A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) (10 page)

Samuel hadn’t cared for that woman. Not one jot. And yet… She ran her finger along her lip, smiling at the delicious memory of Samuel’s mouth moving strongly over hers.

You’re a temporary diversion
, a nasty little voice in her head said.
A passing amusement. He’ll replace you when something better comes along.

She ignored the voice, long since accustomed to the fear that she wasn’t really wanted, wasn’t quite good enough for anyone. That fear had been at the heart of her determination to work with her father and her terrible need to seek out the approval of others. She’d been so desperate to prove the nasty little voice wrong.

Those days were past. She might not be able to rid herself of the old insecurity entirely, but she could choose how to respond to it, and she chose to acknowledge it and set it aside.

She didn’t have to prove a damned thing.

Taking another bite of her apple, she wondered if she was simply overthinking the matter. Maybe she didn’t need to worry over the why and how of it all. Perhaps she should just accept and enjoy the experience without questioning every little detail.

She could do that, couldn’t she? She could be the kind of person who simply appreciated a spot of good fortune without looking for strings, or a trick, or a trap.

No, probably not, she conceded and took another bite.

Second- and even third-guessing the intentions and motives of others was too ingrained a habit.

Only…

She frowned down at her half-eaten apple.

She truly did
trust
Samuel. She didn’t suspect him of toying with her emotions or playing her for a fool. She wasn’t searching for the trick or trap.

For all that they argued like a pair of warring generals, she felt remarkably at ease in his company.

Perversely, she was remarkably ill at ease with that idea.

It wouldn’t do to become too comfortable with Samuel. Comfort could lead to things like affection and expectations. Which, in her experience, too often led to rejection and disappointment. And regrets.

It would be better, and much safer, if she remained…merely curious.

* * *

Samuel left Esther at the hotel under the guise of seeing to a few more items of personal business about town.

He wanted to stay. In fact, he stood in the hall outside her rooms for a considerable amount of time, debating the merits of going back inside to continue what they had started in the carriage.

It would have been the wrong choice.

He’d managed to do everything right today. He’d said the right words before and after the kiss. And now he’d made the right choice by walking away from Esther before things got out of hand.

It could be argued that the best option would have been to keep his hands off Esther entirely. Samuel was of the opinion that such a choice wasn’t so much right as it was ideal, and therefore unrealistic and unreasonable. A man really ought to make a point of keeping reasonable expectations lest he consign himself to perpetual failure.

He would take things slowly, move forward carefully. He would give them both the time and space needed to decide what came next.

Feeling pleased with himself, with Esther, and with the world in general, he returned to Spitalfields on his own. He had several days to discover the identity of the mystery man from the station. He meant to have the job done in half that time.

Until proven otherwise, the man was a threat to Esther, and Samuel couldn’t let that stand. It was his responsibility to remove the danger he posed. It was his office to protect. Not simply because Esther was a woman, not as a matter of pride, but because safeguarding those important to him was what a man
did
.

He thought of his father then, reeking of gin and hate. And he remembered his mother with her bruised face and bitter tears.

Safeguarding, he amended, was what a
good
man did.

Samuel’s fine mood wore off slowly. The back lanes and alleyways chipped it away in small increments like a fine chisel working against marble. Every narrow, cluttered alley he entered, every fetid common boardinghouse, every informant he bribed or browbeat for information left him feeling a little angrier, a little harder.

Honest, hardworking boys might outnumber the thieves and liars of the world. As a rule, however, honest boys didn’t have access to the secrets of criminals. For that, one had to spend time and effort and money on the criminals themselves. So much time and so much effort on those sorts of men—men who were willing to snitch on their friends for a few coins—that it became difficult to remember, or perhaps easier to forget, that boys like little Henry even existed.

By the time Samuel returned to the hotel four hours later, his general outlook on the world had soured considerably, and there was a painful knot throbbing between his shoulders.

Finding the door to Esther’s rooms unlocked only cemented his temper.

He shut and locked the door behind him, then turned to scowl at Esther. “Why is the door not locked?”

She looked up from the book she was reading in one of the chairs by the hearth. “Where have you been? I thought we were going to Rostrime Lane.”

“We’ll have to go tomorrow. Why wasn’t the door locked, Esther?”

“It was locked.”

“It was not.” He gestured at the door. “I just walked through it.”

“Well, it isn’t locked
now
. Or rather it is, but it wasn’t.” She pointed at the window. “I saw you come into the hotel. I assumed you would want a word and so I unlocked the door. Are you going to tell me why you’ve been gone all afternoon?”

Rubbing at a new ache that had spread from his shoulders to the back of his neck, he took a seat across from her. “I called on a few informants in and around Spitalfields, looking for your man at Paddington. I have three names.”

“You went looking for him?” She snapped her book shut. “You told me you were attending to personal business.”

“I take all my work personally.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “And we were getting on so well.”

“I was in that part of town. I asked a few questions whilst I was about.” It was only a half lie. He had been in that part of town, just not for any other reason than to ask after the man.

“You should have taken me with you.”

“I didn’t intend to be gone for long. Someone gave me the name of a sailor they thought might have useful information. I had to track him down before he left port tomorrow. It took more time than I anticipated.”

“I see.” She tapped the cover of her book absently. “Did the sailor have useful information?”

“No.”

“If you had time to run about asking questions and tracking sailors, then you had time to fetch me. I might have helped.”

“Your help wasn’t necessary.”

“Necessary and useful are not the same thing. I could have been of use.”

He had several arguments at hand capable of disputing that assertion, and sufficient common sense not to use any of them. “Yes, you could have been.”

“Then why didn’t you take me with you?”

“Because it was dangerous, and I’ll not place you in danger, no matter how useful you might be.”

She picked up her book and shook it lightly. “Better I should sit here and read poetry while you face danger alone and on my behalf?”

“Yes.” By God, yes.

“No, it is not better. Not for either of us. Samuel, be fair—”

“Fair?” he snapped and jabbed a finger in her direction. “If you were another woman, any other woman of my acquaintance, I would have hauled you back to Derbyshire by now.”

“I’d only come back.”

“Yes, because you are you. And because you are you, I have refrained from posting guards outside your door every time I leave. And I want to, Esther.” He jabbed his finger again, for no other reason than that he found the gesture satisfying. “I
very
much want to.”

She appeared singularly unimpressed. “You are in a peculiar mood.”

“I am in a foul mood,” he muttered and dropped his hand.

“I was being polite.” She studied him a moment, her expression unreadable. “Would you like to tell me why your mood is foul?”

“No.”

“Is it something I’ve done?”

He winced at the hint of uncertainty in her voice and scrubbed his hands over his face. “No. Esther, no. I’m just—”

“You’re certain? You’re not still upset about the door being unlocked?”

“No. Well, yes. Don’t unlock it until I’ve knocked next time. And put your veil on if you’re going to be peeking out the windows.” He almost smiled when she rolled her eyes. “But no, it’s not the cause of my poor temper. And neither are you.”

“All right.” She set the book aside and frowned at him thoughtfully. “Out of curiosity, why haven’t you stationed guards outside my door?”

“Do you think you need them?”

She shook her head. “Do you?”

It wasn’t so much that she needed them as that he wanted them for his own peace of mind.

She shrugged when he didn’t immediately answer. “I wouldn’t make a fuss over it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If it would make you feel…I don’t know”—she began to wave one hand around as she searched for the right words—“like a properly responsible gentleman, seeing to the safety of the helpless lady”—she waved her hand some more—“or what have you, then, by all means, hire a guard or two.”

“You wouldn’t complain?”

“I might complain a little,” she admitted. “But I promise not to produce a proper fuss. Why are you looking at me as if I’ve grown a second head?”

“
You
wouldn’t produce a fuss?”

“Not a proper one,” she clarified. “Why should I? There’s no harm in being overly cautious. Of course we could run into trouble if those guards start asking questions. Start poking about.”

“Yes.” There were several men he could trust to guard Esther with their lives, but even the most loyal of men were not immune to curiosity. The possibility of discovery was another reason he’d not sought out those men straightaway.

“It might be worth the risk,” Esther continued, “if you mean to go flitting off about town without me on a regular basis.”

“I don’t flit.” Grown men did not
fl
it
.

“What if something should happen whilst you’re away?” she asked with a touch of drama. “What if I forget to take out my daggers, and forget to lock the door, and also forget that a cry for help would be heard by any number of guests or staff in this hotel? However would you live with yourself if I, unarmed, unguarded, and mute, fell prey to a villain?”

“That is not amusing.”

“It is a little amusing,” she countered and offered an inviting smile. She sighed when he didn’t smile back. “I am capable of taking care of myself. And, if I am not, I am quite capable of screaming for help.”

Everything inside him revolted at the image of Esther in danger and screaming for help. Neither the image, nor their argument, was improving his mood. He needed to change the subject.

“Is that why you left Greenly House and your family?” he asked. “To prove you could take care of yourself?”

“I…” She broke off and frowned at the sudden jump in topic. “No. Not exclusively.”

“But it played some part?”

“I thought we were discussing the possibility of my demise due to your lack of gentlemanly care.”

“I don’t want to discuss your possible demise. How large a part?”

“A small one. I didn’t leave to prove I can take care of myself. I know I can, and that’s quite enough for me. Lottie and I ran Willowbend for years without assistance, you’ll recall.” She bobbed her head back and forth twice. “Well, Lottie took on most of the responsibility, to be honest.”

“She is the eldest.”

“And a natural leader,” she said with more than a hint of pride. “But she didn’t lead alone. We raised Peter together, and there were responsibilities that were entirely my own. At any rate, we had no one to answer to at the end of the day but ourselves. I quite liked that. I didn’t like having to answer to Renderwell at Greenly House. My life is sufficiently restrictive. It does not require a man intruding on what little freedom remains.”

“I thought you were fond of Renderwell.”

“I adore him. He makes my sister exceedingly happy.” She shrugged. “I’ve simply no desire to live in a house run by a man, that’s all.”

Any man? Or just a brother-in-law? Or just a brother-in-law who happened to be peer of the realm accustomed to issuing orders? Would she live in a house run by her own husband? A lover? A presumptuous butler? He wanted to ask but wasn’t sure how to go about it without sounding as if he were seeking a particular answer. And wouldn’t that be a pretty trick, when he didn’t know what sort of answer he’d care to hear?

“If your freedom was only a small part of the reason you left, then what was a larger one?” he asked.

She shook her head at him and looked away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’ve said that to me before. I think you’re wrong.”

Her gaze moved to his, sharp and assessing. It made him uneasy. Not that she should stare at him so intently, but that she might not find what she needed to see. It unnerved him, how badly he wanted to be what Esther needed, even if only in this small way.

“If I tell you,” she said quietly, “will you promise not to speak of it to your friends?”

“I give you my word.”

She nodded once and he felt a moment’s pleasure at that small sign of acceptance. It was no mean feat to gain the trust of Esther Walker-Bales.

“I was too comfortable,” she said at last.

He considered this at length, until he was forced to admit that her original assertion had been correct. “Very well, you’re not wrong. I don’t understand.”

She made a sound that was half laugh and half sigh. “I am very good…generally…at making people like me. I can’t read a person so well as Lottie, but I can often tell what a person hopes to gain from a new acquaintance, and I provide it.” She paused to pick at an invisible thread on her skirts—a sign of nerves he rarely saw from her. “I can be lively and witty, or serious and sedate, or a gossip, or a bookworm. I can be quite conservative in my political views or a revolutionist. I can be whatever they want.”

“But not what you are?”

“I don’t know what I am. Not entirely. That was part of the problem.” She clenched her hand against her leg. “I didn’t ingratiate myself to Renderwell’s sisters in an attempt to manipulate or deceive them. I just needed them to like me.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know what I am,” she repeated. “But if people like me, then it follows that what I am can’t be all bad.” She laughed a little at his dubious expression. “It is not sound reasoning, I know.”

“It makes a kind of sense. Aren’t you yourself with Lottie and Peter?” The Walker-Bales siblings had always struck him as being uncommonly close.

“More than anyone else. But I fear it is still less than I would like. Or it was.” She went back to picking at her gown. “I wasn’t even aware of what I was doing until somewhat recently. And then we moved to Greenly House and I found myself putting on an act, as it were, for Renderwell’s sisters. And his mother, and I don’t even like his mother.”

“No one likes Renderwell’s mother.”

“True.” She stopped plucking at her skirts to give him a pert smile. “You’re part of why I moved as well, you know.”

“Me?” Horrified at the very idea, he sat up straight in his chair. “What the devil did I do?”

“Oh, you are worried,” she laughed.

“I’m not in the habit of running women out of their homes. What did I do?”

“It isn’t what you did,” she replied, apparently taking pity on him. “It’s what I couldn’t do. I could never make you like me. It drove me to distraction, trying to find the role I thought you wanted me to fill. But it never seemed to work with you. You hated me even after I nursed you back to health—”

“You did not nurse—”

“—like Florence Nightingale,” she finished, loud enough to drown out his dissent.

He relaxed in his seat and caught her gaze. “I’ve never hated you, Esther.”

“I thought you did,” she admitted, looking away for a moment. “And that bothered me. But more than that, it bothered me that I should be so bloody bothered. No one person’s good opinion should mean so much that another person should feel compelled to change who they are to obtain it.”

“Did my opinion matter so much?” he asked, both curious and worried. Had Esther hoped for a friendship with him all this time? The notion appealed to him, but he was equally appalled by the idea that their antagonistic relationship had wounded her in ways he’d failed to recognize.

“Everyone’s did,” she replied and continued on before he could request clarification. “It is working, you know.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” She tapped her finger against the armrest. “Do you remember last year when the stables were set on fire and I went in after Mr. Nips?”

“I’m not likely to forget it.” His jaw tightened at the memory, forcing him to speak through clenched teeth. “It nearly killed you and your sister.”

“Yes, you were very angry. I apologized to you. Twice, as I recall. I told you I was very sorry for having put the life of an old pony above my own.”

“You did.”

“I take it back.”

Well, that was unexpected. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not sorry I did it. I am very sorry that Lottie ran in after me and was injured. That will haunt me, I think, for the rest of my life. And I am sorry that I frightened the people who love me. And I am exceedingly grateful to you and Renderwell, and always will be, for rescuing us. But I am not sorry I went in after Mr. Nips. I’m not sorry he was saved. He deserved better than to be abandoned to the fire.”

“You would have died for him.”

“Not intentionally. It certainly wasn’t my expectation when I ran into the stables. I never imagined I would find his stall door wedged shut or that the fire would spread so rapidly. But I did knowingly risk my life for him, and I would do it again. I love Mr. Nips. He has been a loyal friend for nearly fourteen years.”