The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [43]
“You’ll pay for this!” The vitriol in his voice made payment sound life-threatening.
“Ah, but first you will have to find me.” He raised his sword toward his head in a sort of salute.
“I will, and after I take care of you, I’ll make that bitch Mrs. Chernov pay as well.”
The gentleman leaned closer and nicked the fat of the pig’s arm with the sword. “If you so much as come near her again, I will beat you to a pulp before a cheering throng and leave you for the dogs. I know my way around Birmingham and can find the likes of you, Nesbitt, without a moment’s trouble.”
Though he looked surprised at the mention of his name, the man called Nesbitt ignored the blood dribbling down his shirtsleeve and stood his ground. Lydia herself prepared to run.
“Begone!” her rescuer shouted again, causing both Lydia and Nesbitt to jump.
“I’ll find you. I’ll bring a mob and make you pay! Both of you!” Nesbitt said as he backed away.
“Empty threat, Nesbitt. Even your driver won’t help you.” He nodded toward the hackney, where the driver waited, still seated, watching the action not fifty feet away.
“Damn you both to hell!” Nesbitt called out as he stumbled backward and away from them. The hackney rumbled away with the same air of defeat as its passenger.
Lydia’s rescuer wiped his sword and sheathed it in one easy move, then turned to her and bowed. “For you, the rain has stopped.” He gestured to the generous heavens. “I beg your pardon for his offensive language, Mrs. Chernov, and for the violence.”
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” It was the first of at least five questions to which she wanted answers.
“Help when you needed it.”
“Obviously.” She straightened and stood as tall as she could. “But I would have made good my escape.”
“I’m sure you would, but these streets are not safe for any lady out alone, especially at night.”
As if he were the innocent he pretended. Exactly what was he doing here? She forbore to ask. “How did you know that man’s name?”
“The man is tall with a girth to match and much too ready to use his knife. They call him Nesbitt the Butcher. Not many like that in Birmingham. It was an educated guess.”
“Nesbitt the Butcher?” The name made Lydia feel weak in the knees.
The gentleman took her by the arm. “Now, now, you have bested the villain. A heroine does not faint, but calls for champagne.”
“Perhaps in your world, sir.” Lydia laughed. Profound relief and genuine amusement mixed. “Who are you?”
“A gentleman come to your aid. Names are not necessary.”
“Then you have the advantage of me.”
He smiled and his face went from dangerous to delightful. “You don’t believe that any more than I do. Ladies always have the advantage.”
Lydia hefted her sample bag and used the voice that always cowed her servants. “If you are flirting, sir, you have picked a miserable time and place.”
“If I am a flirt, then you are an original, Mrs. Chernov.”
His smile grew to a grin, at her expense she was sure.
“From your name, to your vicious weapon disguised as a bag and your presence in this neighborhood at this hour, you are very much an original. You can call me Chase.”
Before she could decide how to answer, he continued, with a slight bow. “Tell me where you are bound, madame, and I will see you there safely.”
No! she almost shouted. The last thing she needed was to show up at the Allertons’ with a man to whom she was not married. Irina and her husband were too much pretenders to society to tolerate anything less than proper.
“I can guess if you won’t tell me,” Mr. Chase teased. “You are off to see a customer, a lady, someone you call on in the evening because you would also like to see her husband.”
Lydia almost dropped her satchel. How could he know that?
“We are within a short walk of one of the better neighborhoods in Birmingham, which I assume is your direction, but I do think that a carriage would be far more comfortable.”
As if by magic, a covered conveyance rolled to a halt behind him.