The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [46]
She pursed her lips and nodded.
“He will be wearing a white scarf around his neck so you will know he is my man. He is not afraid of bullies either.”
“That is entirely unnecessary, Mr. Chase.”
“Even so, I will not leave a task half-done. Consider it my duty as your knight rescuer.”
Frowning, she inclined her head. “If you cannot be dissuaded, I thank you. Now, good-bye, sir.” Lydia tried for a firm and final farewell. Of course, that had not worked the first time. She began to close the door, but he stopped it with a hand on the frame.
“You asked before if I was flirting. If you have to ask, then it has been much too long since anyone told you how beautiful you are.” His voice was low and inviting, his eyes so filled with good humor that she wanted to grab him and turn away at the same time.
Lydia opted to turn away, closing the door quickly, not caring if the abrupt move pinched his fingers.
After double-checking the locks with hands that were not quite steady, she walked into the back room, closing the door behind her. Only with that barrier between them did she finally let her guard down and lean her forehead against the door.
Without his smile as a distraction, a dozen questions assailed her. What would have happened if Mr. Chase had not been there? What did Nesbitt want? Would he try again? What did they think she valued most? Why? Why? Why?
Lydia steadied herself with routine, unpacking her valise and putting everything where it belonged. She stopped the familiar moves as a new thought struck. It made her feel quite ill. What if Mr. Chase was part of the plan? What if he was the one who wanted her “most valued possession”?
Warming to the subject, Lydia recalled that he had told her that he was familiar with things illegal. Of course, that kind of statement would arouse suspicion, and if he was guilty, he would never want to do that.
And he was so clearly English and not Russian, and Nesbitt had said, “The Russian wants what you have.”
Her head ached. It was too much to think about tonight. Especially when she knew what was waiting upstairs. She hurried through the last of her routine, and as she hung the valise on its hook, a voice echoed down the stairs.
“Lydia, is that you?” Natalia’s heavy accent made the words sound foreign.
“Yes, and if it was not, Grandmama, what would you do?” Lydia called up. She wanted to avoid explanations until she had sorted some out for herself.
“I would send Delphie down the back stairs for Mr. Florencio, then pretend I am old and frail, and when the thief came after me, I would beat him with a stick and then stab him with my knitting needles.”
Pretend she was old and frail? Not to mention blind. Lydia laughed a little. “Babushka, I am happy to know that you are so well prepared.”
“There, that’s better than the upset I heard before. Come up and tell me why you have come home so distraught. What went wrong?”
The woman was a mind reader. But then, Lydia realized, she was back much earlier than she had told Grandmama to expect her.
“Do you need Delphie to come help you?”
“No, no, Grandmama. I’m perfectly fine. I’m coming up. I’m coming.”
Lydia went upstairs, kissed Natalia Chernov on both cheeks as was their custom, and then locked the door of the flat behind her.
“Why are you locking the door up here? I have never heard you do that before.” Natalia’s concern was now suspicion.
“Give me your arm,” Lydia said, resigned to telling the truth. “Let me help you back to your room and I will tell you.”
The old woman leaned on her, more heavily than usual, and Lydia hoped that she was not taking a turn for the worse. Her coughing spasms had eased, but flesh still hung on her frame. No matter how many delicacies Lydia urged her to eat, Natalia Chernov did not seem to be gaining her weight back since her last cold.
Natalia insisted on taking the chair where she spent most of her waking hours. The carefully ordered knitting and fabric samples were within reach, and the old lady lifted a piece of fine purple cotton