She glowered at it. Then she headed for the exit on her own.
Samuel fell into step beside her, and to her chagrin, his large hand came up to settle lightly at the small of her back, herding her out of the station and to a public hackney.
“I’ve rooms at the Anthem Hotel,” she told him.
He didn’t comment. Instead, he simply assisted her inside the carriage, spoke to the driver briefly, then climbed in after her.
The instant the door was closed and the curtains drawn, Esther lifted the stifling crepe veil and scowled at him. “How the devil did you find me?”
“I followed you.”
“What? All the way from Derbyshire?”
“No, I tracked you from Derbyshire.” The carriage started with a soft jolt and he pulled back the edge of a curtain for a glimpse outside. “I followed you from your hotel.”
“How did you know where I was staying?” It might have been easy to find out that she’d boarded a train headed for London the day before yesterday, but he couldn’t have known where she’d gone after that.
“London has a finite number of hotels.”
As finite didn’t necessarily mean small, she decided not to ask how long he’d been looking. “You shouldn’t have come after me.”
“I had no choice.” He let the curtain fall back into place. “You snuck away in the dead of night.”
“What rot. I departed from my own home at half past five in the morning in full view of my staff.” That wasn’t anywhere near the same thing as sneaking.
“You sent no word to your family.”
“Nor was I obligated to do so.” Her brother, Peter, was sixteen years old and away at school, and her older sister, Lottie, was traveling with her husband, Viscount Renderwell, in Scotland. It wasn’t as if they might pay an unexpected call upon her little cottage and be shocked to find her missing.
“They’ll worry,” Samuel said. “London isn’t safe for you.”
She didn’t need him to point that out. “Of course they’ll worry. That’s why I didn’t send word. And neither will you. You’ll keep this to yourself.”
“Lottie has a right to know.”
“She does not. Lottie is my sister, not my mother. I am twenty-eight years of age. I keep my own house and I may take leave of it anytime I please.” She gave him a taunting smile. “I may even sneak out of it if I like.”
* * *
Samuel studied the small woman sitting across from him. She wasn’t beautiful by traditional standards, but the flaxen hair, heart-shaped face, ivory skin, and wide blue eyes lent her an air of angelic innocence. An impression that was otherwise wholly undeserved.
Miss Esther Bales, formally Walker, was the youngest daughter of the late William Walker, one of England’s most infamous criminals until Scotland Yard had tracked him down thirteen years ago. Confronted with evidence of his crimes, Walker had agreed to turn informant in exchange for his freedom and a chance at redemption.
Only he’d not given up his old life. Will Walker had kept up his criminal activities in secret, and Esther had helped him.
Though he suspected she’d be surprised to hear it, Samuel didn’t hold it against her. She’d been hardly more than a girl at the time. He didn’t fault her for foolishly trying to help her bastard of a father. Moreover, he believed she regretted it.
No, it wasn’t Esther’s past as Will Walker’s daughter that drew his ire. It was her stubborn refusal to become anything more, anything better, anything other than Will Walker’s daughter.
Esther cocked her head at him. “If you think to unnerve me by staring at me for the whole of our trip, you are bound for disappointment.”
He rather doubted she’d have mentioned his staring if it didn’t unnerve her. To test his theory, he sat back against the thin cushions of the bench and went right on staring.
She folded her arms across her chest and stared right back.
She had spine, he’d give her that.
It was tempting to see how long she could hold out, but a battle of wills fought in silence wasn’t in his best interest. He wanted answers. “Who was the man at the station?”
She matched his clipped tone. “I honestly do not know.”
“Why did you come to London?”
“I’ve already answered that.”
“No, you refused to answer.”
“No, my answer did not meet with your satisfaction, but that is your misfortune, not mine.”
Samuel was not a man given to speeches, even small ones. He preferred an economy of words over lengthy discourse. In fact, sometimes a simple grunt was sufficient to get one’s point across. But there were times when nothing short of a lecture would do.
“You wish to speak of misfortune, Esther? Then let us speak of the misfortunes you court in coming to London. Nine years ago, your family was forced to leave town under assumed names in order to hide from men who might strike at you in revenge against your father. Last year, one of those men found you, nearly killed you and your sister in a stable fire, shot me in the shoulder, and kidnapped your brother.”
Esther did not appear to appreciate his oratory efforts.
“Heavens, I’d quite forgotten,” she drawled in a voice that could only be described as sweetly caustic. “Thank goodness you are here to remind me of all the little details of my life.”
God, she was 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 or 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, and regarded 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.
When she didn’t immediately reach for her weapons, he looked up again and discovered that, 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.
He released her hand 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. “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 had her perking 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, 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 a woman like Esther 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. 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 of it. And damned if he had to haul the dratted 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?”
He growled at her, because sometimes a grunt wouldn’t suffice.
She reached out, grabbed the handle, and closed the door in his face.
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.”
Two
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 been 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 with gleaming white teeth 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 your 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, silvered-haired housekeeper, Mrs. Lanchor, glaring at him from the 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. It was where he ate, slept, and sometimes worked, but it was not his home.
He had a 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 home, 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.
He could take his staff to Cheshire permanently. Mrs. Lanchor was fond of the area. She’d grown up in 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.
Maybe…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.”
“It was a decade ago,” he said. In truth, it had scarcely been more than nine years, but a decade sounded better.
Esther seemed to think so, as well. “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 as a client who prefers to conduct business in secrecy, 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.”
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.
A Talent for Trickery Page 32