A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) (20 page)

Her arms came up to encircle him, and her fingers danced lightly at the base of his spine.

Suddenly, the need to touch, to move became undeniable. He gave in, exploring the curves and planes of her body without hurry or direction, running his hands up the tight muscles of her calves, the sensitive skin behind her knee, the inside of her thighs.

His gaze tracked down to where his big hand was splayed over her fragile rib cage. It was hard and calloused. The tanned and scarred skin stood out in stark contrast against her pale, smooth skin. Was he holding her too tightly, being too rough?

He’d always been mindful of his size, of how easily his strength could bruise or break. But the need to take care had never felt more important than it did now.

Murmuring to her softly, he eased his grip and lowered his head to her breasts. He kissed one tempting peak as his hand wandered lower to tease the soft curls between her legs. He hid a smile against her damp skin when she instinctively squeezed her legs shut.

“Let me.” He flicked his tongue over the taut nipple at his mouth, then gently sucked it between his teeth before releasing her. “Let me, sweetheart.”

She relaxed against him with a tremulous sigh, and he slipped a finger inside the soft heat of her, exploring the new territory with a patience designed to torment them both. He withdrew and pressed again, and her hips lifted beneath him in subtle encouragement.

“Sweet,” he crooned, adding a second finger. So sweet, his Esther.

She arched again, stronger this time, and her fingernails dug into his back. The bite was every bit as welcome as the sweet.

He set a gentle rhythm, sinking in and retreating, and lifted his head to watch the signs of passion play across her lovely face. Her eyes were closed, her brow furrowed in concentration, long blond lashes fanned out above her flushed cheeks. Breathy sighs broke into long moans as he increased the tempo and his thumb moved to rub the sensitive nub above his fingers. She cried out in wonder, and he did it again, and again, until she was bucking and twisting beneath him, her hands clutching at his back convulsively.

Leaning down, he whispered in her ear. “Let go, Esther.”

“I can’t… I don’t…”

“You can.”

She came apart in his arms, her entire body going impossibly tense before she sagged against him with a long, ragged exhale.

He rose above her then, shaking with the effort to be gentle. Coaxing her knees up to his hips, he pressed into her, swallowing her gasp with his mouth. He whispered her name, trailed kisses along her neck, and moved in careful, shallow strokes. Slowly, relentlessly, he courted her into accepting the full length of him.

And then he waited, petting and stroking, until she softened beneath him, the tension draining from her limbs.

Gaze fixed on her face, he withdrew and sank back in slowly, carefully gauging her reaction. When he saw no pain, only pleasure, he shut his eyes and let instinct take over.

Little by little, his control slipped away, until there was nothing left but the driving need to please her and find his own release.

Dimly, he was aware of whispering in her ear as he thrust into her welcoming heat, broken, rasping words he’d never offered another woman—promises, praise, demands.

He listened to her breathing quicken, her moans growing louder and higher in pitch. He gritted his teeth against the sharp pleasure of hearing his name spill from her lips as she tightened around him a second time. He wanted to hear it again, needed to feel it again, but he was too close to the edge. There was no turning back.

At the last second, he forced himself to withdraw and spend his passion on the white cotton sheets. The strength of his release left him shuddering for long moments after. Small tremors raced through his muscles even as he gathered Esther into his arms and tucked her head under his chin.

His last coherent thought before sleep overtook him was that she was his now, and he was hers.

And he wasn’t letting her go.

* * *

She was having an affair.

Esther smiled to herself and lightly ran her hand up Samuel’s bare chest as he slept. His heart beat strong and steady beneath her ear.

She hadn’t known it would be like this. She’d never
imagined
it could be like this. Years ago, Will Walker had paid a courtesan to explain the sexual act to Lottie in detail. Lottie had then passed the information on to Esther. Being eleven and eight years of age, respectively, the sisters had privately agreed that adults were quite vile. No one in their right mind would want to engage in such dreadful activity.

Time and age may have tempered Esther’s opinion on the matter, but she had still only expected the act to be…pleasantly exciting. Nothing more and nothing less.

She’d been undone. And, she could admit, a little overwhelmed. Perhaps even a bit frightened. Such intimacy demanded an inordinate amount of trust. More than she had expected, and far more than she would have imagined herself capable of offering.

She tipped her head up to study Samuel’s profile, and a warm sense of contentment filled her. She’d trusted Samuel because she could. He was so honorable. So clever and brave and kind. He was everything a woman could possibly want.

A fairy-tale prince. A knight in shining armor.

At the thought, her sense of contentment reshaped into a heavy, uncomfortable weight in her chest. Suddenly, she felt a bit like a thief, as if she’d taken something she hadn’t fully earned. Something she didn’t deserve and would never be able to keep. She tried to shove the feeling aside, determined not to ruin such a perfect moment. But in the still, silent night, the old doubts and fears returned unchecked.

She saw her mother, abandoning her family at every opportunity, only to return when she had nothing better to do and nowhere else to go. She remembered her father, spending time with her simply because the daughter he loved wasn’t available. She thought of every young man she’d ever flirted with in her old village and how they had walked away without a backward glance once she stopped flattering their vanity with coy smiles and pretty words.

She imagined Samuel with his future wife, that well-bred, well-behaved lady who would gladly sit at home with her needlework while Samuel went off to work. For some reason, Esther pictured the lady with dark hair curled into ringlets about a pretty, wholesome face. She’d be patient and soft spoken. Naturally, she’d be obedient. And when Samuel returned at the end of the day, she’d smile at him demurely from her seat in the lovely green chair Esther thought of as her own.

Esther was second-best. She was filler, a stand-in until something better came along, or came back. She wasn’t good enough to keep. She wasn’t worth fighting for. And whatever approval and acceptance she might garner were undeserved, and temporary.

She could and would be replaced at the earliest opportunity.

Cold from the inside out, she shifted closer to Samuel. He grumbled something in his sleep, turned over on his side, and wrapped both arms and one leg around her, dragging her to his chest.

The warmth and scent of him enveloped her, chasing away the chill and fear.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes. This was different. Samuel was different. He wasn’t her father, or mother, or a silly young lad who needed his vanity stroked.

He was his own man. And that man liked her. Not someone she was pretending to be, not a fictional woman created to hide a secret past. He liked
her
. The former criminal. The knife thrower. The woman who argued with him and irritated him, laughed and danced with him. The woman who hadn’t the foggiest notion how to stitch a sampler and wouldn’t be content to wait at home with needle and thread even if she did.

He liked her just as she was.

Feeling better, she worked her arm under his so she could clasp his back and hold him close.

Devil take his would-be future bride. The useless ninny couldn’t have him.

Earned or not, deserved or not, Samuel was hers. And she was keeping him.

* * *

Esther was not a morning person. Samuel had thought that might be the case, but his suspicions were confirmed when he rose just before dawn and tried to rouse her with a kiss before he left. Half awake, she batted him away like a sleepy, ill-tempered kitten.

Laughter rumbled in his chest. He caught her hands in his own and kissed her softly until her eyes fluttered open. She offered a drowsy smile, mumbled something incoherent, and tugged one of her hands free so she could brush her fingertips along his jaw. Then she fell right back asleep.

Four hours later, Samuel was still fighting back a grin at the memory as he climbed the front steps to his house. He’d managed to keep the smile in check while he’d gone about his business in town, but he gave up the fight the moment he stepped inside and found Esther waiting for him in the parlor.

There she was, sitting in that ridiculous green chair. God she was beautiful. Even in her severe black widow’s weeds, she was perfect.

She glanced up from the book in her hands and blushed as their eyes met from across the room. Ah, he liked that. He could get used to watching Esther color at the memory of a night spent in his arms.

“Good morning, Esther.” He could get used to saying that.

The blush faded, and she twisted her lips in mild irritation. “You went out without me. Again.”

“You were sleeping.”

“I’ve been up for over an hour,” she replied, rising. “And now—”

“And now I’m back,” he cut in and held up the hatbox he’d carried in from the carriage. “With this.”

“Another present?” She softened a little. “That wasn’t necessary.”

A new and unwelcome thought occurred to him. “I intended to purchase this yesterday. I want you to know that. It’s not because we…” He motioned in the general direction of the stairs. “It’s not for… That is…”

Laughing, she rose from her chair. “Duly noted.”

Relieved she’d not mistaken the purpose of his gift, he closed the distance between them and handed her the box. “Strictly speaking, it’s not an appropriate item for a gentleman to gift a lady.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” After a brief inspection of the box, she untied the twine and lifted the lid. She pulled out a small green bonnet he’d purchased at the shop down the street from where Esther had found the badminton set. “Oh, it’s lovely.”

He thought it a bit dark for her coloring, but what did he know of fashion?

“Green with velvet ribbons. That is what you said?” He hated to think he’d made yet another error after the debacle with the rope. “It’s the right one?”

“It is. You remembered.” She laughed a little at her comment. “You always remember. Oh, it’s perfect. Isn’t it perfect? It was made for her, really.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

She turned the bonnet in her hands to study the back. “Lottie’s hair is so silky, it slips out of its pins and the perch hats that are so fashionable, but see how this one comes down a bit farther in the back? It won’t give her nearly as much trouble. And the color will flatter her tremendously. I wish I could wear this shade of green.”

Lottie. The damned bonnet was for Esther’s sister. “I see.”

“Pity I can’t give it to her straightaway. But I don’t want her to think I’m trying to bribe her for forgiveness. I want her to enjoy… Where are you going?”

He was headed for the door. “Shopping.”

“Whatever for? Samuel, stop.” She chased after him and pulled on his arm. “I want to go to speak to the family who employed my father’s old housekeeper. I know it’s unlikely they can help, but—”

They both came to an abrupt stop as a high-pitched scream rent the air.

Samuel recognized it as Sarah’s, coming from the direction of the kitchen.

He spun on his heel, even as he pushed Esther toward the parlor. “Stay in there. Lock the doors.”

She didn’t of course—she followed his dash through the house and down the stairs. He shoved her behind him as they entered the kitchen.

Sarah stood in front of an open door that led to a shallow set of steps into the garden. She held a pair of boots in one hand and struggled to keep hold of the beast’s collar with the other.

“Sarah? What is it?” Samuel demanded. “Are you hurt?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to make such a fuss. Startled, that’s all.” Her cheeks bloomed pink with embarrassment. “I was going outside to clean me boots and…” She jerked her chin at the doorstep. “Just a dead rat, sir.”

As Sarah backed away from the door with the dog, Samuel and Esther stepped closer to investigate the admittedly rather large, but definitely very dead, rodent.

Samuel glanced over his shoulder. “You screamed because of a dead rat?” The girl was a Londoner. This couldn’t possibly be the first one she’d come across.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I stepped on it a bit. In me bare feet.”

Next to him, Esther gave a little shudder. “Ew.”

“Aye, mum.”

Samuel sighed at the dead rodent, then took a small step back as the stench of death hit him. “The beast’s doing, I presume?”

“I imagine so, sir. Third one in as many days. I don’t know where he’s finding them.”

Esther leaned a little closer, then reared back and threw her hand over her mouth and nose. “Good Lord,” she said through her fingers. “That rat has been dead for a while.”

Sarah nodded in agreement. “I think he hides them for a bit first. Then leaves ’em by the kitchen door for me to find.” She slanted the dog a look. “You’re worse’n me grannie’s cat, you are.”

The beast thumped his massive tail against the floor.

Ignoring the stench, Samuel studied the dead animal. No bite marks were discernible. The beast must have simply grabbed hold once and snapped its neck with a good shake. It made sense that the dog was the culprit, and yet…

He stepped over the rat and looked up into the garden. He’d never had problems with rats before. There’d never been any sign of them in the garden. And the signs would not have gone unnoticed in such a small space.

It was possible that a few rodents had begun working their way in from the alleyway behind the house. The garden was walled, but there was a small wooden gate in the corner. They could be digging their way under it.