A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) (6 page)

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.

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.

Sir Gabriel Arkwright straightened his tall, lean frame and held up a familiar note. “This was unexpected.”

“As are you.” Samuel unlocked his door and let them both in. Suddenly, the day seemed much improved. “I left that note with your housekeeper not an hour ago.”

“Then we missed each other by thirty minutes.”

Samuel tossed his hat and gloves on the bed and grinned at his oldest friend. “Have you been waiting outside my door like a lost pup for long?”

“Two minutes at most,” Gabriel replied and smirked. “Were you in Miss Bales’s company for long before you came running to me for help like a frightened child?”

“It’s been nearly a full twenty-four hours.”

“And neither of you mortally wounded?” Gabriel gave an appreciative bob of his blond head. “Impressive.”

Samuel certainly thought so, but it was always nice to have one’s accomplishments recognized by a friend. Or family, in this case. Gabriel was a brother to him in all but blood.

Renderwell was family as well, but he’d been a baron when Samuel had met him, as well as Samuel’s commanding officer in the military and later with the police. When they’d left the police to become private investigators, Renderwell had naturally stepped into a leadership role. He’d been Viscount Renderwell, the Gentleman Thief Taker. Samuel and Gabriel had been his men.

Gabriel, on the other hand, had never been Samuel’s superior. They were equals, as brothers should be.

“I’d be glad of your assistance in this, Gabriel.”

“You’ll have it.” Gabriel smiled pleasantly as he removed his own coat and laid it over the back of an overstuffed chair with the meticulous care of a valet. “For the next sixteen hours. I’m for Scotland in the morning. Mr. Cobb of Park Lane fears his son has set up house outside Edinburgh with an actress.”

All of Samuel’s notions of putting a bit of space between himself and the prickly woman across the hall went up in smoke. “Put him off a week.”

“Can’t be done.” Always impeccably groomed, Gabriel took a moment to smooth down his windblown blond hair. “He has heard talk of marriage.”

“Hell.”

“Do you expect Esther to be in London a week, then?”

Not if he could help it. “That is her intention.”

“What is she doing here?”

“I can’t tell you.” Feeling unaccountably embarrassed, Samuel rubbed the back of his neck when Gabriel lifted his brows. “I promised.”

“God, you and your morals,” Gabriel muttered. “Is she in some sort of trouble?”

“Not the sort you’re imagining.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“I am. But you may ask her yourself, if you like.” Esther meant to tell her family the truth once she returned to Derbyshire. It was possible she could be convinced to tell Gabriel the truth a few days early. “Before you do, I should warn you that she’ll ask you not to send word of this to Renderwell.”

“She expects me to lie to him?”

“No, just keep her stay in London a secret until she returns to Derbyshire. She’ll tell him herself.”

“I see.” Gabriel leaned against the back of the chair. “Have you agreed to this?”

“I have.” He wasn’t given much choice in the matter but wasn’t going to admit to that. “Will you?”

“If you think it’s for the best,” Gabriel decided after a moment’s consideration. “Renderwell won’t thank us for keeping her secret.”

“No.” Samuel pictured Renderwell’s reaction to the news. “You might want to take your time finding Mr. Cobb’s son.”

* * *

Esther soaked away her irritation in an enormous cast-iron tub. She had paid extra for a private bathing room and had decided upon her first day, and first bath, that it was coin well spent. The Anthem Hotel was not particularly new or luxurious, but it had been partially renovated a year ago, and some clever soul had thought to add a water heating system to the list of improvements.

All she need do to scrub away the stench of London was turn a knob in the wall, and out piped hot water. It was wonderful. The tub in her little cottage used an attached furnace that took nearly half an hour to heat the water. That was the sort of tub Samuel had in his room. She knew this for a fact, because that room had been offered to her upon arrival.

He had to wait for hot water. She did not. Funny how much pleasure could be found in the little things.

Smiling to herself, she reached over the edge of the tub to retrieve the dagger she’d left sitting on a stool. She idly turned the blade over in her hand, then tested the tip with her finger.

She had come by her talent almost accidently at the age of ten. After reading about a knife-throwing act in the paper, she’d taken a scrap of wood and a kitchen knife and, on a whim, given the exercise a go. To her astonishment, and her father’s delight, she’d shown considerable aptitude. He’d brought her a cheap set of daggers the very next day.

In truth, she would have continued her practice with or without his encouragement. She loved throwing daggers. She loved the weight of them in her hand, the glint of steel as a blade sailed through the air, and the way her arm ached after long hours of practice. She liked knowing she had the means to defend herself. It made her feel strong and powerful.

But most of all, she liked the moment just before the weapon left her hand.

In that second, that one beat of the heart, time slowed, the world went still and dim, and all her worries fell away. There was no fear, or shame, or anger. There was no thought at all. There was only her blade, a single spot in the distance and a tremendous sense of peace.

Those fleeting seconds were one of her greatest joys. And she’d very nearly let Will Walker take it all away.

What a fool she’d been to play the henchman in the hopes of earning his affection. There was satisfaction in seeing her dagger hit the center of a target. There was no satisfaction in seeing fear in a man’s eyes. Unless one counted the time she’d stabbed one of her brother’s kidnappers in the shoulder, but that was different. That had been necessary. It hadn’t been necessary for her to work with her father. And it hadn’t made her feel powerful. It had made her feel desperate and pitiful, just as she’d told Samuel.

After the disastrous diamond theft and her father’s death, she’d put her blades away for a time, afraid and ashamed of what she had become.

Then she had seen this dagger in the back of a shop in her village, and she had purchased it as an act of defiance, a way to take back something that belonged to her. Something that would always belong to her.

Feeling much improved, she gave the dagger another twirl and set it aside.

“Esther?” There were three quick raps on her door. “Sir Gabriel is here.”

Esther froze. Sir Gabriel? But he wasn’t supposed to be back so soon. She hadn’t yet figured out how best to deal with him, how to explain, how to—

“Esther?”

She scrambled out of the tub. “A moment,” she called out, grabbing a towel on her way out of the bathing room. “Just a moment.”

She dried herself as quickly as she could, threw on her undergarments, and pulled out a pale blue tea gown, the only concession to comfort she’d made aside from her nightgown—and the only item of dress she had that didn’t require a bustle and corset.

“Esther?”

“Yes. Coming.” She struggled into the gown, buttoned it in a hurry, grabbed a handful of pins, and piled her damp hair atop her head in a fashion she was sure she wouldn’t care to see in the mirror.

Samuel’s hand was lifted for another knock when she opened the door.

“Gentlemen.” She motioned them inside and closed the door behind them.

The men stopped just inside the room. Four eyebrows lifted, and two pairs of eyes tracked a bead of water that slipped down the side of her face. She wiped it away as discreetly as possible. Which, frankly, wasn’t all that discreet.

“It is good to see you, Sir Gabriel.” Only it wasn’t, really.

Laughing blue eyes met hers. “And you, Miss Bales.”

“Would you care for a drink?” She gestured at the bottle of wine on the table.

“Wouldn’t mind it. Don’t trouble yourself,” he said, stepping around her. “I’ll see to it. Samuel?”

“Thank you, no.”

While Gabriel busied himself at the table, Samuel leaned down and whispered in her ear, “You might have said you were indisposed.”

“Yes, well…” She’d not thought of it. “You caught me unawares.”

“I can see that.” He tapped a finger against her back. “You’ve buttoned your gown wrong.”

She reached behind her. Drat, she had. She’d missed a button somewhere and now the whole thing was pulled askew.

How was she to convince the eternally well-dressed Sir Gabriel Arkwright that she was a competent woman capable of making her own decisions while standing in an incompetently buttoned gown?
With increasingly wet shoulders
, she added, swiping away another trickle of water.

It was ridiculous.

Deciding that what he couldn’t see wouldn’t embarrass her, she sidled over to a set of armchairs in front of the hearth (ignoring Samuel’s snort of amusement) and took a seat as Gabriel returned with the drinks.

She accepted her glass with a polite smile. “You were not expected back so soon, sir.”

“I would have made it a point to come earlier”—he lifted his glass in a small toast—“had I known the pleasure of your company was to be found in town.”

Such a charmer, Sir Gabriel. When he wanted to be. She’d seen him play other roles as well—the gentleman, the rake, even the simpleton when it suited his purposes. Perhaps that was why she liked him but didn’t trust him. They were too much alike.

Gabriel settled in the seat across from her. “Would you like to tell me
why
the pleasure of your company is to be had in town, Miss Bales?”

“Hasn’t Samuel told you?”

She looked to the man in question, but he didn’t appear inclined to explain himself. He’d pulled up a chair from the table and was now staring at the carpet near her feet. No, not near her feet. At her feet. Her bare feet.

She drew them back under her skirts and wondered why wet hair and bare toes should make her feel so exposed, as if she’d just stepped out of the bath and was still naked instead of swathed in several layers of linen, cotton, and taffeta.

Gabriel took a sip of his drink. “Samuel thought you might prefer to tell me yourself.”

“I see.” She debated how much to tell him, then decided it probably didn’t matter what she told him. Samuel would likely fill in whatever information she chose to leave out. “I assume you are aware that I am illegitimate?”

“I am.”

“I’ve come to London to find my natural father.”

“May I ask why?”

“I would rather not discuss the particulars.” If Samuel saw fit to share her secrets, she couldn’t stop him, but she’d not tell them herself.

“Should I be worried about the particulars?”

“No.” She didn’t expect him to believe her, so she gestured at Samuel with her glass. “He’ll worry about them for the both of us.”

“He will at that,” Gabriel conceded with a small laugh. He quickly grew pensive, however. He swirled his drink lightly a moment, then set the glass aside without taking another sip. “I feel compelled to mention the obvious, Miss Bales.”

“And that is?”

“Some people don’t wish to be found.”

“That has occurred to me.” How could it not, when she spent so much of her own life trying not to be found?

“Some people also don’t deserve it,” he said and shrugged when she frowned at him. “He left you in the care of a criminal. Is such a man worth your bother?”

“I don’t know.” She didn’t know the first thing about Mr. George Smith, other than that he might have been a grocer some years ago. “He may not have been aware that Will was a criminal. He could have thought I would have a better life with my mother.”

Besides, it didn’t matter if her father deserved to be found or not. She wasn’t doing it for him, not entirely. She was doing it for herself.

“There is another matter of concern,” Samuel said. “Give him the note from the young man.”

She started to rise, then remembered her dress. “Er…”

Her gaze shot to Samuel.

He smiled at her. It was a perfectly ordinary, perfectly bland smile. But his gray eyes danced with unholy glee. The arse.

She sat back down. “It is just behind you, Sir Gabriel, in the bag on the table? If you would be so kind… Thank you.”

She retrieved the note and handed it to Gabriel. He read it over while Samuel filled him in on the events of the previous two days.

At the end of the telling, Gabriel shook his head at Samuel. “Renderwell is going to kill you.” He swore and set the note aside. “And me.”

“Why you?” Esther inquired.

Samuel answered for him. “I asked Gabriel not to send word to your family.”

Esther stared at him as a lovely warmth filled her chest. If he had come to her with flowers, chocolates, and an apology delivered in the form of a sonnet, she would not have been more shocked. Nor so touched.

He’d asked on her behalf, knowing Gabriel would be more inclined to accept a request from a friend. He had spared her the trouble of asking, possibly the indignity of begging, for Gabriel’s silence. It had not been required of him. She had not expected it of him. He had done it of his own accord.

The anger and wounded feelings she’d been nursing since the kiss in the carriage drained away.

“Thank you, Samuel.”

* * *

Pink toes peeking out from under pale blue skirts.

Samuel shoved the image aside and tried to concentrate on what his friend was saying. Something about his trip to the continent and… He had no idea. Not the foggiest notion. The man had been talking about his trip since they’d left Esther’s rooms almost a quarter hour ago, and Samuel couldn’t recall a single specific detail of what had been said.