A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers)

by Alissa Johnson

  “Arrangements?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, as if all made perfect sense. “If he is a resident of Spitalfields, then it is highly unlikely he is a gentleman of leisure. If he has employment, he’ll need time to make arrangements so as not to lose his position. I assume he wished to meet me on a Wednesday for a reason. It might be because that is the only day he is free of his responsibilities.”

  “If he knows who you are, there is every chance he knew you when you worked for your father. It is doubtful he has reputable employment.”

  “Even thieves have responsibilities.”

  “Certainly,” he drawled. “We wouldn’t want to jeopardize the man’s criminal prospects.”

  “I didn’t do it to help him. I did it to increase the odds of meeting him at Paddington station.”

  Which she was not going to do. “You are not going to meet this man alone. It would be reckless.”

  She sighed again, but this one had a hint of a groan. “I don’t want to meet him alone. I should like you to be there with me.”

  He would be there all right. Alone. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I’ll be there to protect you.” She gave a small huff of defeat when he failed to laugh. “It isn’t unreasonably dangerous. We have already determined that the man does not wish to do me immediate harm.”

  No, she had theorized. Anything could be theorized. “He may have refrained from confronting you on the street because he is aware of your particular talents with knives. He has friends, evidently. He might have thought it wise to have them along when he approached you.”

  “He was alone at the station.”

  “As far as we know.”

  “And as far as he’ll know, I will be alone next Wednesday as well. You will be…” She turned to him and her bonneted head bobbed up, then down as she looked him over. “Well, I don’t suppose you blend very well. You’ll have to hide.”

  He bloody well wasn’t going to hide while she faced an unknown danger, but there didn’t seem to be any point in arguing the matter at present. Esther was determined in her plan. It would be easier if he let her scheme today and simply find the man himself before Wednesday. “We’ll leave the meeting at Paddington station as an option for now.”

  She tucked her parasol under her arm and rubbed her hands together with glee. “Wonderful.”

  He stared at her, appalled. “Are you…enjoying this?”

  “Of course not.” She glanced down at her hands. “Perhaps a little.”

  “Esther, you are in danger.”

  “As you very often are,” she returned. “Do you mean to tell me you don’t enjoy the occasional spot of danger?”

  “It’s different,” he said and wondered if she was as tired of hearing that as he was of saying it.

  She cocked her head at him. “Do you think because I am a woman, I don’t wish for adventure? For something more than a quiet life of reading and needlepoint?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think I shouldn’t?”

  He thought it best not to comment. He had no philosophical objections to a woman pursuing a life of adventure, or even danger. In theory. He just didn’t want to encourage Esther specifically.

  “Well, I do want more,” Esther continued, her enthusiasm building as they resumed their walk down the street. “I want excitement. I want to outwit that young man. I want to explore London and travel the world. I want to go to lectures and museums, shops and theaters. I want to see the Louvre and ride an elephant in India. I want a challenge. I want purpose, something more than mere survival.”

  All things that had been denied her. And would always be denied her. He couldn’t imagine what that was like, to yearn for the world and be given an isolated cottage in Derbyshire instead. Even if he retired to a life in the country, he’d never be trapped as she was. He could hop on the rail on a whim and be back in the swirl and excitement of London in a matter of hours.

  Perhaps that was why she had worked for her father—because it had been her only opportunity for excitement, her only chance to have a sense of purpose.

  “Do you miss working with William?” he asked and immediately wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Just like that, her shoulders slumped, all the lively enthusiasm drained out of her.

  “No.” She tapped the tip of her parasol absently against the curb as they walked along. “That wasn’t exciting.”

  “What was it?”

  He didn’t expect her to answer and was surprised when she shrugged and said, rather quietly, “Pitiful.”

  He stared at the top of her dark bonnet. “You are a great many things, Esther. Pitiful is not one of them.”

  “Not now.” She stopped again, a few feet from the back of the carriage, and looked up at him. “Haven’t you ever done something you’re not proud of, Samuel?”

  “I’m not proud of being a hard man.”

  “You’re not—” She broke off and shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Are you trying to be a better man?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded firmly once as if to say There you are.

  He wasn’t entirely clear on what that meant, but he wasn’t given the chance to ask.

  A large gig came careening around the corner. Its young and obviously inebriated occupants tossed a bottle from the vehicle and laughed wildly at the pedestrians who scrambled out of the way of bottle, horse, vehicle, and the spray of puddles sent up by the carriage wheels.

  Samuel grabbed Esther and shoved her behind him just as the gig raced by, launching a great wall of ditch water over the curb and onto him.

  It soaked him through to the skin, and there was nothing he could do but drag a hand down his face and flick the excess moisture from his fingers.

  Esther snickered. Actually, she coughed, but it was a hide-the-snicker sort of cough. It didn’t fool anyone.

  He glowered at her.

  She snickered again.

  “Get in the carriage, Esther.”

  For once, she complied without argument. She clambered inside, one hand covering her mouth. The moment the door was closed, her laughter filled the carriage.

  “Oh. Oh, Lord.” She flipped up her veil. “I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry. But the state of you. Good heavens.” She calmed herself a bit and reached over to pat his knee. “My hero.”

  Then she laughed some more.

  He ought to be offended, really. Annoyed at the very least. But he couldn’t seem to move beyond amazed.

  He’d never heard her laugh before. Not like this. Not with her head tipped back and the sound just flowing from her.

  Samuel wracked his brain for a single memory of Esther laughing, really laughing, and came up blank. Years ago, when she’d been little more than a girl, she had giggled. Once or twice, she may have chuckled. Certainly, he’d heard her snicker. But he hadn’t heard her laugh. Not as a child, and not since he’d known her as an adult.

  The woman simply didn’t laugh in front of him.

  It seemed an odd thing not to have noticed before now. Stranger still that he should find an ordinary sound so extraordinarily appealing. There was a sweet, clear tone to it that made him think of wind chimes. Not the tinny sort Mrs. Lanchor had hung in the garden two years ago (and the beast had mauled into oblivion three days ago) but the solid sort that put one to mind of woodwinds.

  Her laugh reminded him of wind chimes that reminded him of woodwinds. By God, he was England’s finest poet.

  “You’ve changed,” he murmured. There used to be a brittleness about her, a deep unhappiness she kept hidden away along with her kindness and honesty, all buried beneath a layer of cool indifference. He couldn’t see that brittleness anymore.

  “Beg your pardon?” Her laugh tapered off slowly, and she looked at him uncertainly. “I didn’t mean to cause offense.” A spark of mischievousn
ess lit in her blue eyes. “Well, maybe a little offense, but—”

  “I’m not offended… Maybe a little offended,” he corrected with humor. “But I wasn’t implying that you’ve changed for the worse. It’s for the better.”

  “Oh.” Her lips curved in a small, hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

  “You’re happier, aren’t you?”

  “I am,” she agreed, and so readily that he could only assume she’d given the matter some thought recently. “I am starting to be.”

  “It is nice to see.” It was more than nice. It was something else, something more.

  Here, he thought, was the woman he’d caught glimpses of before. The remarkable one who amazed and fascinated him. Only it wasn’t just a glimpse. He remembered her insistence that he wasn’t a hard man and her defense of the little boy. And he wondered now if the traits he admired in her had never been quite as buried or transient as he imagined. Anything could seem like a glimpse, he realized, if one looked away too quickly.

  He was finding it hard to look away from her at present. A light, very pretty blush had formed high on her cheeks at his comment.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  He grunted, which, for some reason, she seemed to find amusing.

  Laughing softly, she loosened the ribbons of her bonnet. “Are we going straight back to the hotel?”

  His gaze followed her pale fingers as they slid through the black velvet strips. For some reason, he found the sight absolutely mesmerizing. “Er…Yes. Unless you’ve other ideas?”

  She shook her head. “We need to get you out of those wet clothes.” Her smile froze and her eyes went round. “Not we. I didn’t mean we, as in you and me. It was more the royal we. I… That is…” She cleared her throat, set her bonnet carefully in her lap, and then stared at the drapes as if she could see straight through them. “You’ll catch a cold.”

  Something cold was exactly what he needed at present. Something cold and very distant. Far, far away from the temptation that had suddenly and most unexpectedly presented itself.

  Because he could picture what Esther had suggested. He could picture it perfectly. Her small hands working the buttons on his coat. Those agile fingers loosening the knot of his necktie. The slide of her palms beneath his coat.

  Samuel shifted uncomfortably. Strictly speaking, this wasn’t the first unseemly thought he’d had about Esther. She was a pretty woman, and he was a man with a pulse. It was only natural that he’d thought of her in that manner before. Rather frequently, truth be told.

  But this was different than a passing fantasy any man might have about any attractive woman.

  He wasn’t any man. She wasn’t any woman. And this wasn’t about her beauty.

  It was about her.

  He, Sir Samuel Brass, very suddenly, and rather desperately, wanted Esther Walker-Bales.

  And he bloody well knew better.

  She was his friend’s wife’s younger sister. Which made her no relation to him whatsoever, but still the closest thing to a sister he’d ever had. More importantly, she was a menace. She was fascinating and beguiling and an absolute world of trouble, an ocean of aggravation. Every moment he spent in her company was a moment spent tempting disaster.

  At that particular moment, he simply didn’t care.

  He leaned across the carriage, slipped a hand around her neck, and brought her forward for a kiss.

  * * *

  It was Esther’s first kiss.

  And for the rest of her life, she would lament the fact that she somehow managed to miss the first two seconds of it.

  It was just so unexpected. One minute she’d been sitting there, wishing she could pull her veil down to hide her blush, and the next minute, Samuel was kissing her. It took a moment for her brain to catch up, and then another for her to decide if she cared for the sudden turn of events.

  At the three second mark, she decided she did. She liked it very much indeed.

  She’d never been so deliciously aware of someone before, of every breath and every movement. Samuel’s form filled her vision. When she closed her eyes, the sensation of his mouth moving over hers crowded her mind.

  He kissed her gently, slowly, as if testing her response, and she followed suit, matching his movements and pace. Without experience to draw from, she used him as a guide, being careful when he was careful, turning her head when he turned his. The kiss took on a lovely dreamlike quality, a hazy and decadent game of follow the leader. And she was only too happy to play along, to enjoy the slow chase.

  It was exciting and magical and perfectly wonderful.

  Until Samuel pulled away and looked at her as if she was someone he’d never seen before. “You’ve never done this,” he murmured.

  She gaped at him. Simply gaped. Of all the things that might have been said in the moment, she could not imagine a less flattering, less romantic bit of commentary. Except maybe, Drat. I thought you were someone else.

  She leaned away from him. “I apologize for my lack of skill.”

  “Don’t apologize. Nothing wrong with it.”

  That was an improvement by only the slimmest of very slim margins.

  He leaned toward her again, but she put her hand on his chest and pushed him back.

  “Have you not kissed a woman before?” Because if this was the way he went about it, there couldn’t be a woman in England who’d let him kiss her more than once.

  A crease formed between his brows as he studied her. “I didn’t mean to wound your feelings. I am surprised, that’s all. You are a beautiful woman in possession of a unique, even flexible sense of morality. I assumed you had indulged yourself at some time.”

  Flexible. She knew what that meant.

  “I am not my mother. I don’t go about dallying with men who are not my husband.” She may have been an accomplished flirt in Norfolk, but she’d not been a trollop. She’d never done anything that could jeopardize her family’s respectability in the village. She had smiled and giggled and batted her lashes, enjoying the innocent appreciation of many gentlemen. All of whom she had promptly sent on their way the second they gave any indication of real attachment.

  Not once had she let a man take liberties.

  “A string of dalliances was not the sort of indulgence to which I was referring,” Samuel replied. “I was thinking of a kiss. Nothing wrong with a kiss or two. Renderwell gave me the impression that your sister had a brief romance with the village butcher.”

  “And now she has Renderwell. Perhaps you’d prefer her more tutored favors.”

  A line of annoyance appeared across his brow. “I don’t want your sister. And I told you, it was not my intention to wound your feelings. I made an observation, that’s all.”

  He hadn’t wounded her feelings. He had stepped on her pride, or possibly her vanity. Either way, the insult demanded retaliation.

  “Well, if we are making observations about our partner’s inadequacies, I should like to note that your beard is scratchy. And you smell like wet pavement.”

  He reached up to rub the offending beard. “I see. If the experience was so unpleasant for you, why did you participate?”

  She gave him a tight smile. “I didn’t want to wound your feelings.”

  He lowered his hand slowly. “This was a mistake.”

  “Oh, clearly.”

  * * *

  Well done, Samuel. Brilliant job.

  This was the downside of being stingy with one’s words. The less one said, the more out of practice one became at speaking at all, and the more out of practice one became, the less likely it was that one would manage to say the right thing. Which led a man right back to keeping his mouth shut.

  As he was doing now.

  Samuel sat back in his seat while Esther turned to stare at the curtains. Not for the first time, he wished he had Gabriel
’s gift with words. Gabriel was the talker, the charmer. He was the man Renderwell sent to extract information from witnesses and informants.

  Renderwell sent Samuel to speak with victims or the families of victims. They didn’t need someone to talk to them; they needed someone to listen. He was adept at listening.

  Fat lot of good it did him now. Esther wasn’t talking. And he didn’t know what to say to make things right again.

  He really hadn’t meant to insult her. The evident lack of experience had been a surprise, that was all. And a pleasant surprise at that. It was probably small of him, but he could admit he took jealous pleasure in knowing he was the only man she had kissed.

  And what was wrong with remarking on something he liked?

  Where was the offense in commenting on a lady’s lack of experience with men?

  God help him, he didn’t know. He didn’t see it.

  I can tell you’ve been generous with your favors.

  That seemed like the sort of thing a lady might find offensive.

  But either his statement had not been the entirely harmless observation he imagined it to be or Esther was a prickly, contrary woman who was far too quick to find fault and toss insults.

  After some deliberation he concluded that the truth probably fell somewhere in between.

  Then she shot him a hard, narrow-eyed glance designed to draw blood, and he decided that “in between” fell just a hair more on the prickly side.

  He doubted she’d accept an apology from him at that moment even if he did manage to stumble through one. In fact, she looked half-ready to slice off a portion of his tongue if he so much as tried it.

  Better all around, he thought, if he just kept his mouth shut.

  Six

  After changing into dry clothes, Samuel left the hotel to see to a few items of his own business about town. He didn’t like leaving Esther alone, but she was safe enough in her rooms. Besides, he’d seen Esther use her blades. She wasn’t what one might call entirely helpless.

  She also wasn’t what one might call entirely predictable. Keeping this in mind, he completed his errands and was back at the hotel in just over an hour—and was more than a little surprised when he discovered one item of business lounging against the door to his rooms.