He was still dressed. She stood aside. “Hurry. Radnor just left and I want you to follow him. His horse was not outside, so it must be at the stable around the corner. You can go through the garden and mews and be there when he arrives if you are quick about it.”
Already he had pulled on his boots. “Follow him where?”
“I want to know where he lives. Take some coin and hire a horse from the stable if necessary.”
“Won’t need it. Unless he gallops I can keep up on foot. It will be more obvious if I follow on a horse. He’ll hear me for sure then, and there’s no shadows to hide in.” Still, he swept up the coins on the table from his pay before he ran into the night.
Chapter Nine
Chase finished his meal just as his manservant Brigsby brought in the mail and paper. Brigsby insisted on doing it this way. A leisurely breakfast was a gentleman’s ritual, to his mind, and he refused to provide the reading material while Chase ate.
Chase flipped through the mail, then distracted himself with the paper. His mind did not really notice the words he read. All night his thoughts dwelled on those embraces at Minerva’s house. He still tried to make sense of what had happened.
He was no lothario, but he was not green. He liked to believe he understood the mood between them, and its potential. He had never importuned a woman, but he had never been refused either, because his instincts had proven to be excellent.
Except last night. Perhaps. Or not. That was the devil of the problem. He had kissed a woman who wanted to be kissed, he was sure. She had also allowed the warmth of those embraces. He had felt her rising passion. He had good cause to expect more, even if he did not expect everything.
Then, nothing. She was done. Most done. Thoroughly finished. He might have been tested and failed, her retreat had been so abrupt and complete.
He thought she looked sad or perhaps embarrassed when he took his leave, but that might have been the low light playing tricks. Or his mind finding excuses.
He set aside the paper, remembering that he had some business withThe Timestoday in order to insert another set of advertisements. He pulled over the portfolio he had carried downstairs and opened it. He reviewed the notes he had added last night when he could not sleep.
Brigsby entered the chamber and cleared his throat.
“Sir.”
Chase turned a page. “Yes?”
“A caller, sir.”
Chase looked up. There beside a fretful Brigsby stood Minerva Hepplewhite. She wore a vague artificial smile and a brown dress and orange pelisse. More brown and orange decorated a bonnet that framed her face nicely, showing her dark hair and darker eyes.
Chase stood and gestured for Brigsby to leave. Minerva’s gaze speared into him. She did not appear either sad or embarrassed this morning. She looked determined.
“Good morning,” he said. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I had you followed.”
“Did you now? By whom?”
She pretended she had not heard him. “May I sit?”
“Of course.” He walked around the table and held out a chair for her. “It is early. Would you like some breakfast?”
“Some coffee would be nice.”
He strode to the door and found Brigsby very close on the other side. He sent him for more coffee and another cup. He returned to the table, and closed the portfolio.
“You should not be here,” he said.
“If I let you in my house late at night, I am not going to worry about coming to yours in broad daylight. If gossip starts, we will tell them all that I came to employ you in a discreet inquiry.”
“Which you did not. Something else sent you through town at nine o’clock. I might have still been asleep. Mayfair does not awaken until noon.”
“I assumed you were not the sort to lie abed all morning. My concern was that I would arrive to find you already had left this house.” She gazed around the chamber that he used for dining, taking its measure, lingering on the Turkish carpet and the dark wooden Indian table against the window. As her gaze returned to him, it first paused a moment on the portfolio.
“It appears a comfortable house,” she said. “Of course on Bury Street it should be.”
