A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) (19 page)

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” he muttered against her lips between rough breaths. “But don’t wait up for me, sweetheart.”

Samuel didn’t find the man the next day. He worked well into the night, showing the sketch Esther had created to everyone in a three-block radius of the old clothes shop on Commercial Street. The only information he was able to garner was that the young man might, or might not, be Ronald Wainsberth, or possibly Phineas Brown, or Edmund, surname unknown.

This last he’d bribed out of little Henry Causer. The boy now had possession of a small fortune, enough to move his entire family out of London and their squalid set of rooms in Peerpoint Alley.

“Edmund, sir,” Henry had said. “That’s all I know. It’s what I heard him called.”

“Where can I find him?”

“I don’t know. I ain’t seen him since I gave him the note.”

“And his friends?”

“I don’t know ’em. I seen ’em round, is all, but not in a while. There’s a big one what gives me the evil eye sometimes…” The boy had demonstrated by squeezing one eye shut and bulging out the other. “Mean as a snake, he is. I heard him call out once to the man what gave me the note.”

“And you’re sure he said Edmund?”

The boy had shuffled his bare feet. His gaze flicked to the money Samuel had put on his mother’s table.

“There’s no right or wrong answer, Henry. The money is yours provided you give me the truth as you remember it.”

Henry ducked his chin and mumbled into his chest. “They were drunk, sir. Hard to hear ’em.”

Which meant the boy might have mistaken any number of slurred comments for the name Edmund.

Still, it was information, and under other circumstances, Samuel would consider two and a half names an encouraging start. Under normal circumstances, he’d have time to follow up on the leads. But Esther was going to Paddington station the day after tomorrow, and short of tying her up in the hotel room, there was nothing he could do to stop her.

He was giving some real thought to tying her up as he stepped from his carriage and climbed the steps to his house.

Maybe she would be safe at the station. Maybe she wasn’t afraid. But he damned well was. Things could go wrong so quickly. He’d seen it a dozen times—a simple arrest, a well-laid plan, an ordinary search, even something as benign as an interview could turn violent and deadly in a heartbeat. All it took was one mistake, one short-fused or panicked man with a gun. Then everything changed.

He couldn’t stand the thought of it. Of Esther in danger or injured. Or gone.

She wasn’t just important to him. Not anymore. She was
essential
. Everything about her was necessary. That captivating laughter. Her sharp tongue and clever mind. The sweet and bite and surprise. He needed all of it. All of her.

He couldn’t let her go. He would find a way to convince her to let him go in her stead. Determined, he went inside, tossed his hat and coat on the side table in the foyer, and headed into the parlor.

The
empty
parlor.

He scowled into the room. Why wasn’t Esther there?

There was no particular reason she should be there, he supposed. It was just…he’d been picturing her there all day. He’d imagined her reading in the delicate green chair and wandering about the room, fiddling with this and that. The image had been sitting in the back of his mind almost since he’d left the house. He’d liked it there. He liked the idea of coming home and finding Esther in his ridiculous, too-feminine parlor.

“Sarah!”

The young maid popped into the room almost immediately. “Sir?”

“Where the devil is everyone?”

“Oh, well.” Sarah began ticking off the occupants of the house on her fingers. “The beast is in the garden. Mrs. Lanchor is abed with a sore head. Tom has gone to visit his ailing mum. Jeb has the day—”

“Where is Mrs. Ellison?”

“Upstairs, sir. She took an early meal and asked not to be disturbed.”

“Why? Is she ill?”

Uneasy, he didn’t bother waiting for a reply. He strode from the room, took the steps two at a time, and, finding the door to Esther’s bedchamber ajar, pushed it open without bothering to knock.

The room was dark but for a single lamp on the mantle and what little light filtered in from the street. Esther was leaning over a small table in front of a window. Propped up on her elbows, she held her chin in her hands as she watched guests arrive for a dinner party across the street.

She stood in the shadows, in her blue tea gown, but he could still make out the subtle movement of her hips as she swayed to the music floating in through the open window.

Immediately, all thoughts of illness, and parlors, and dangerous meetings with mysterious men disappeared like so much smoke. In their place, the most deliciously wicked images filled his mind. The loose gown, the hips, the table.

God, the things he wanted to do to her.

Without realizing what he was about, he reached behind him and closed the door.

Esther’s head whipped around at the sound. “Oh, it’s you. You startled me.” She smiled at him, lifting her brows. “Did you find him?”

He shook his head, still mesmerized by the sight of her. The way she peered over her shoulder, her lips curved up just so…as if issuing an invitation. “What are you doing?”

His voice sounded rough and strained to his own ears.

“Your neighbors are having a soiree. Or a small ball. I suppose most of society is in the country.”

“Yes, I know. Why are you watching in the dark?”

“I didn’t want them to see me staring,” she replied with a light shrug. “It’s rude.”

“It’s not rude if they can’t see you?”

She scrunched up her face a little, then leaned farther over the table to close the window and pull the drapes shut. “You’re right.”

“You didn’t have to do that. You can watch if you like.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She straightened and leaned back against the table. “I think most of the guests have arrived now. Weren’t you invited?”

“I made my excuses this morning.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. I’m perfectly safe here with your staff and Harry.”

“Goliath.”

“Harry.” She reached for a finger lamp on the desk and set about lighting it. “I still have work to do on that record of events you asked for. You might as well go and enjoy yourself for a few hours.”

“I wouldn’t enjoy myself.”

“Why not? What’s not to love about a ball? The music. The conversation.” She sighed wistfully. “The dancing.”

“The noise. The smells. The crowd. The heat.”

“A small gathering wouldn’t pose those difficulties. I should dearly love to attend a London ball. As a guest, not a thief,” she qualified. “I should like to dance at a London ball. That’s something else I’ve never done. I have never danced in London.”

Something else she would never do, he thought. Unless… “You can’t go, Esther—”

“I know.” She turned the lamp to a soft glow. “I wasn’t hinting that I should.”

“If I may finish? You can’t go. However…” He walked to a cabinet and retrieved a large rosewood music box. He set it atop the table and wound the small brass handle. “You can still dance in London.”

He held out his hand as the tinkling refrain of a waltz he couldn’t hope to name floated from the old box. “May I have this dance, Miss Bales?”

“Miss Bales is a fiction,” she said softly. “But I would love to dance with you, Samuel.”

* * *

There wasn’t sufficient room between the furniture for a proper waltz. Instead, Samuel moved chairs out of the way and turned Esther in a slow, small circle in front of the fireplace.

It occurred to Esther that they must look rather silly. Certainly, they were out of step with music that slowed with every passing minute. But it mattered not a jot. She was dancing in London with Samuel. If nothing else about her trip turned out as it should, this alone would make it all worthwhile.

She felt graceful as a swan. She was the most elegant woman at the ball, and she was dancing with the most desired man in the room. Quite literally in both cases, she thought with a smile.

“Is something amusing?”

She shook her head, amused by her own whimsy. “You don’t strike me as the sort of man to purchase a music box for himself.”

“It was a gift.”

“From a woman?”

He pulled her closer, much closer than would be allowed on a proper dance floor. “Are you jealous?”

Not at the moment. It wasn’t another woman in Samuel’s arms. It was just her. “Should I be?”

“No. It was given to me by Mrs. Bethram, an elderly lady who hired me to find a lost ruby bracelet.”

“Had it been stolen?”

“So she suspected.” He pulled her into a subtle turn, and his arm slipped farther around her waist. “But no. She’d taken it off in the library and it had slipped beneath the settee. I found it in under an hour. Along with several earrings, a fan, two sets of gloves, and a pair of spectacles. She was forgetful with her things, and her staff was remiss in cleaning under the furniture.”

Her hand slid across his broad shoulder and her fingers found the back of his collar. “Do your clients often pay you in music boxes?”

“She sent it as a gift after I refused payment.”

Of course he had refused payment. She smiled at him, and the dance took on a dreamlike quality, like that first kiss before everything had gone astray. There was only Samuel, leading her through the moves, his arms wrapped tight around her, his scent tickling her nose.

They swayed and turned and drew ever closer. They danced even as the box wound down, the tempo slowing, slowing…

When the music stopped, Samuel only pulled her closer and bent his head to whisper in her ear. “If we were at a proper ball, I would have to return you to your chaperone.”

“I’m too old for a chaperone. And we’re not at a proper ball.”

“No, we are not.” His lips brushed against her jaw. “There are benefits to dancing in the dark, you know.”

The tingle of anticipation danced over her skin. “What sort of—?”

Before she could finish, his mouth found hers in the semidarkness.

There was the stillness again, that singular moment before the knife left the hand. She expected it to slip away, but it only intensified as Samuel gently coaxed her lips apart under his own.

The slide of his tongue against hers sent a delicious wave of longing coursing through her blood. He broke away to drag his mouth down her neck in scorching kisses that wrenched a breathless moan from her lips.

She could feel his hands moving over her, molding her hips, brushing her breasts. Heat gathered in her belly, then spread out through every nerve. She felt flushed to the tips of her toes. He ran his palms up her back, bringing her closer still, until their bodies were pressed together, hardness against softness. The stillness shifted, giving way to a thrilling impatience that had her shoving aside the lapels of his coat. There was still too much space between them. She’d waited so long to discover what lay beyond his wicked intent. She’d waited so long for
him
.

She wanted to be closer.

Samuel pulled back a little, his chest rising and falling hard beneath her hands. “Esther—”

Before he could say another word, she went up on her toes, gently clasped his face, and kissed him for all she was worth.

She was rewarded with a deep, masculine groan. His hands fisted into the fabric at the back of her gown a second before his mouth tore away from hers again. “I don’t mean to push—”

“I do.” She meant to push for more of him, for all of him. For everything she wanted for as long as she could have it. “Don’t stop.”

Bending closer, he moved his lips along her cheek. She could feel him smiling. “Is that an order, Esther?”

“Yes.” Absolutely, yes. “And for once, Samuel…” She turned her head, leaning into him. “Do as you’re told.”

His breath broke against her skin in a choppy laugh. The sound created an extraordinary sensation inside of her, a heady mix of power, humor, affection, and terrible need.

She nearly sighed with relief when his fingers moved to the buttons of her gown. He wasn’t stopping. She could have what she wanted.

The taffeta loosened at the shoulders, then the waist, then finally slid away to pool out at her feet.

She followed his lead, divesting him of his coat, tie, and waistcoat.

Apprehension warred briefly with desire when he removed his shirt. Even clothed, Samuel’s size could be intimidating. Now she saw the raw masculine power that lay beneath the veneer of his gentleman’s wardrobe—the muscled torso, the hard planes of his abdomen, the broad expanse of his shoulders.

And the terrible scars. Her fingers found the injuries, tracing the jagged lines, lingering at the damaged skin at his shoulder where he’d taken a bullet protecting her family.

He stood still under her ministrations, and her momentary flicker of unease was forgotten. Samuel might be clumsy with words and overbearing with his high-handed orders, but his touch was gentle and sure. He was always careful.

Emboldened, she pressed her lips to the healed wound at his shoulder. His powerful body shuddered a second before he slipped his hand around the nape of her neck and pulled her into a kiss that left them both breathless.

* * *

This is what Samuel had wanted, what he’d been waiting to offer Esther. Moonlight and dancing, soft words and romance.

Releasing her mouth, he began stripping away the remainder of her clothes, stopping to taste and touch each newly exposed inch of skin. She was soft everywhere—the slope of her shoulder, the hollow of her neck, the gentle swell of her breasts. He reveled in the feel of her against his hands and tongue, and in the delicate scent of roses, in her every gasp and shiver.

He helped her undress him, and soon only the flickering glow of lamplight played over their skin. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her across the room, but he hesitated at the edge of the bed, reluctant to break contact as she pressed soft, fleeting kisses along his neck and torso.

Then she stretched up and nibbled at his ear.

Every muscle in his body went taut with need. “God, Esther.”

He had her arranged under him on the bed before she took her next breath. For a moment, he simply closed his eyes and savored the stunning pleasure of feeling Esther’s soft naked form pressed fully against his own.