Page 4 of Kidnapping Cordelia

“Yes, my lord, at once,” the innkeeper said, recognising the voice of command when he heard it.

Enoch and Delia turned, and her heart skipped as they came face-to-face with Lord Malmsey. Oh, lud. If only it had been a friendly face, or at least someone prepared to help her, but she knew very well that Malmsey was a vile creature and far more dangerous than Enoch.

Malmsey almost strode past them without blinking but his gaze snagged on Delia and an arrested expression lit his eyes. “My Lady Cordelia,” he said in surprise, looking from her to Enoch. “And… who the devil are you?”

“Enoch Goodfellow,” Enoch said stiffly.

“What is this?” Malmsey said, a suspicious note to the question as he stared between them. He eyed the scratches on Enoch’s face with obvious interest.

“Our honeymoon,” Enoch told him, with more sangfroid than Delia had credited him. “We were married two days ago. We are on our way to visit my mother in York.”

“That so?” Malmsey replied, a calculating glint in his eyes. “Funny, I don’t remember reading an announcement in the papers or hearing a thing about it.”

“I expect her brother forgot. He’s blind, you know, and in any event, it was a quiet affair. Close family only.”

Delia gritted her teeth and told herself to hold her tongue and not contradict her husband. Malmsey was far more dangerous than Enoch. He would not lift a finger to help her, quite the reverse. More like he would spread the news far and wide to ensure the biggest scandal possible.

“Close family only, but not your mother?” Lord Malmsey enquired politely.

“She’s an invalid,” Enoch said, quick as a wink.

Delia admitted herself impressed by the ready lie, for Mrs Goodfellow was as round as Enoch was thin and, the last she had seen, as fit as a flea.

“Ah,” Malmsey said, amusement lurking in his dark eyes. “Yes, of course. Well, I shall not detain you any longer. And congratulations on your nuptials.”

With that, he executed a stiff bow and carried on into the taproom.

Enoch let out a huff of indignation. “Disgusting excuse for a man,” he muttered irritably, and, for once, Delia could not fault his opinion. “Did you hear about that business with Lady Fidelia Ponsonby?”

Delia nodded. “Lady Fidelia De Beauvoir now,” she said with a smile. “Apparently, Mr De Beauvoir flattened him and Lord Richmond. Did you notice the shadow of a bruise on his eye even now? And it must be a fortnight since,” she added, hoping to keep his attention on the gossip and to forget he was supposed to keep a close eye on her. Enoch always had loved to stick his nose into other people’s business, especially if it was scandalous.

“They say Lord Richmond attacked him with a sword,” he said, diverted as she’d hoped he would be.

When they were finally shown to a small and rather dingy private parlour, Enoch was in a much better humour and told her everything he had heard about Lady Fidelia’s elopement and subsequent marriage, and the fact that the duke had suffered an apoplexy.

Delia listened to him drone on with half an ear while she did her best to do justice to the bacon and eggs she’d been given. She knew needed to keep her strength up, but the eggs were overcooked and rubbery and the bacon had a suspicious green tint she did not appreciate. Her empty stomach churned, and she concentrated on the cup of chocolate, which was everything it ought to be.

As Enoch held forth between mouthfuls of his own meal, Delia surveyed the room. There was little that would serve as a weapon, though the tanker of ale at his elbow might do in a pinch. Shifting a little on the hard bench, Delia looked past Enoch to the fireplace. There was not much to see. A few meagre coals glowed, and the open hearth occasionally let out a desultory puff of smoke, but there, lying on the floor beside the hearth, was a poker.

Delia stiffened, her heart leaping. Well, if she could not lay the fellow out with a poker, she did not deserve to escape. She finished her chocolate and gave a sigh.

“I’m afraid my stomach is a little unsettled, Enoch. Would you care to finish my breakfast, I’m sure you must be famished after the past days.”

“Oh, well, if you are sure,” he said, helping himself to her plate.

“Might I stand by the fire for a moment? I’m still rather chilled,” she said meekly.

Enoch hesitated, and then reached across the table and took her hand. For a moment Delia almost resisted, her flesh creeping at the feel of his hands upon her bare skin, but she forced herself to relax and summoned a shy smile.

“You are frozen,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, my dear. If only you hadn’t forced my hand, I should never have treated you so roughly. I wish you had not made me do it.”

So, this was her fault? Ha! Delia fumed but tried to keep her thoughts from her face, not that he was looking at her face. His expression had become somewhat dreamy, his fingers stroking the back of her hand in a manner she did not like one bit. Her stomach roiled and the terror that had receded a fraction during their shared meal returned in force. She needed to get away from this man and she must do it at once.

“What soft skin you have,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.

“Yes, and it’s cold too,” Delia said briskly. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just warm myself a little. It’s a chilly day and I shall catch my death if I don’t keep warm. I’m a martyr to coughs and colds, you know. The slightest chill and my nose runs like a tap and turns bright red, and the phlegm! Oh, you cannot imagine how I suffer.”

Much to her satisfaction, the dreamy expression vanished, replaced with one approaching disgust.