A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) (2 page)

God, she was infuriating. “Esther—”

“You’re rather like my very own talking diary.”

Truly, truly infuriating. “If you don’t wish to be spoken to like a fool, don’t act like one.”

She rolled her eyes at that and half stood in the carriage as if to knock on the ceiling. “Oh, this is all quite pointless. I’m leaving.”

Leaning forward, he caught her fist before it could connect. “Sit down.”

She went utterly still but for a gentle sway in time with the rolling carriage. She didn’t struggle, shout, or try to pull her hand away. She didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. She simply remained as she was, so close he could smell the rose-scented soap on her skin, watching him through cool blue eyes.

“Let go of me.”

There wasn’t a trace of anger or fear in her voice. It was low and steady and, like the rest of her, perfectly calm. Unnaturally calm. Like the eerie quiet before a storm.

Samuel risked a quick glance at the hem of her skirts. She likely had at least one dagger strapped to her ankle. Her father’s favorite role for her had been that of henchman. She was slight of build, hardly his match in strength, but she was skilled with her blades, and she was damned quick.

When she didn’t immediately reach for her weapons, he looked up again. Although her expression remained devoid of any emotion, an unsettling shadow had fallen over her pretty blue eyes.

“I am not going to stab you,” she said quietly.

He wasn’t sure why he felt like a brute all of a sudden, as if he’d bruised her somehow.

It was the difference in their sizes, he decided. Her hand felt small and fragile enveloped in his. He released it with more care than was probably necessary. “Take your seat. We’re almost there.”

She sat down slowly and with a subdued air about her that he found as unsettling as the shadow in her gaze. “My hotel is at least another ten minutes away. I would prefer to procure my own transport.”

“We’re not going to your hotel.”

That announcement perked her up a little. “You cannot mean to take me all the way to Derbyshire in a public hackney.”

“We’re not going to Derbyshire. My house is in Belgravia.” On the very, very uttermost edge of it, which was the only slice of Belgravia he could afford without begrudging the cost. He’d just as soon live elsewhere, frankly. But his work sometimes required he entertain clientele at his home, and his clientele were the sort of men and women who expected to be entertained in homes with fashionable addresses.

“Why are we going to your house?”

“I imagine you can figure that out. I’ll send someone to the hotel for your things.”

Now she looked quite like her bristly self again. “No. Absolutely not. I am not staying with you. It isn’t decent.”

“Isn’t
decent
?” Of all the arguments an unmarried woman dressed in widow’s weeds might produce “it isn’t decent” had to be among the most absurd. “You cannot be serious.”

“I’ll not be a source of gossip for your staff.”

“We’ll tell them you’re my cousin.”

“People marry their cousins.”

“Then we’ll tell them you’re a client.” She wouldn’t be the first individual with an assumed name to spend time under his roof. Granted, she’d be the first woman to do so, but his servants were accustomed to the peculiar necessities of his work. Not one of them would bat an eye at her presence, nor breathe a word of it outside of the house. He had chosen each member of his staff with extraordinary care.

“Do your female clients often spend the night?”

He almost told her yes, just to put an end to the argument. And he very much wanted this argument to end, as the carriage was already rolling to a stop in front of his house. But the lie would probably bring him more grief than it was worth.

“What does it matter what my staff thinks?” he asked. “You’ll never see them again.”

“It isn’t just your staff. Lottie will find out. And so will Peter. Lord knows you’ll tell Renderwell and Gabriel. And Renderwell’s sisters might hear of it, which means his mother certainly will, and she’ll tell everyone in the village and—”

“All right, all right.” Bloody hell. “I’ll take you to the hotel after I’m done here.”

He imagined that, given the circumstances, Esther’s immediate family wouldn’t much care that she’d spent the night under his roof, but he couldn’t be absolutely certain. And damned if he had to haul the woman all the way back to Derbyshire, only to be subjected to a lecture on decorum from the Walkers, of all people, for his troubles.

Resigned, he threw open the carriage door, hopped down, and offered Esther his hand.

She wouldn’t take it. “I am not going in with you.”

“Fine. Keep the doors shut and the curtains drawn. If you attempt to run off, I will return you to your family trussed up like a duck.”

She gave him a pretty smile. “What if I’ve a mind to run off to Derbyshire?” Then she reached out, grabbed the handle, and closed the door in his face.

Samuel growled at the carriage door. Sometimes, when it came to Esther, a grunt simply wouldn’t suffice.

He wasn’t particularly worried that Esther might try to run away. If she wanted to escape, she’d have tried at the station. Still, he thought it prudent to flip the driver an extra coin.

“Wait here.” He thought about it, then added another coin. “Ignore everything the lady tells you.”

There had been a time, not so very long ago, when Samuel could expect to be greeted at his door by one of his maids. She would take his coat and hat, make polite inquiries after his day, and inform him that all was well in the house. Then he’d be left alone to go about his business in peace.

Oh, how he missed those times.

There was no one waiting for him in the foyer that evening. He tossed his hat and gloves on a side table and winced when a great crash arose from the other end of the house. It was followed by a feminine shriek, another crash, and then a cacophony of angry voices, slamming doors, and pounding footsteps.

Within seconds, a shaggy gray beast, its teeth bared and gleaming white, tore into the foyer. It reared up and planted two hulking paws on Samuel’s chest, knocking him back a solid foot. Samuel stumbled to the left. The beast slipped, stumbled to the right, and slammed into the side table, sending the hat and gloves toppling to the floor, along with an expensive vase that shattered against the tiles.

Undeterred, the beast gathered itself and launched a second attack.

“Off, you sodding beast! Off—” Samuel was forced to snap his mouth shut when a great, wet plank of a tongue lapped at his face.

Swearing silently, he threw an arm around the animal’s shoulders and managed to wrestle it to the ground just as a young maid came hurrying into the room carrying a lead. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry. He got away from me.”

Samuel scrubbed his sleeve over his face as the girl struggled to slip the lead around what was, at best guess, an ill-advised cross between an average Irish wolfhound and an exuberant hippopotamus. “Quite all right, Sarah.”

Sarah dodged a series of desperately happy tongue laps. “Gor, it’s like wrestling a ship of the line.” She dipped her hand in her apron pocket and pulled out a sizable chunk of bread. “Here now, beastie. Look what I have. Look. Wouldn’t you like a taste of this?”

The beastie would, indeed. He ceased his squirming and gobbled up the treat while Sarah attached the lead. “There we are, nothing to it.”

Brushing off his trousers, Samuel gained his feet and discovered his stout, silver-haired housekeeper, Mrs. Lanchor, glaring at him from across the foyer. “Sir Samuel, this animal is out of control.”

He spat out a piece of dog hair as discreetly as possible. “He’s just excitable.”

“A Pekingese is excitable. This dog is deranged.”

Samuel glanced down at the wild, gleeful amber eyes and lolling tongue. A thick glob of food-laden slobber gathered at the edge of the dog’s mouth, then made a slow but steady descent toward the floor. Mrs. Lanchor could be right. “He’s young, and this is all new to him yet.”

“He has been here two weeks.”

Was that all? He looked at the jagged remains of the vase. The second in four days. “He’ll calm with age. Take him into the garden.”

“With age?” Mrs. Lanchor planted her hands on her hips. “We cannot have this sort of nonsense going on for years. What if you’d had a guest with you? What if he leaps upon a young lady? What if—?”

“I’ll continue to work with him. The garden, please, Mrs. Lanchor,” he repeated as he headed for the stairs. “I’m in a hurry.”

He pretended not to hear Mrs. Lanchor’s final, dire warnings on the perils of keeping dangerous animals in one’s home.

The dog was undisciplined, not a danger. Well, not the sort of danger she was implying. Besides, this wasn’t his home. It was merely a house Renderwell had insisted he buy six years ago and pay a decorator a small (and in Samuel’s opinion, wasted) fortune to outfit in the manner befitting a fashionable gentleman. It was where he ate, slept, and sometimes worked, but it was not his home.

Home was his modest country house in Cheshire, decorated in the comfortable style he preferred—lots of dark colors and solid furniture. It had a generous garden and plenty of land on which to roam. That was where he felt most at peace, and where he had been spending more and more of his time lately. Particularly since Renderwell had taken up permanent residence at Greenly House in Derbyshire, a mere twenty miles away.

Maybe he’d retire, as Renderwell had last year. He had more than enough funds to live on comfortably for the rest of his life. Gabriel could buy out his portion of the business, if he liked. The idea had its merits. Mrs. Lanchor was fond of the area. She’d grown up in a nearby village. And the beast would enjoy the space, the freedom. It wasn’t fair to confine a dog of that size to a garden with the diameter of a dinner plate.

Yes, maybe he would retire.

If he survived the next twelve hours with Esther Walker-Bales.

* * *

Five minutes later, Samuel tossed a valise onto the carriage floor and took his seat across from Esther.

Eleven hours, fifty-five minutes to go.

She scowled at the bag at her feet. “What is that?”

Assuming the question was rhetorical—anyone could see it was a valise—he didn’t bother with an answer.

She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Where are you going, Samuel?”

“To your hotel.”

“To…? No. You cannot stay with me. That is worse than me staying with you.”

“I’ll obtain my own rooms.” Next to hers, if he could manage it. He wondered if he should try for adjoining rooms, or if that would be
indecent
.

“People will see if you come knocking on my door.”

He shrugged. “People will assume I desire a word with my sister.”

“You cannot tell the hotel I’m your sister. You don’t have a sister.”

“I do tonight.”

She cast her gaze up as if to beg for patience. “Samuel, be reasonable. Everyone in London knows who you are, and everyone knows you do not have a sister.”

“I’m not as famous as you seem to think.”

“Yes, you are. Lottie said you and Gabriel and Renderwell became tremendous sensations for rescuing Lady Strale.”

Samuel considered his next words carefully. That rescue was a sensitive, even volatile, subject for the Walker family. He, along with Gabriel and Renderwell, had received accolades for their roles in saving the kidnapped duchess, but it had been Will Walker who had gone into a thieves’ den and carried the unconscious woman to freedom. And it had been Will Walker who had gotten himself mortally wounded in the process. Presumably he’d played the hero to atone for the fact that he had also played a part in the duchess’s kidnapping, however unknowing. He’d only meant to steal the Strale diamonds off her person at a ball, but his accomplice had run off with the woman herself.

Their
accomplice, he corrected. Esther had been at that ball. She’d helped her father.

Whatever his reasons had been for sacrificing himself, however, Will Walker had saved the woman in the end. Unfortunately, the police couldn’t admit to having worked with a known criminal, and the ensuing fame would have put the Walker children at risk. It had been decided that Will Walker should be buried in an unmarked grave in Brookwood Cemetery. His last, and likely only, heroic deed would remain a secret to all but a handful of people.

The Walker children had not been happy with the decision. They’d changed their name to Bales, moved to Norfolk, and cut off all contact with Samuel and his friends until last year. “It was a decade ago,” he said now. It had scarcely been more than nine years, but a decade sounded better.

“People still recognize you, I’m sure.”

“I’m not being stopped in the street by strangers.” Not anymore, thank God.

“The concierge will recognize your name at the very least.”

“I’ll use an alias.”

“And if he recognizes you on sight?” she asked. “He’ll know you’re lying.”

“He will assume I’ve either taken on a widow who prefers to conduct business in secrecy as a client, or…”

“Or what?” she asked warily.

He probably shouldn’t have mentioned the “or.” “Or he will assume I have taken on a widow who prefers to conduct a different sort of business in secrecy.”

“Oh
God
.”

“It’s a hotel. It won’t shock him. And your family will be satisfied if we have separate rooms.” They had damned well better be.

“It will draw attention to me.”

“You drew attention to yourself in coming to London.”

“I am aware of the risks,” she snapped. “I have taken every precaution—”

“The best precaution would have been to stay out of London altogether.”

She pressed her lips together in frustration. “We will not agree on this.”

“No.”

He didn’t expect that to stop her. Esther struck him as the kind of woman who would argue with an empty room until she was blue in the face. He was a little surprised, then, when she sat back against the bench cushions, crossed her arms over her chest, and flatly refused to say another word.

Very well—if she wanted to pout for the duration of their carriage ride, she could pout. They’d discuss her trip to London, and her immediate return to Derbyshire, once they reached the hotel.

* * *

Esther wasn’t pouting. She was thinking. And also ignoring Samuel, but only because that made it easier to think.

More than anything right now, she needed to be sensible. She had planned the trip to London with extraordinary care, paying meticulous attention to every detail. If she let her temper get the better of her now, all that hard work and preparation might come to nothing.

Yes, Samuel was a presumptuous, maddening, dictatorial arse.

No, she would not boot him from a moving carriage. Or, more realistically, give him the slip when they reached the hotel.

It would be tantamount to cutting off her nose to spite her face. Because despite all that careful planning, things had spiraled out of control rather quickly since she’d come to London. And Samuel might be just the presumptuous arse she needed to set things right again.

For all his many, many unfavorable qualities, he remained a clever, well-connected gentleman accustomed to working in secrecy. And he was a man she could trust. Not unequivocally—she didn’t trust any man unequivocally—but she was fairly confident that he was, in a general sense, a reasonably decent human being. It was more than could be said of most people.

Furthermore, she was stuck with him. She simply didn’t have the time or resources to engage in a game of cat and mouse with the man. Trustworthy or not, welcome or not, Samuel was staying. That being the case, he might as well be of some use.

She was putting the finishing touches on her plans of how best to utilize his presence when they reached the hotel. Esther allowed Samuel to assist her from the carriage but left him to secure rooms on his own. She had no interest in being subjected to the staff’s knowing smirks.

Inside her own rooms, she yanked off the loathsome mourning bonnet and tossed it aside. She wished she could change out of the itchy crepe dress as well and into her soft cotton nightgown. It wasn’t quite seven, but she would have given nearly anything just then to crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

Instead, she used the few moments of solitude to practice what she wanted to say to Samuel, then took a series of deep, steadying breaths to settle what remained of her temper. When Samuel knocked softly on her door a few minutes later, she was ready to have a civil, rational conversation with the man.

“It’s open,” she called out.

Samuel locked the door behind him and gave her a look of reproof. “It shouldn’t have been open.”

“I knew you were coming.”

He removed his hat and tossed it on a chair. “So you’re talking to me now?”

“I wasn’t being quiet to punish you.” That had merely been a happy coincidence. “I needed to think.”

“Fine. Now I need you to talk.”

“Very well,” she said but offered no other response. She would let him talk first. It would give him a sense of control, which every man desired, and it would give her a sense of what cards he might be holding.

He gestured toward the door. “I’ve ordered a meal for us.”

Not a promising hand, Sir Samuel.
“Thank you.”

Then he gestured toward a set of armchairs. “Will you sit?”

“Thank you, no.” If she sat, and he didn’t, it would put him in a position of power. He already towered over her by a solid foot—no point in making it three. “But you may sit, if you like.”

“No.” He caught his hands behind his back, the dark fabric of his coat pulling across broad, muscular shoulders. “To business, then. I’ve a compromise to offer, Esther.”

Well, it appeared he had been making plans of his own. “I am all ears.”

“If you will agree to leave London first thing tomorrow, I will promise to keep this little excursion a secret from your family.”

And that, she thought, was why she trusted Samuel and even liked him on occasion. Another man would continue to demand to know, first and foremost, what she was doing in London. Samuel sought first to secure her safety, and through compromise no less. His approach did not meet her needs, unfortunately, but she appreciated his choice of priorities nonetheless.

“That is a reasonable offer,” she returned, “but I’m afraid there is no benefit in it for me. I have every intention of informing Lottie of my trip upon my return.”

“Have you?”

“Of course. The purpose of my secrecy is not to deceive my family. It is to keep them from worry, which they’ll not do once I am safely back in Derbyshire.” She held up a hand when it looked as if he might argue. “I have another suggestion. I will allow you to aid me in my purpose in coming to London, thereby speeding its conclusion. In exchange, you will promise not to send word to my family—or Sir Gabriel or Lord Renderwell.”

“Gabriel will be back in town in a little over two days.”

“Well, with any luck, my business will be done by then.” Oh, she hoped she would be that lucky. She liked Samuel’s fellow private investigator Gabriel even more than she liked Samuel, but she trusted him far less.

“What is your business?”

“Promise first.”

He shook his head. “Tell me what you are doing in London, and who that young man we saw today is, and I will consider keeping your confidence whilst you’re here.”

“That is not—”