A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers)

by Alissa Johnson

  Sir Gabriel Arkwright straightened his tall, lean frame and held up a familiar note. “This was unexpected.”

  “As are you.” Samuel unlocked his door and let them both in. Suddenly, the day seemed much improved. “I left that note with your housekeeper not an hour ago.”

  “Then we missed each other by thirty minutes.”

  Samuel tossed his hat and gloves on the bed and grinned at his oldest friend. “Have you been waiting outside my door like a lost pup for long?”

  “Two minutes at most,” Gabriel replied and smirked. “Were you in Miss Bales’s company for long before you came running to me for help like a frightened child?”

  “It’s been nearly a full twenty-four hours.”

  “And neither of you mortally wounded?” Gabriel gave an appreciative bob of his blond head. “Impressive.”

  Samuel certainly thought so, but it was always nice to have one’s accomplishments recognized by a friend. Or family, in this case. Gabriel was a brother to him in all but blood.

  Renderwell was family as well, but he’d been a baron when Samuel had met him, as well as Samuel’s commanding officer in the military and later with the police. When they’d left the police to become private investigators, Renderwell had naturally stepped into a leadership role. He’d been Viscount Renderwell, the Gentleman Thief Taker. Samuel and Gabriel had been his men.

  Gabriel, on the other hand, had never been Samuel’s superior. They were equals, as brothers should be.

  “I’d be glad of your assistance in this, Gabriel.”

  “You’ll have it.” Gabriel smiled pleasantly as he removed his own coat and laid it over the back of an overstuffed chair with the meticulous care of a valet. “For the next sixteen hours. I’m for Scotland in the morning. Mr. Cobb of Park Lane fears his son has set up house outside Edinburgh with an actress.”

  All of Samuel’s notions of putting a bit of space between himself and the prickly woman across the hall went up in smoke. “Put him off a week.”

  “Can’t be done.” Always impeccably groomed, Gabriel took a moment to smooth down his windblown blond hair. “He has heard talk of marriage.”

  “Hell.”

  “Do you expect Esther to be in London a week, then?”

  Not if he could help it. “That is her intention.”

  “What is she doing here?”

  “I can’t tell you.” Feeling unaccountably embarrassed, Samuel rubbed the back of his neck when Gabriel lifted his brows. “I promised.”

  “God, you and your morals,” Gabriel muttered. “Is she in some sort of trouble?”

  “Not the sort you’re imagining.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “I am. But you may ask her yourself, if you like.” Esther meant to tell her family the truth once she returned to Derbyshire. It was possible she could be convinced to tell Gabriel the truth a few days early. “Before you do, I should warn you that she’ll ask you not to send word of this to Renderwell.”

  “She expects me to lie to him?”

  “No, just keep her stay in London a secret until she returns to Derbyshire. She’ll tell him herself.”

  “I see.” Gabriel leaned against the back of the chair. “Have you agreed to this?”

  “I have.” He wasn’t given much choice in the matter but wasn’t going to admit to that. “Will you?”

  “If you think it’s for the best,” Gabriel decided after a moment’s consideration. “Renderwell won’t thank us for keeping her secret.”

  “No.” Samuel pictured Renderwell’s reaction to the news. “You might want to take your time finding Mr. Cobb’s son.”

  * * *

  Esther soaked away her irritation in an enormous cast-iron tub. She had paid extra for a private bathing room and had decided upon her first day, and first bath, that it was coin well spent. The Anthem Hotel was not particularly new or luxurious, but it had been partially renovated a year ago, and some clever soul had thought to add a water heating system to the list of improvements.

  All she need do to scrub away the stench of London was turn a knob in the wall, and out piped hot water. It was wonderful. The tub in her little cottage used an attached furnace that took nearly half an hour to heat the water. That was the sort of tub Samuel had in his room. She knew this for a fact, because that room had been offered to her upon arrival.

  He had to wait for hot water. She did not. Funny how much pleasure could be found in the little things.

  Smiling to herself, she reached over the edge of the tub to retrieve the dagger she’d left sitting on a stool. She idly turned the blade over in her hand, then tested the tip with her finger.

  She had come by her talent almost accidently at the age of ten. After reading about a knife-throwing act in the paper, she’d taken a scrap of wood and a kitchen knife and, on a whim, given the exercise a go. To her astonishment, and her father’s delight, she’d shown considerable aptitude. He’d brought her a cheap set of daggers the very next day.

  In truth, she would have continued her practice with or without his encouragement. She loved throwing daggers. She loved the weight of them in her hand, the glint of steel as a blade sailed through the air, and the way her arm ached after long hours of practice. She liked knowing she had the means to defend herself. It made her feel strong and powerful.

  But most of all, she liked the moment just before the weapon left her hand.

  In that second, that one beat of the heart, time slowed, the world went still and dim, and all her worries fell away. There was no fear, or shame, or anger. There was no thought at all. There was only her blade, a single spot in the distance and a tremendous sense of peace.

  Those fleeting seconds were one of her greatest joys. And she’d very nearly let Will Walker take it all away.

  What a fool she’d been to play the henchman in the hopes of earning his affection. There was satisfaction in seeing her dagger hit the center of a target. There was no satisfaction in seeing fear in a man’s eyes. Unless one counted the time she’d stabbed one of her brother’s kidnappers in the shoulder, but that was different. That had been necessary. It hadn’t been necessary for her to work with her father. And it hadn’t made her feel powerful. It had made her feel desperate and pitiful, just as she’d told Samuel.

  After the disastrous diamond theft and her father’s death, she’d put her blades away for a time, afraid and ashamed of what she had become.

  Then she had seen this dagger in the back of a shop in her village, and she had purchased it as an act of defiance, a way to take back something that belonged to her. Something that would always belong to her.

  Feeling much improved, she gave the dagger another twirl and set it aside.

  “Esther?” There were three quick raps on her door. “Sir Gabriel is here.”

  Esther froze. Sir Gabriel? But he wasn’t supposed to be back so soon. She hadn’t yet figured out how best to deal with him, how to explain, how to—

  “Esther?”

  She scrambled out of the tub. “A moment,” she called out, grabbing a towel on her way out of the bathing room. “Just a moment.”

  She dried herself as quickly as she could, threw on her undergarments, and pulled out a pale blue tea gown, the only concession to comfort she’d made aside from her nightgown—and the only item of dress she had that didn’t require a bustle and corset.

  “Esther?”

  “Yes. Coming.” She struggled into the gown, buttoned it in a hurry, grabbed a handful of pins, and piled her damp hair atop her head in a fashion she was sure she wouldn’t care to see in the mirror.

  Samuel’s hand was lifted for another knock when she opened the door.

  “Gentlemen.” She motioned them inside and closed the door behind them.

  The men stopped just inside the room. Four eyebrows lifted, and two pairs of eyes tracked
a bead of water that slipped down the side of her face. She wiped it away as discreetly as possible. Which, frankly, wasn’t all that discreet.

  “It is good to see you, Sir Gabriel.” Only it wasn’t, really.

  Laughing blue eyes met hers. “And you, Miss Bales.”

  “Would you care for a drink?” She gestured at the bottle of wine on the table.

  “Wouldn’t mind it. Don’t trouble yourself,” he said, stepping around her. “I’ll see to it. Samuel?”

  “Thank you, no.”

  While Gabriel busied himself at the table, Samuel leaned down and whispered in her ear, “You might have said you were indisposed.”

  “Yes, well…” She’d not thought of it. “You caught me unawares.”

  “I can see that.” He tapped a finger against her back. “You’ve buttoned your gown wrong.”

  She reached behind her. Drat, she had. She’d missed a button somewhere and now the whole thing was pulled askew.

  How was she to convince the eternally well-dressed Sir Gabriel Arkwright that she was a competent woman capable of making her own decisions while standing in an incompetently buttoned gown? With increasingly wet shoulders, she added, swiping away another trickle of water.

  It was ridiculous.

  Deciding that what he couldn’t see wouldn’t embarrass her, she sidled over to a set of armchairs in front of the hearth (ignoring Samuel’s snort of amusement) and took a seat as Gabriel returned with the drinks.

  She accepted her glass with a polite smile. “You were not expected back so soon, sir.”

  “I would have made it a point to come earlier”—he lifted his glass in a small toast—“had I known the pleasure of your company was to be found in town.”

  Such a charmer, Sir Gabriel. When he wanted to be. She’d seen him play other roles as well—the gentleman, the rake, even the simpleton when it suited his purposes. Perhaps that was why she liked him but didn’t trust him. They were too much alike.

  Gabriel settled in the seat across from her. “Would you like to tell me why the pleasure of your company is to be had in town, Miss Bales?”

  “Hasn’t Samuel told you?”

  She looked to the man in question, but he didn’t appear inclined to explain himself. He’d pulled up a chair from the table and was now staring at the carpet near her feet. No, not near her feet. At her feet. Her bare feet.

  She drew them back under her skirts and wondered why wet hair and bare toes should make her feel so exposed, as if she’d just stepped out of the bath and was still naked instead of swathed in several layers of linen, cotton, and taffeta.

  Gabriel took a sip of his drink. “Samuel thought you might prefer to tell me yourself.”

  “I see.” She debated how much to tell him, then decided it probably didn’t matter what she told him. Samuel would likely fill in whatever information she chose to leave out. “I assume you are aware that I am illegitimate?”

  “I am.”

  “I’ve come to London to find my natural father.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “I would rather not discuss the particulars.” If Samuel saw fit to share her secrets, she couldn’t stop him, but she’d not tell them herself.

  “Should I be worried about the particulars?”

  “No.” She didn’t expect him to believe her, so she gestured at Samuel with her glass. “He’ll worry about them for the both of us.”

  “He will at that,” Gabriel conceded with a small laugh. He quickly grew pensive, however. He swirled his drink lightly a moment, then set the glass aside without taking another sip. “I feel compelled to mention the obvious, Miss Bales.”

  “And that is?”

  “Some people don’t wish to be found.”

  “That has occurred to me.” How could it not, when she spent so much of her own life trying not to be found?

  “Some people also don’t deserve it,” he said and shrugged when she frowned at him. “He left you in the care of a criminal. Is such a man worth your bother?”

  “I don’t know.” She didn’t know the first thing about Mr. George Smith, other than that he might have been a grocer some years ago. “He may not have been aware that Will was a criminal. He could have thought I would have a better life with my mother.”

  Besides, it didn’t matter if her father deserved to be found or not. She wasn’t doing it for him, not entirely. She was doing it for herself.

  “There is another matter of concern,” Samuel said. “Give him the note from the young man.”

  She started to rise, then remembered her dress. “Er…”

  Her gaze shot to Samuel.

  He smiled at her. It was a perfectly ordinary, perfectly bland smile. But his gray eyes danced with unholy glee. The arse.

  She sat back down. “It is just behind you, Sir Gabriel, in the bag on the table? If you would be so kind… Thank you.”

  She retrieved the note and handed it to Gabriel. He read it over while Samuel filled him in on the events of the previous two days.

  At the end of the telling, Gabriel shook his head at Samuel. “Renderwell is going to kill you.” He swore and set the note aside. “And me.”

  “Why you?” Esther inquired.

  Samuel answered for him. “I asked Gabriel not to send word to your family.”

  Esther stared at him as a lovely warmth filled her chest. If he had come to her with flowers, chocolates, and an apology delivered in the form of a sonnet, she would not have been more shocked. Nor so touched.

  He’d asked on her behalf, knowing Gabriel would be more inclined to accept a request from a friend. He had spared her the trouble of asking, possibly the indignity of begging, for Gabriel’s silence. It had not been required of him. She had not expected it of him. He had done it of his own accord.

  The anger and wounded feelings she’d been nursing since the kiss in the carriage drained away.

  “Thank you, Samuel.”

  * * *

  Pink toes peeking out from under pale blue skirts.

  Samuel shoved the image aside and tried to concentrate on what his friend was saying. Something about his trip to the continent and… He had no idea. Not the foggiest notion. The man had been talking about his trip since they’d left Esther’s rooms almost a quarter hour ago, and Samuel couldn’t recall a single specific detail of what had been said.

  Because he couldn’t stop thinking about Esther’s feet. Her feet for Christ’s sake. The pink skin, the graceful arch of her foot, the hidden ankle just above, the smooth expanse of skin leading up to the hollow behind her knee. He’d always liked that spot. Soft and sensitive—

  “Hell, you have that look about you.”

  “Sorry? What?” He blinked at his friend. “What look?”

  “The same look Renderwell had when he was sniffing at Lottie’s heels.”

  “I’m not in love with Esther.” He was, at most, in annoyed lust with her. And it was a deviant lust at that. Feet, indeed.

  “As you like,” Gabriel replied with a smirk. He glanced at the clock. “I’ve some time to do a bit of digging tonight. I might look into this man at the station.”

  Samuel shook his head. His friend had just returned from a monthlong trip to the continent and was leaving for Scotland on the morrow. He could have one night between jobs to relax. “I’ll see to it in the morning. Let’s have a meal.”

  They got drunk instead. Well, technically, Gabriel got drunk. Samuel stopped after the second glass. He didn’t mind the dulling effects of a little drink (or a lot, when the occasion called for it), but there was Esther’s safety to consider. It was unlikely she’d be attacked in the hotel, but should the unthinkable happen, he’d just as soon not pass out on her attacker’s feet.

  Wouldn’t mind so much if it was her feet… No. No. He was not going to think about her feet.

>   What was the point? It was unlikely he’d get another look at them. Unless she had a mind to take off her slippers before she kicked him.

  It was possible he deserved a kick. It was possible he’d been hasty in his decision not to put the blame of their disagreement solely on his shoulders. He did have a tendency to make hasty judgments.

  “You’ve that look again,” Gabriel said to him—or slurred at him, really. The man was truly sotted, slouched like a half-filled sack of potatoes in his seat.

  Samuel started to deny the accusation, then decided against it. What was the good of having a brother, after all, if one couldn’t confide in him?

  “I kissed Esther,” he admitted and frowned at his empty glass. “She didn’t care for it.”

  “Women…” Gabriel began knowingly. He swung his glass around, looking as if he meant to follow up that comment with a poignant observation or two on the more aggravating qualities of the fairer sex. Somewhere after the third or fourth swing, he appeared to have forgotten what he was on about. “They smell like sugar biscuits sometimes. Quite like that.”

  Something of a non sequitur, but Samuel couldn’t argue with fact. He liked the smell of sugar biscuits, too. “Esther smells like roses.”

  He liked that even better.

  “Isn’t roses. Pa’onies.”

  “Ponies?” He sincerely hoped the man wasn’t implying that Esther smelled like a horse. He wasn’t drunk, but he was exceedingly comfortable in his chair. He didn’t feel like standing up to punch his friend.

  “Not ponies. Peonies,” Gabriel corrected, overenunciating the word. “The flower.”

  “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “You’ve seen them. Enormous, fluffy things.” He made an indecipherable shape with his hands. “Like puffed up roses. She smells like those.”

  “Like puffy roses?”

  “Not roses. Peonies. Different species, man.” He frowned drunkenly into his glass. “Is it species with flowers? Or breeds. Maybe it’s family.”

  “Species, I think. Could be subspecies.” Neither of them had excelled in biology. “Doesn’t matter. Esther smells like roses.”