“Good Lord, Esther.”
“I wasn’t attempting to swindle the man,” she replied defensively. “He made the assumption, and I could hardly stand there in widow’s weeds and correct him, could I? I tried to pay for the rope. He wouldn’t take it.” She snatched the rope back. “Do you wish to play or not?”
As she likely overpaid for the “badminton” set several dozen times over what the rope (and possibly the set) was worth, Samuel didn’t see the point in pursuing the matter. “This hotel doesn’t have a garden.”
“I know. We are going to play in Hyde Park.”
“No, we are not.”
“But we’ve an hour or two of light left yet and—”
“You can play this game in Derbyshire.”
“But I can’t play in Hyde Park in Derbyshire.” She sat back on her heels and looked up at him. “I am in London for the first time in nine years, and once I leave, I will likely never have the opportunity to return. I’ll never be able to go to the opera, or the theater, or a ball, or do any of the exciting things I spoke of before. But I can play badminton in a secluded spot in an enormous park where no one will see and bother us.” She gave him a pleading look. “Please, come play with me.”
Please, come play with me.
How could a man, any man, hear those five words from a beautiful woman and say no?
A man should say no. A properly responsible gentleman would say no. Only a fool would say yes.
“Fetch your bonnet.”
Twenty minutes later, Samuel found himself with Esther in Hyde Park. He chose their spot with great care. Leaving Michael, the driver, to wait on the road, he led Esther through a thick stand of trees to a relatively open area that was sufficiently far from the road to shield them from view.
“We can’t play here,” Esther said when they stopped. “There are too many trees.”
“We’ll play around them. We can’t be in the open, Esther.”
“But… Oh, I suppose you’re right.” She patted the trunk of an ancient oak with one hand while she lifted her veil with the other. “They’ll add challenge.”
“Put your veil down.”
“I can’t play with the veil. I can’t see properly.” She looked around at their surroundings. “We’re nowhere near a road or path, Samuel. I’m no more likely to be seen here than I am sitting in the hotel, where some forgetful maid might waltz in without knocking. But…” She pulled the sides of the veil down along the wide brim of her bonnet, leaving only the very front tucked up. “How’s this?”
He considered it. The veil fell around her like a curtain, effectively obscuring her face from almost every angle. A person would have to be directly in front of her, and as near to her as he was now, to make out her features. She could easily pull the rest of the crepe down long before someone got that close. It would do.
She pointed a finger at him before he could agree, however. “I compromised on the trees. You can compromise on the veil.”
He grunted.
“And you can do it a bit more cheerfully.” She gave a little sniff. “I compromised quite gracefully.”
He ignored this, because some comments weren’t even worth the effort of a grunt, and turned his attention to setting up the game. With Esther’s rather exacting guidance, two trees were selected and the rope strung between them, creating a line about five feet off the ground and seven feet across.
Esther handed him a racquet and took her place on the other side of the rope. “Ready?”
He felt perfectly ridiculous, standing in the woods in front of a rope, as if he were a child engaging in an invented game. But it was worth the discomfort to see the smile of anticipation on Esther’s face. She looked relaxed and happy, and utterly beautiful. The late sunlight wove strands of deep gold in her hair and caught flecks of amber in her blue eyes. A breeze caught a lock of hair and slipped it free of its pins. Her dark widow’s weeds might look out of place among the lush green of the woods, but Esther didn’t. She belonged here, he realized. For all that she might enjoy visiting a city like London, at the end of the day, she belonged in the country, out-of-doors, in the fresh air, and far away from the prying eyes and strict rules of British society.
There was loneliness and boredom in isolation, but there was freedom as well. A woman like Esther needed that freedom. Just as he did.
“Everything all right?” she called out.
“What? Yes. Quite.” He shook off his musings and motioned for her to start the game. “Ready.”
She tossed the shuttlecock into the air, hopped up, and gave it a solid whack, sending it over the top edge of the rope and right past Samuel into the ground.
“Oh, point for me,” she cried. “I like this game.”
“Are there points?”
“I’ve no idea. There must be, I should think. Else the game would go on forever.” She scrunched her face up in thought. “Shall we play to twenty?”
“Fifteen.” He retrieved the shuttlecock and passed it under the rope. “We haven’t much light left.”
“You’ll change your mind once I’ve arrived at fifteen without you. At this rate, it shouldn’t take more than a minute,” she teased, tossing the shuttlecock in the air for another volley.
He was ready this time. One quick step to the left and he sent the shuttlecock back over the net in a high arc. It went sailing a good six feet over Esther’s head and landed a solid ten yards behind her.
“Point for me.” He shrugged at her shocked expression and decided he might just enjoy this game. “You said there were no rules.”
“You play dirty, Sir Samuel.” A smile of unholy delight spread slowly across her pretty features. “Excellent. So do I.”
* * *
Esther ceded the point but insisted they mark out a rudimentary field of play before continuing the game. They used trees as boundary markers and decided to make up any additional rules as needed.
Additional rules were most definitely needed. They started out relatively sensible, but as the game progressed, they grew increasingly creative, then a bit silly, and finally, utterly absurd.
One point for a hit over the net and past an opponent within the set boundaries, two points if one used a hand instead of the racquet. An additional half point was granted if one managed to score by hitting the shuttlecock after it bounced off a tree. One point was subtracted for bouncing the shuttlecock off an opponent. This she successfully argued down to three quarters of a point in her case, as he was by far the larger target. But they both agreed that two and a half points should be subtracted if either one of them jumped in front of the projectile on purpose.
And still, they played dirty. She feigned a twisted ankle and leaped up from her injury to deliver a scoring hit when he rushed to help. He feigned a hard hit, then scored himself after she ran off into the bramble in search of the shuttlecock he’d palmed.
They argued good-naturedly over boundary lines, stumbled over roots, had several near collisions with the trees, and nearly brought the rope down on several occasions after it was agreed that he could reach over it, so long as she could reach under.
The game was, by any standard, a complete disaster.
And Esther loved every minute of it. Every preposterous, ridiculous minute. She couldn’t remember ever laughing so hard, couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so carefree, so unguarded in someone else’s presence.
She ought to feel a fool, lunging about in the woods, swinging wildly, and missing more than half the time. But she didn’t feel the least bit embarrassed.
That was Samuel’s doing. When she’d suggested the trip to the park, it had been with the intention of coaxing Samuel out of his temper. He was such a reserved man, so proud and stodgy, she assumed the process would be akin to prying out a bad tooth.
To her astonishment, Samuel engaged himself in the exercise w
ithout resistance. He played with a disarming balance of childlike abandonment and adult perspective. He played with just enough competitiveness to keep the game challenging but didn’t seem to care who actually won. He ceded points she didn’t deserve and argued for points he didn’t need. He lunged and dove and swung without any apparent self-consciousness. He laughed at himself freely and at her without spite. Not once did she feel as if he was judging either of them for their foolishness, not even when they had to stop the game to disentangle the top of her bonnet from a low branch of an evergreen.
He simply enjoyed himself in the moment, and that gave her the confidence and freedom to set aside old inhibitions, old fears of being judged and found lacking, and do the same.
She lost track of the points and time. They played until the golden light of late afternoon dimmed into the blue light of dusk and then the grainy gray of early evening. Until they could no longer see the rope between them. And she hoped it would never end.
* * *
“Enough.” Samuel raised both hands before Esther could launch her next serve. “Enough. We’re done.”
“One more round.”
He shook his head and squinted across the rope. “We’ve lost too much light. I can scarcely see you in that damned black dress.”
“Oh, but—”
“We’ll play another time.”
In Derbyshire, he decided. He’d like that. He’d like to see Esther wearing a cheerful gown, laughing and playing in a grassy field in the bright light of day.
“Promise?”
“Gladly.”
“All right then.” She twirled her racquet as he headed to the knotted rope. “I knew these would be fun. That’s why I went in the shop when I knew I shouldn’t. I just knew they were worth it. I wanted to go into a shop farther down the street as well. There was the prettiest emerald green bonnet with matching velvet ribbons in the window. It was perfect. Just perfect. But I thought I shouldn’t—”
Samuel heard the crack of brush beneath feet a split second before the attack. Three men rushed them, barging in from the darkened woods with their heads down like charging bulls. The first caught Samuel around the shoulders and knocked him back.
They staggered into the rope, snapping it in half. Samuel used the momentum to his advantage, twisting around, planting his feet, and bending at the waist to throw the man up and over his shoulder.
He straightened in time to see one of Esther’s daggers streak past him, the steel blade glinting in a shaft of light. Samuel heard a shriek of pain and saw one man stumble back.
“Ahhh! Me leg!”
As the wounded man retreated back into the woods, Samuel turned to find Esther but didn’t immediately see her. “Esther, run!”
He reached for the gun at his waist, but the extra second he’d taken to look for Esther was all the time his opponent needed to regain his feet. He threw a hard right jab and Samuel blocked it, caught the man’s wrist, and did a quick side step. He twisted his assailant’s arm around his back, yanked up, and heard the audible pop of bone separating from socket.
Screaming, the man kicked out behind him, forcing Samuel to release him and jump back.
Desperate to find Esther, Samuel looked away again and saw the dim outline of two forms struggling on the ground a few yards away.
Fury washed over him. When the man advanced on him again, swinging wildly with his good arm, Samuel knocked the attack away, balled up his fist, and let fly. The force of the blow snapped his opponent’s head back and sent him reeling, but Samuel caught him by the lapels of his coat, jerked him forward again, and brought his own head down for a quick but efficient head butt. The man crumpled to the ground and stayed there.
Samuel didn’t spare him another thought. He turned to Esther in time to see her attacker roll off of her, his hands covering his groin. “You bitch!”
Esther scrambled to her feet and lifted her skirts to reach for her second dagger, but the man recovered and reached into his coat at the same time.
The man was close enough for Samuel to charge, but Esther was closer. He lunged for her, putting himself between her and the assailant. Throwing an arm around her waist, he lifted her off her feet just as the sharp retort of gunfire rent the air. He ignored a sharp sting at his cheek and half carried, half dragged Esther to the nearest large tree. He shoved her behind it and pinned her to the bark, using his larger frame as a shield.
“My blade.” Esther twisted against him. “I have another blade. If I can—”
“I have a gun.” He covered her head with his arm. “Stay still.”
Samuel pulled out his pistol, aimed around the tree without looking, and fired off a shot before the man got it in his head to flank them.
The man swore, out of anger rather than injury by the sound of it.
“This ain’t over! You hear me, bitch? This ain’t over!” There was more swearing, then a groan. “Get up. Come on. Get up!”
Carefully, Samuel risked a peek around the tree. He could just make out the form of the gunman hauling his fallen companion to his feet. Wishing he had Gabriel’s perfect aim, he lifted his pistol again but was forced to duck for cover once more when his adversary shot blindly toward the trees, as he dragged his friend into the darkness.
Leaves and bramble crunched loudly underfoot then faded, leaving only the sound of Esther’s ragged breathing mingled with his own.
He pulled back a little so he could run his hands over her, searching for injuries. “Are you hurt? Esther, are you hurt anywhere?”
“No. No.” Her own hands came up to his shoulders. “You?”
“No. You’re certain?”
“Yes, I—”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her away from their shelter, hauling her through the trees at a run. He’d rather track the men, but getting Esther to safety was his first priority.
Michael met them at the edge of the woods, a pistol in his hands. “Sir Samuel? Are you injured? I heard shots.”
“Up top. Now. Go, man.”
He yanked open the carriage door and shoved Esther inside. “Keep your head down.”
“I don’t think they’re following—”
“Keep it down,” he snapped and slammed the door shut.
Atop the carriage, Michael handed him the reins without a word.
Samuel drove them away from the park. Keeping to wide, well-lit streets, he wound the carriage around Mayfair, while Michael kept his pistol handy and an eye out for any sign they were being followed.
When he was absolutely certain there was no one trailing them, Samuel stopped the carriage, gave the reins back to Michael, and joined Esther inside.
He took a seat across from her, then lighted the lamp and took careful stock of her condition. Her bonnet was gone, her blond hair was slipping from its pins, and her gown was torn and muddy, but she looked otherwise unharmed. Except, there was something amiss with her eyes. They latched on to his and grew abnormally round.
“Oh my,” she chirped.
Alarmed, he leaned forward. “What? What’s the matter?”
They grew rounder still. “Oh dear.”
“What is it?” His heart beat out a hard, angry rhythm. “Are you injured?” Had they missed a wound or…
“No. It’s only… Your… Er…” She waved her hand over the bottom half of her face. “Your beard is… Um…” A nervous giggle emerged. Then another. “I think it’s been shot.”
He reached up and felt the damaged skin and hair.
It bloody well had been.
“You’re bleeding,” Esther said. “Is it serious?”
Disgusted, he sat back again. “No, it’s a damned scratch.”
“You’re certain?” She reached out with a trembling hand and used one finger to gently turn his head. “So it is.” Her nervous giggle returned, the sound at odds with her a
shen complexion.
“Are you all right, Esther?”
“Yes, quite.” Her lips trembled. “I was just wondering…” Another giggle as she pointed at his cheek. “Do we count that as number five?”
“This is not amusing.”
“No. No, it isn’t,” she agreed and burst into laughter. But there was a jumpy, ragged quality to the sound. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I’m laughing. It’s not at all funny. You might have been killed.” A shiver passed over her form, followed by another short bout of laughter. “I can’t seem to stop. I don’t know why.”
“I do.” Shock, fear, relief, and the lingering need to fight or run were all battling for supremacy. He knew the feeling well. She’d be cold soon, maybe nauseated, certainly exhausted. “Come here.”
Before she could argue, he hauled her out of her seat and onto his lap.
She went still in his arms, her laughter stopping abruptly. “You don’t have to—”
“Shall I let you go?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him and rested her cheek against his shoulder with a trembling sigh.
“It’s all right.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “It’s over. You’re safe now.”
“I know,” she whispered, but her arms tightened and the shivers remained. “I know we are.”
For a long time, he kept her close, stroking her hair and murmuring the odd endearment he hoped she would find reassuring. This manner of comforting was new to him. He’d patted the hands of strangers and wiped away the tears of lovers, but he’d never simply held on, nor let himself be held in return. He quite liked the latter. The warm weight of her, the tight embrace, the whisper of breath against his neck, each sensation settled over him like a blanket, easing the chill of fear and smothering the heat of anger.
He held on until her shivers subsided and she pulled away, pushing a loose lock of hair out of her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make such a fuss.”
A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) Page 12