A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) (14 page)

Mrs. Lanchor and Sarah smiled at Esther. She smiled back but looked a little wary of the friendliness. The moment the staff left, she leaned across the table and whispered, “Your staff is being very kind to me.”

“I should hope so. I don’t pay them to be rude.” He picked up his fork and decided that the lukewarm eggs were worth the move to the kitchen. “You don’t have to whisper. They don’t eavesdrop.”

“That’s not what I meant. What did you tell them?”

“About you? Mostly the truth. I told them you are a client in danger and therefore in need of my protection.”

“That’s not the truth.” She sat back again. “That’s not even a half-truth.”

She was in danger and she needed his protection. Two-thirds of the truth as he saw it. “It doesn’t matter. After last night, they are disposed to feel kindly toward you.”

“They must think I’m hiding from a brutal husband or father.” She leaned a little in her chair to glance at the open door. “I feel as if I’ve won their sympathies out of deceit. I don’t like it.”

“This from a woman who won a rope from a shopkeeper out of deceit.”

“That was an accident.”

“Esther, you
are
in danger. You were attacked. Their sympathy is not unwarranted.”

“I suppose.” She broke off a bit of bread and slipped it to the beast. Her eyes flicked to his as the dog’s loud smacking filled the room. “I beg your pardon. I should have asked if I could feed him from the table.”

“I don’t mind.” He might eventually, if the beast took the treats as a sign he could start helping himself, but he’d worry about that possibility later. Both the woman and the dog looked pleased with the arrangement. Why spoil their fun?

“Why is it you haven’t a dog?” he inquired. “You’re fond of animals. Dogs in particular.”

“I mean to have one, after I return to Derbyshire. I couldn’t before. Peter has a sensitivity to dogs and cats. Horses as well, though he won’t admit to it.”

“Why won’t he admit to it?”

She hitched up one shoulder and was immediately obliged to tug the loose neckline back into place. “I suspect he thinks it detracts from the fact that he’s a far more accomplished equestrian than his sisters,” she said. “He’s quite proud of it.”

“I could give you riding lessons, if you like.”

“I should like that, thank you. Next time we are in Derbyshire, then?”

“Next time.”

What would that next time look like? He wondered. The last time they had seen each other in Derbyshire, they had been… What, exactly? He didn’t know how to qualify the relationship he’d once held with Esther. Longtime acquaintances? It was odd to have known someone for years, and to have kept their greatest secret for all that time, and still not be certain if that individual counted as a friend. He had saved her life once. She had (arguably) nursed him back to health from a serious wound. Surely what they’d had was a kind of friendship. It was just a wary, begrudging kind of friendship.

And now they were something more than friends.

Would they still be something more once she returned to her little cottage? Could they still be more once she left the freedom and anonymity afforded her in London?

Suddenly, Derbyshire seemed a world away, and her return home seemed much too imminent.

He watched her break off another piece of toast and slip the small morsel into her mouth. She chewed slowly, lost in thought, and he forgot all about Derbyshire and riding lessons. He was captivated by the subtle movement of her lips, remembering how they felt opening beneath his own. Her tongue darted out to catch a tiny crumb at the corner of her mouth, and fascination turned to uncomfortable arousal. He wondered when breakfast had become such a sensual activity. When she licked her lips again, he wondered how long his staff was apt to leave them unattended and whether Esther would object if he hauled her over the table and into his lap.

She probably would. Still, he gave into the temptation to reach over and run the pad of this thumb once across her bottom lip.

Esther blinked and touched her fingers to her mouth. “Oh, did I have a bit of toast?”

“Yes.” No. He’d just wanted to touch her.

“Well, thank you.”

He gave her a smile designed to charm, and seduce. If all he had with Esther was a week, then he was going to make the most of it. “It was my pleasure.”

A faint rose lit her cheeks, and he knew a moment’s masculine pride that he could make Esther Walker-Bales blush like a schoolgirl.

He decided then and there that it would have to be more than a week.

She cleared her throat delicately. “Shall we go to Bow today? Or the General Register Office?”

Surprised by the question, he dragged his eyes away from her mouth. “Neither. You’ll stay here. You need to rest.”

She looked appalled at the very notion. “I do not.”

“You were injured.”

“Only mildly.”

“Mildly
strangled
.”

“You were mildly shot,” she pointed out. “Will you be staying in as well?”

“There are a few matters I need to attend—”

“Don’t you dare,” she warned with a quick jab of her fork in his direction. “Don’t you
dare
tell me you’ll be attending to other business if you mean to attend to mine.”

“I do have other business, you know. You’re not my only client.”

“I’m not a client at all. I’m not paying you.” She sat up a little straighter in her chair. “Perhaps I should. That would make me your employer, would it not? What is your rate?”

He named a perfectly outrageous figure.

“You lie,” she scoffed. “There aren’t half a dozen people in England who could afford such a fee.”

“The fee varies depending on individuals and circumstances.”

“What on earth makes you suspect my circumstances would allow for such an expense?”

“Nothing at all.”

She set down her silverware and crossed her arms over her chest in a huff. “You could just say you’re not willing to take me on as a client.”

“I believe I just did.”

Her eyes narrowed, but it was more thoughtful than it was angry. She was hatching a plan of attack. Or escape. He was sure of it.

“Very well,” she replied at last. “You are not in my employ.”

He was fairly certain capitulation was not the plan. “No, I am not.”

“And I am not in yours. Therefore, I suggest you attend to your business today, and I shall attend to mine.”

Closer, but not quite it. “No.”

She gave him a taunting smile. “Are you intending to extend an offer of employment to
me
?”

And there it was. “I—”

“Because I can’t imagine any other reason for your presumption that I will follow your orders.” She tilted her head. “What say you, Sir Samuel?”

“I say yes.”

She uncrossed her arms, and the smile disappeared. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yes, I am extending an offer of employment.” Hell, he should have thought of the plan himself. “I will pay you to follow every one of my orders. To the letter. Agreed?”

She tapped her finger against the table twice, then replied, “Certainly.”

“Truly?” He’d hoped to convince her that the plan had real merit. He hadn’t expected it to be easy.

“Yes. However, I require payment in advance.” She held out her hand and waggled her fingers. “My rate is double your own.”

Damn it. “I’ll give you twenty pounds.”

“Twenty pounds?” she echoed on a laugh. “That is a fraction of what it would take—”

“Forty.” Half was a fraction.

She shook her head.

“Eighty,” he tried.

“Will this number continue to grow exponentially until I say yes? How fortuitous that I have so much free time on my hands.”

“Five hundred.”

“You’re not serious.” Her mouth dropped open when he said nothing. “Good Lord, you
are
serious. You would pay me five hundred pounds to follow your orders?”

He’d pay twice that and more if it meant keeping her safe. “Yes. Do we have a deal?”

She wanted to accept the offer. He could see it. A line of concentration appeared across her brow and she was quiet for a long time. She tore off several bites of bread, eating half herself and tossing the other half to the beast in an absent manner.

Esther didn’t need the money, but she wanted it. She had been poor once, and that sort of insecurity had a tendency to linger. The scars of hunger, that’s what Gabriel called it. They couldn’t be seen, but neither were they forgotten.

He felt guilty using that against her, but he’d live with the discomfort for the sake of her safety.

It wasn’t to be, however. After struggling with the decision for a while longer, Esther shook her head. “I’m sorry, Samuel, but I’ll not be under a man’s thumb for any price.”

“Why do you presume I would put you under my thumb?”

“Because it’s what men do,” she replied without heat. “And you do it, I suppose, because you can. You’re allowed.”

“I worked for Renderwell for years. I was never under his thumb.”

“Because you’re a man. You are expected to work, and you expect to be given work. I’ve seen you and Gabriel work with Renderwell. You functioned as a partnership, or a team. Renderwell’s responsibility was to assign tasks and goals according to each man’s strengths, but you fulfilled your duties as you saw fit. You participated. You made your own choices and had the pleasure of seeing your combined labors culminate in the successful completion of a challenge. Is that what you’re offering me?” she asked in a skeptical tone. “Or would you ignore my strengths, my ability to make choices on my own, and simply order me to stay tucked up here out of your way?”

“You can’t deny you’d find the order challenging.”

“No,” she replied with a small laugh. “I can’t.”

“I don’t want you out of my way, Esther. I just want you safe.”

“I know. I want the same for you. Strange, isn’t it? We would each feel better if the other stayed tucked up safe and sound, but that would make the other miserable.” She thought about that for a second as she chewed another bite of bread. “Does that make the desire to see the other safe a selfish one?”

Selfish desires weren’t problematic by themselves. It was acting on them that wreaked havoc. Pity, that. “A compromise, then. We’ll stay in for the morning and visit Rostrime Lane this afternoon for”—he nearly said “three hours” before thinking better of it—“an hour.”

“That’s not nearly enough time. Four hours.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

Perfect.
“Three it is.”

“And I’ll not wait in the carriage.”

He shook his head. “We’ve discussed this. The approach works best if I’m alone.”

“You’re presuming you’ll think to ask every question
I
might think to ask.”

“You’re presuming I won’t think to ask the right questions.”

“Are you implying that I would ask the wrong ones?”

God, it was like having breakfast with a barrister. “It’s beside the point. You can’t risk being recognized.”

“I’ll keep my veil down, as had been my intention when I decided to come knocking on doors in London on my own.”

Her original intention had likely been to knock and simply ask whoever answered if a Mr. George Smith was in residence. That was quite a bit different from being invited inside. She was going to find the curious looks of strangers discomforting and their willingness to confide, limited.

Some lessons, however, could only be learned through experience. Lord knew he’d made his share of missteps in his early days as a police officer and private investigator.

Not that she was embarking on a career in either. It was just a lesson. One lesson. That was all. “We’ll try it your way for one house, then revisit the matter.”

“We have a deal.”

* * *

There was something to be said for a quiet morning in Samuel’s company. They had shared them before, of course, but always in the company of others. It was just the two of them now, settled comfortably in the parlor at the front of the house.

Esther fiddled with the corner of her book while she watched Samuel. He was what she thought of as a planter, like her sister. He took a book, took a seat, and stayed there, still as a statue. She had never been able to do that. She could lose herself in a book or her art for hours, but she couldn’t sit still for all that time. Every ten minutes or so, she had to get up and move about.

Already she had taken several turns about the room. Unlike her sister, however, Samuel didn’t appear to mind the distraction. He simply glanced up once, smiled absently, and went back to his book.

She watched as Samuel’s brows lowered in response to something he read, then lifted a moment later as his lips slowly curved into a smile.

If she were a braver woman, she might set aside her own reading and see for herself what had captured his fancy. It wasn’t but half a room between them. She could meander over and lean down for a closer look at his book. Maybe lean down a little farther. Maybe far enough to catch his scent. Perhaps, if she leaned far enough, he might take it as a hint or a suggestion to reach for her. Or she might need to be a bit more obvious in her intentions.

How bold could she be with Samuel? She could fake that sort of confidence when the occasion called for it. She’d pretended to be a bold woman in the past, but she’d never tried to be that forward as herself. Was she capable of it? Could she saunter over, slide the book from his fingers, and slip herself onto his lap? Could she twine her arms around his neck and kiss him? Just imagining it had her heart beating faster and a pleasant warmth humming through her veins.

Oh, it would be fun. He’d be shocked of course. And pleased, one should hope.

They needn’t worry they’d be bothered unexpectedly. Mrs. Lanchor and two of the maids had gone out. The rest of the staff was either downstairs, upstairs, or outside.

She could do anything she liked. For as long as she liked.

To her own shock, Esther discovered she had already closed her book and set it on a side table without realizing.

She snatched it back.

What on earth was she thinking? For that matter, what on earth was she
doing
?