The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [54]
“What happened last night was beyond all imagining and I must be excused. I know Mr. Allerton has gone to Manchester, but I promise that as soon as he returns, I will reschedule the meeting. Please trust me in this.”
“All right.” Irina’s agreement was suspect. Trust did not come easily to any of the Chernovs. Grandmama was right about that.
With the same flurry in which she’d arrived, Irina left the shop and the carriage sped away.
“What I want to know, missus, is how come you are not the one to inherit the recipe, since you are Mr. Chernov’s widow? Is it some devilish Russian law?”
Before Lydia could think of an explanation or even a reprimand for such familiarity, the delicate ting of the shop bell distracted both of them. Mr. Chase entered, leaving the boys still on guard outside.
“Go work in the back, Ida.”
“I’ll have some tea,” Ida said with a sniff.
“Good morning, Mr. Chase,” Lydia began, and hoped the man could not hear the nerves in her voice. His smile astounded her. It filled his cheeks with dimples, and the lines around his eyes mirrored the grin. His blue, blue eyes went straight to her heart and brought color to her cheeks.
“Good morning, Mrs. Chernov.” He bowed as though he knew she was a lady disguised as a shopkeeper.
How could he know? No one knew. She busied herself tidying the counter. He knew nothing. The smile was all part of his game. She did not curtsy in return, but he did not seem offended by the insult.
“How are you this morning?” He took only one step closer, but now she could see the turquoise flecks in his dark blue eyes. Stop staring, she commanded herself. You are a grown woman.
“I’m very well.” She searched for something less intimate to discuss. “Thank you for the guard last night. I am sure his presence was the only reason that I slept at all.” As if how she slept was less intimate than her health. But she suspected that Mr. Chase could make a conversation about the weather too intimate a subject for a lady to discuss.
“If you have a moment, I can tell you what I found out about Nesbitt the Butcher.”
A thunk from the back told her that Ida was close enough to hear. That only strengthened her determination to keep this discussion about business. “Please, yes. Tuesdays are always quiet. Most of my customers know that Wednesday is the day for new fabrics. I used to try to entice them to come into the shop by holding back some of the bolts. But that created a sense of competition that is not what I had in mind at all.” She stopped herself and, touching the chain at her neck and the coin, she closed her eyes and drew a breath.
In a calmer voice, she began again. “My apologies. I am chattering because I am not sure I do want to hear who Nesbitt works for and why.”
Mr. Chase took her hand and warmed it between his. “I wish I could give you all the answers you need, even if you are not sure you want them, but I am not such a good investigator as that.”
Lydia pulled her hand from his. The kind of warmth his touch conveyed affected far more than her hand. He let it go without comment and continued.
“A friend of mine took on the task of locating Nesbitt. It should not have proved difficult and indeed it was not difficult to find his shop, since all involved in related trades are in the same area.”
“Not a place a gentleman would visit?” she asked, as if that was the reason Mr. Chase had not gone himself.
“Not at all. My friend is very adept at blending in. A skill that I have no talent for. I am too tall.”
Lydia pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. As if his height was the only reason people noticed him. What nonsense. His arresting looks and a certain charisma attracted attention the way a woman’s too revealing décolletage drew a man’s eyes.
He had actually reddened a little, so perhaps he was reading her mind again.
Lydia felt heartened at his discomfort, relieved to be one of two distracted by whatever floated in the air between them. Mr. Chase cleared his throat and went on.
“Nesbitt has not been in his shop