The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [45]
Lydia turned to face him, which proved unwise. He was very close in the narrow hackney. He was so near she could see the fine lines around his eyes, the bold shape of his brow, the fullness of his mouth. She cleared her throat and tried to recall her train of thought.
“Are any of your husband’s associates suspect?”
How gently he phrased that question. “Without a doubt. I have spent the last year clearing my life of Alexei’s morass of business dealings.” Not all of them legal.
“Aha, and were they all above the law?”
She stared at him, suspecting him of reading her mind. “Are you implying that I am dishonest?”
“Not you, Mrs. Chernov, but perhaps your husband put profit before honesty. That could certainly come back to haunt you after his death.”
Lydia thought of her dreams and the one word: Wish. Haunting indeed. “Alexei’s life was a muddle of science and business and gaming.”
“Gaming?” Mr. Chase straightened as if she had just spoken a magic word.
“Yes, he played cards and roulette but never to excess.” She paused and then added with too much honesty, “Or at least, never to excess that I knew of.”
As the conveyance slowed, Mr. Chase patted her hand, a rather fatherly gesture for a flirt but it brought some comfort.
“For the moment, we need only keep you safe for the rest of the night. In the morning I will have some answers.”
“You will? This is not your problem, Mr. Chase.” Though, in truth, Lydia had no idea how she would investigate Nesbitt. The Butcher.
When the carriage stopped, Lydia made to open the door, but Mr. Chase stayed her with his hand. “This is the most dangerous moment. From here to your door. Wait.”
Fear, which had been like a banked fire, burst alive again. Mr. Chase climbed out, looked up and down the street, walked over to the alley between her shop and Mr. Florencio’s bakery shop next door. A minute later he came back whistling and opened the hackney door.
“How can you whistle when you should be afraid for your life?” As grateful as she was for his concern, she could not control her annoyance.
“Hardly afraid for our lives, Mrs. Chernov. The man is a bully but not a murderer.”
“But you called him Nesbitt the Butcher.”
“That’s how he earns his living. He slaughters animals with the occasional foray into something less than legal. But not murder. Never that I have heard.”
“And why would a gentleman like you have heard?”
“I may be a gentleman but I do make occasional visits into the less savory parts of Birmingham.” He bowed to her and offered her his hand to help her down from the conveyance. “Not that I ever actually do anything illegal.”
With a sigh, Lydia marveled at her ability to be attracted to men who felt the law was a convenience to be disregarded when one wished. Ignoring him as best she could, Lydia asked the driver to wait while she wrote a note. He nodded with a gaptoothed smile.
She unlocked the shop door, stepped in, lit a candle, and composed a hasty note to the Allertons. She came back onto the street to hand it to the driver, along with payment and a generous tip.
All the while, Mr. Chase watched her so intently that Lydia patted her neckline to be sure her shawl was in place, the chain still fast around her neck.
As the hackney moved away, without Mr. Chase, Lydia noted, he continued to scan the area with her at his back. Nothing filled the street but the ground fog, and Lydia finally relaxed enough to draw a deep breath.
He turned to face her as she stepped back into the shop. “Mrs. Chernov, what will you do if Nesbitt tries again?”
“If Nesbitt does come back I will deal with him. Bullies do not intimidate me.”
“Even bullies with a knife?”
“Stop trying to frighten me,” she said sharply, to hide her anxiety. “I have a pistol and I know how to use it. Nesbitt will find that out for himself if he causes any more trouble.” She would not look away from him.
“Yes, I see that you mean for me to understand the same warning.” He stepped back and bowed. “I will have