lord Kilshaw still in the village, the likelihood was he would not see her slip away into the woods. Besides, why should he remain here? She was thankful he was staying in Long Itchington nearby instead of Itchington Bishops, which at least gave her a respite.

  She headed for the woods, feeling immediately freer as she hit the path and the trees closed in around her. The feeling proved spurious, however, for her inner demons continued to torment her. Try as she would to think how to get away, she could only hold to the thought of doing so. Her mind presented her with the image of that mocking face and snatches of his hateful words replayed in her head.