A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) (5 page)

“Where are we going?” she demanded. They’d just come down this stretch of road. One would think a man with a keen memory might recall that sort of detail.

“Not we,” Samuel replied. “You. You are not going down that alley.”

She didn’t want to go down any alley, particularly. While she very much hoped the denizens of Peerpoint Alley were all the very best of people, she wasn’t eager to risk her neck on it. “I don’t see how it can be avoided. You can’t find him without me. You’ve never seen him.”

“I have a surname, an approximate age, and a description. If he’s there, I’ll find him. And you”—he stopped outside a milliner’s shop they’d already visited—“will wait in this shop until I come for you.”

“But I want to speak with this boy.” She also wanted to be of use. She had her daggers strapped to her ankles. Where was the sense in Samuel risking his neck all alone?

“I’ll bring the boy to you.”

She pulled her arm away. “That is ridiculous. You heard the flower girl. Lizzy Causer has
all them boys
. What if she has a dozen of them? You can’t haul them all out one by one.”

“How could she have a dozen boys near eight years of age?”

She didn’t really think there would be a dozen. She’d been thinking more along the lines of three or four and indulging in a bit of hyperbole. But if he really wanted an answer, she’d give him one. “She might have stepchildren, or she might have several sets of twins between the ages of six and eleven, which might easily be confused with eight years of age. Or she might have both and—”

“Get in the shop, Esther.”

She wished she could cross her arms, but the blasted parasol was in the way. She closed it with a smart snap instead. “That sounds like an order, Samuel.”

He took a long, deep breath through his nose. “One order,” he ground out. “I want to be able to give you one order a day whilst you are here. And I want you to follow it without question and without complaint. That is not an unreasonable request.”

“You’re trying to change the rules.” She didn’t have any objections to that. She liked her rules a little flexible. “Very well. But in return, you must follow one order a day from me.”

“Get in the shop.”

“I am not”—she reached out and pulled down the arm he’d thrown up so imperiously to indicate the shop’s door—“getting in the—”

“Is that him?”

“What?” Esther followed his gaze, turning around. “Where?”

Samuel nodded toward a small dark-haired, big-eyed boy sitting at the entrance of a completely different alleyway across the street. Not picking pockets, thank God. He was shaving kindling from a small stump of wood with an ax blade that looked far too big and unwieldy for his small hands.

“It is,” she said, dropping her hand. “That’s him. How did you know?”

“Big eyes, dark hair, roughly eight years of age, not far from Peerpoint Alley.”

As Samuel and Esther neared, the boy pushed aside overlong bangs and looked up, and up. His big brown eyes widened. “Afternoon, guv.”

“What is your name, lad?”

“Henry, sir. Henry Causer.”

Esther nudged Samuel aside—honestly, did the man have to approach every situation with intimidation?—and leaned down a little, hoping to put the child at ease.

“Do you remember me, Henry? You brought a note to me on Tuesday.” She pointed down the street. “At the old clothes shop.”

The boy’s expression turned wary as he squinted for a clear look at her face. “Maybe. I brought a note to a widow Tuesday.”

Samuel nudged her back. “Do you know where to find the man who gave you the note?”

“Maybe.”

“Two bob if you take us to him.”

Henry shook his head. “Not worth me skin, sir.”

“Is the man not to be trusted, then?” Samuel asked.

“He’s not a bad sort. But his friends…” Henry finished the thought with a hitch of one bony shoulder.

“Would you lead us to him for a half crown?” Esther offered.

Henry thought about it. “I got a name.”

A false one, no doubt. Esther suspected he wouldn’t offer the real one for a fortune. Not if it meant putting himself at risk.

“I’ve an idea. I need…” She dug through the bag at her waist and found her small notepad and pencil.

She tore out a sheet of paper, scribbled out a hasty note, and showed it to Samuel.

Pddy station. 5:00 p.m. Wed. I will be alone.

He snatched it out of her hand. “No.”

She snatched it right back. “Yes.”

“No.” He reached for the note again.

She lifted the note up high, realized how ridiculous that was, and stuck it behind her back instead. “Yes. We can discuss the particulars of it”—she bobbed her head sideways at the boy—“
later
.”

“There will be no discussion.”

She hitched up a shoulder. She was going. And so was he, with any luck, but if he didn’t wish to discuss it, all the better for her.

Turning to the boy, she folded the note in quarters. “How does this sound, Henry? I will give you a crown to deliver this note to the man. If he follows the instructions inside, either I or this gentleman will meet you here one week from today at three o’clock in the afternoon and pay you an additional sovereign.”

The boy’s mouth dropped open at the exorbitant bribe, but he quickly snapped it shut again. “I can’t make him do nothing. And how do I know you’ll make good on your promise?”

“You can’t, and you don’t. But you’ll have a crown regardless.” And a much better chance at an entire sovereign if he delivered the note. All at little to no risk to himself.

The boy took a quick nervous look down both ends of the street, then held out a grubby hand. “Let’s have it, then.”

She handed him the note and reached into her bag for the coin, but Samuel stopped her with a shake of his head.

“Wait.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out four shillings. “Do you have one more?”

“Whatever for?”

“Just…” He wiggled his fingers.

She gave him a shilling, which he passed off with the others to the boy.

Henry tucked the note and coins away, gathered up his wood and blade, and dashed down the alleyway.

Next to her, Samuel shifted his feet restlessly.

“You want to follow him,” she guessed.

He grunted, which, on this occasion, she took to mean yes. She had half a mind to follow him as well, but a boy like that would slip through a window or door the moment he suspected he was being followed.

“Why did you do that?” she asked Samuel as they turned to leave. “Give him five shillings instead of a crown?”

“Because there’s likely someone with whom he is obligated to share some portion of his income for the day, if not all of it.”

“Oh, I see.” By giving the boy several coins instead of just one, Samuel had given him a chance to keep at least some of the money for himself. “I told you,” she said, smiling at him as they turned to leave. “Not such a hard man.”

“You are not meeting that man at Paddington station, Esther.”

“Very well, I take it back,” she grumbled as they steered around a set of carts. “You’re like a stodgy, disapproving older brother, you know.” She thought about that. “Worse, you’re like the best friend of an older brother. You assume all the overbearing familiarity without having any right to it.”

He looked at her with disbelief. “You’d not spend a night at my house, but you would accuse me of being stodgy?”

“It isn’t the same.”

“How is that not the same?”

“Being stodgy and overbearing makes you a bother. Being an unmarried, unchaperoned woman under your roof makes me…less.”

“Less what?”

Less respectable. Less of a lady. Less than him. “Just
less
.”

He digested this in silence as they made their way back toward the carriage, staying quiet for so long, she began to wonder if he’d heard her at all.

“It was not my intention to make you feel less,” he said at last. “It is not how I see you.”

“Isn’t it?” She’d meant to level an accusation, not ask a question, but it had come out all wrong. She sounded uncertain and wary, maybe even a little bit hopeful. Embarrassed, she turned away to stare at the fruit and vegetable vendors across the street as if they were the most fascinating things in the world. “Don’t answer that.”

Please don’t answer that.

“I don’t mind answering.”

She might very well mind the answer, no matter how hard she tried not to care. “It’s not important. I didn’t mean—”

“You’re not less. Therefore I do not see you as less. Simple as that.”

She’d not say thank you. It wasn’t really a compliment, no matter how good it felt. “I am trying, you know, to be more.”

Why, oh why, could she not bite her tongue?

Samuel looked at her thoughtfully. “I believe you might be.”

She certainly wasn’t going to thank him for
that
. Might be, indeed.

She was not going to Paddington station.

Samuel understood, even appreciated, that Esther was quick-witted, courageous, and skilled with her blades. He accepted that he couldn’t send her home, or even leave her behind at the hotel. But she was not, under any circumstances, going to meet the strange young man at the station alone. It was ludicrous, and he would not allow it.

Convincing her of the wisdom of his decision, however, was going to be tricky.

“You do realize,” he began casually, “that even if I agree to let you go to Paddington—”

“It is not your decision to make.”

“Even if you go to Paddington,” which she would not do, “it will be after Gabriel returns. He’ll be back day after tomorrow.”

She gave a disgruntled sigh. “Yes, I did consider that. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to lie to Gabriel? Keep my presence in London a secret?”

“No.”

“I thought not,” she replied without any sign of resentment. “Well, it can’t be helped. I had to give the young man time to make arrangements.”

“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 mischievousness 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.