A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers)

by Alissa Johnson

  It was done. All three men lay unmoving.

  Samuel crouched in front of the biggest man, tying his hands. His gaze, cold and hard, flicked to John, then back to her. Blood trickled from a gash in his bottom lip. He swiped it away with the back of his hand. “Are you injured? Did they hurt you?”

  “No. No, but—”

  “Go wait in the hall.”

  “But I—”

  “In the hall. Now.”

  His tone brooked no argument, and for once, she was happy to follow his orders. Only… “Come with me.”

  She didn’t want to go alone. She didn’t want to leave him alone.

  Something passed over his features, softening the hard lines. “I won’t be long, sweetheart. Go on.”

  She nodded once and stumbled into the hall on unsteady legs. A single lamp lit the narrow corridor. Leaning her head against the wall, she took deep breaths to clear her mind and steady her racing heart. It didn’t help. She began to shake, just as she had in the carriage after the attack in the park. But there was no wild desire to laugh now.

  Maybe it would come later, once Samuel was with her.

  God, how she wanted Samuel.

  And then he was there, striding toward her purposefully. She rushed to meet him, and his arms wrapped around her with bruising force. She burrowed into the warmth of him, breathing in his scent.

  He pressed his face to the side of her neck to mutter nonsense she didn’t understand, strings of curses and half-finished promises.

  A tremor went through him, then another. “Never again, Esther. Never again.”

  “I didn’t want… This isn’t the adventure I wanted.”

  “That’s not what I meant. God, he took you from the house.”

  Pulling back, he reached for her face with hands that were scraped and bloody. The pinky on his right hand was bent at an unnatural angle. The club, she thought. The giant must have hit him with the club to dislodge the gun.

  Horrified, she moved to grab him. “Your finger.”

  “Your hands.” He snagged her forearms, seemingly oblivious to his own injuries. “My God, your hands.”

  “They’re all right.” They weren’t of course. They were still bleeding a bit, but the cuts were not deep, and the pain was lost to the overwhelming relief of being safe with Samuel. “It’s all right.”

  “That son of a whore,” he snarled.

  “No. It’s all right. I did it. I had to cut the ropes.”

  He brought her hands up and pressed a kiss to her wrist. Steely gray eyes held hers. “He did this.”

  “Yes.” She gave a shaky nod and winced at the pain in her skull. “Yes, I suppose he did.”

  “Your head? Did he—?” His fingers delved into her hair, gently probing her scalp. A fresh string of curses spilled from his lips when he found the painful knot. “This will never happen again. I swear it. Never again.”

  Her heart turned over at the hint of vulnerability beneath his anger and fear. Lifting a hand to his face, she brushed her fingers lightly across the scar. “Samuel, I’m sorry—” She broke off at the sound of pounding footsteps and shouts below.

  His arm curved around her shoulders, pulling her close again. “It’s all right. It’s only the police. I had Mrs. Lanchor send for them.”

  “They’ll know. They’ll know I’m in England. My family—”

  “They’ll know you made the trip from Boston,” he said calmly. “Alone. Nothing more.”

  She turned her face into his chest, as much for comfort as to keep her features hidden. She was so tired now. As fear drained away, it took the blessing of numbness with it, and a thousand aches and pains began to make themselves known.

  Samuel’s large hand curved protectively around her head as men poured into the room. She listened to the scuffling of feet. Voices floated over her. Samuel was talking to someone, answering questions, promising to fill in the details later.

  “It will have to wait.” He slipped an arm behind her knees and scooped her into his arms. “I’m taking Miss Walker home.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Esther sat in her room with her bandaged hands curved around a lukewarm cup of tea. She didn’t want the tea especially, nor the brandy Sarah had all but dumped in with it, but it gave her something to do while she waited for Samuel to finish with the inspector who had insisted on following them home.

  There was a soft knock on her door, and as she set aside her drink and rose from her chair, Samuel stepped inside.

  She’d not had a chance to really speak with him since they’d left John’s house. Exhausted and hurting, she’d slipped in and out of a light doze in the carriage. The moment he had carried her inside and set her down in the front hall, she’d been swept away by a tutting Mrs. Lanchor and weeping Sarah.

  Now he was standing before her, and suddenly she wasn’t sure what to say to him.

  There was too much that needed to be said, too much she wanted him to understand, and she didn’t know where to begin.

  Samuel appeared to be suffering from a similar dilemma. He’d taken two steps into the room before coming to an abrupt halt.

  They just stood there, staring at each other as the tension between them grew palpable.

  And then…

  “I have something for you,” Samuel said.

  At the same time she blurted out, “Will you marry me, Samuel?”

  His brows lifted and his eyes went wide. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Oh.” Oh, dear. “I didn’t mean to skip so far ahead.”

  “I imagine not. Care to continue?”

  Not really, but she rather doubted he’d be willing to say his piece first now. Wishing that she’d taken the time to work out what she wanted to say beforehand, she swallowed convulsively and pressed ahead in a rush. “I thought to never marry. I didn’t want to be under a man’s thumb. I want control over my own life.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “You are not under my thumb.”

  “No. I realize that now. You issue orders, and you demand, and you presume all manner of authority, but I’ve not been made to do anything I didn’t want to do. Well, I’ve compromised some,” she amended after a moment’s consideration. “Quite a lot, actually. But that’s only natural, isn’t it? Everyone must compromise now and then. You’ve compromised as well.”

  “Some.” He frowned a little. “Not as much as I could, or should have.”

  “The same could be said of me.” She shook her head when he looked to argue. A debate over who had been the least flexible was not what she wanted. “I am not my father—either of my fathers—nor my mother or my grandfather. And I refuse to be the young woman I once was—making mistakes and amassing regrets out of fear.”

  “Fear of what?” He took a step toward her, his expression troubled.

  “Fear that you would one day want someone else. Someone better.” She winced at the embarrassing words but didn’t seek to retract the confession. He deserved the truth. All of it. “You said you do not want a biddable woman, but I thought you might prefer one. I thought you might be happier with a woman content to always be at home. I can’t be that woman, and I don’t want to be that woman. Clearly, it wouldn’t guarantee my safety anyway. But I can still make you happy. I know I can. We can be happy together. I think I’ve always known that, I just… I was afraid. I needed to argue with myself for a bit.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “I love you, Samuel.” She said the words quickly, afraid that whatever he’d been about to say would steal her courage away. Ultimately, he might reject her offer, but she’d be damned if she didn’t have her say first. “I love you more than…” She couldn’t think of something sufficiently large. “Anything. Everything. I want to marry you. I want to watch you become a better man. I want you to watch me become a better woman. I want to argue wit
h you until we come to an understanding. I want—”

  “Yes.”

  “—to see you…” She trailed off awkwardly. “I’m sorry?”

  His lips curled in humor and something else, something warm and hopeful. “I said yes. I will marry you.”

  “You will?”

  “I will. I have something for you.”

  “You do?” She sounded foolish, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t quite grasp the idea that he was agreeing with her. She had gathered all her courage for a fight. Not with him, but for him. She was ready to do battle for the man she loved, ready to swallow all her fears and lay her pride at his feet. She didn’t know what to do now that he’d said yes.

  Hope bloomed, bright but still unsteady, as he pulled a small rectangular box from his coat.

  She accepted it with hands that shook. “You don’t have to keep buying me gifts.”

  “I know,” he said simply. “Before you open it, I want you to know that I read my mother’s letters.”

  “Yes, I saw them,” she replied carefully.

  “I’d like to make two things clear before we continue. First, the reason I did not open them was not because I was afraid she might be sorry. It was…” He cleared his throat, looking a little uncomfortable. “It was because I was afraid she might not be. Unopened, they offered the hope of one day reconnecting with the mother I once loved. I was afraid of losing that hope.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip, worried for him. “And have you?”

  “No. The years apart from my father have been good for her. As for the second thing…” He took her face in his hands and lowered his head until they were looking eye to eye. “I meant what I said. I do not want a biddable wife. Understood?” He waited for her nod before releasing her face. “Good. Now open the box.”

  Obliging him, she lifted the lid and gasped at the small dagger nestled inside. Careful of her injuries, she took it out and turned it over. The silver handle was simple and elegant and the perfect size and shape for her hands.

  “It’s exquisite.”

  And it was a dagger. A gift fit for a Walker.

  Etched along the handle were the small, delicate letters ESWBB. She felt a welling up of emotion when she realized what they stood for. “Esther Smith-Walker-Bales-Brass.” She laughed breathlessly. “That is quite a mouthful.”

  “I had it engraved yesterday.” He put his finger beneath the initials. “The woman you were. The woman you are. And the woman I’d hoped you would become. All of them together. One and the same. There’s more on the other side.”

  She gave another nervous laugh. “Heavens, you’ve scribbled all over the thing.” She flipped the blade over and read the inscription aloud as tears pressed against the backs of her eyes. “Just as you are.”

  Samuel reached up again to cup her face in his hands. “I know who you are, Esther. I am in love with all that you are.”

  The nerves drained away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of joy and peace. Like that second before the dagger left her hand. Only so much better, infinitely better, because this wasn’t a single moment that would slip away. This was the rest of her life. An entire lifetime with the man she loved.

  “I’ll give you the devil’s own time,” she warned him with a smile.

  Samuel ran his thumbs across her cheekbones. “And you’ll have it right back. I know you need more than a quiet life in Derbyshire to be happy. We can travel the world together. Let me take you to see Paris and the Louvre. Let me talk you out of climbing atop an elephant in India.” As she laughed, he bent down and pressed his forehead to hers. “I don’t want someone else, Esther, and I never will. I want you. Only you. It will always be you.”

  “I want us,” she whispered and slipped her arms around him. “Just as we are.”

  Epilogue

  Three Months Later

  “What do you mean retire?” Gabriel bolted upright in his seat. “You can’t retire.”

  Feeling relaxed in the respectably sized chair in his parlor in Cheshire, Samuel merely shrugged at his friend’s outrage. “Esther can’t live in London. And I can’t live without Esther.”

  “God,” Gabriel groaned with a grimace. “You’re worse than Renderwell.”

  “Worse than me at what?” a new voice inquired. Renderwell, looking rather disgruntled, entered the room with his wife. “Be specific.”

  “Ignore him,” Lottie ordered, nudging him onto the sofa. “He wants his vanity stroked.”

  Gabriel smirked at their former leader. “Are you still cross because Esther took fifteen pounds from you at cards? Again.”

  “She cheats,” Renderwell grumbled.

  Lottie settled next to him, and her lips curved up in a small, mischievous smile. “You can’t prove it.”

  “She cheats really well.”

  Samuel made a mental note to keep Esther away from card tables on their upcoming honeymoon.

  Then he promptly erased it.

  Esther could do as she damn well pleased.

  Lottie shook her head at her husband, dislodging a loose strand of dark hair from its pins. “If it troubles you to lose so often, stop agreeing to play with her.”

  A calculating gleam entered Renderwell’s eyes. “I’m going to figure out how she does it.”

  “She’ll beggar you first,” Gabriel warned.

  A flash of movement outside caught Samuel’s attention. Not for the first time, his gaze was drawn to the parlor windows. Esther was on the front lawn engaged in a sort of three-way game of badminton between herself, Peter, and the dog. They’d lost nearly a dozen shuttlecocks and one racquet to Harry’s massive jaws so far, but at least he’d stopped jumping on visitors.

  He smiled as Esther lunged and swung, her pink skirts swirling around her. He’d been right that day in Hyde Park—the country suited her. She looked happy and carefree playing on the green grass in the sunlight.

  But freedom alone wouldn’t be enough for her. Nor for him. Eventually, they would both need more. Which was why he’d told Gabriel he’d been considering retirement.

  “Are you listening, Samuel?” Gabriel’s voice and an impatient snap of fingers drew Samuel back to the conversation in the parlor. “We’re discussing you, man. Pay attention.”

  “Snap your fingers at me again and I’ll break them,” Samuel said without heat.

  “You’re welcome to try,” Gabriel returned.

  Lottie rolled her eyes at the easy exchange of threats. “Gabriel says you mean to retire, Samuel.”

  “He can’t retire.”

  “Why not?” Samuel asked, mostly out of curiosity.

  “Because we’re the Thief Takers. Plural.” Gabriel held up two fingers and took on the tone of a patronizing schoolteacher. “Plural means more than one.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Besides,” he added, dropping his hand, “you’ll be bored.”

  “Renderwell seems happy enough.”

  The man in question casually tucked his wife’s hair behind his ear. “Very,” he assured the room.

  Gabriel waved that argument away. “He has estates, sisters, and a mother to care for. What will you do with all your time?”

  “Honeymoon,” Samuel replied.

  “And there’s Edmund to consider,” Lottie added.

  Yes, there was Edmund. True to his word, the young man had left town the day after he’d met Esther at the station and had written as soon as he’d taken rooms in Brighton. A quick search had turned up a birth record listing George Smith as his father. Samuel had also been able to determine that Edmund had been employed at the docks for a time, just as he’d said, and though he was suspected of having worked with John and his friends as a grave robber for a time, he wasn’t officially wanted for any crime. He was free to build a new life as a member of Esther’s family, if that was what he wante
d.

  “He’s been on his own a long time,” Lottie pointed out. “It might take some work to convince him to come here.”

  Samuel nodded. “I doubt he’ll agree to live with us, but he might be persuaded to live nearby.”

  “And then what?” Gabriel inquired. “After the honeymoon and after Edmund is settled—what will you do?” He shook his head. “I know you. You won’t be happy leading the life of a country gentleman. Not for long.”

  Samuel let his gaze track back to the windows. Harry was charging full-tilt toward the front doors, shuttlecock caught firmly between his teeth. A laughing Peter chased after him. The game, it would seem, was over.

  “No,” he admitted. “It won’t keep me content for long.”

  “There now, you see?” Gabriel relaxed back into his chair, clearly pleased with the small victory. “You’re starting to sound almost reasonable.”

  Renderwell’s face turned hard in an instant. “You can’t be in London with Esther.”

  “No,” Samuel agreed. “But there’s plenty that might be done outside of town.” There were always lost wills on the continent and ne’er-do-well sons to track down in Scotland.

  “Have you discussed this with Esther?” Lottie asked.

  He rose from his seat as he saw his wife nearing the house. “I’m about to. Excuse me.”

  As Samuel strode into the front hall, he was greeted by the sound of a scuffle and Peter’s laughing voice on the other side of the door. “Give it here you great, bloody beast of a—Ha! Got it!”

  The door swung open and Peter tumbled inside, his young face flushed from a combination of exertion and his sensitivity to the dog. He sneezed once as Harry pushed past him and bounded into the parlor. “He got another one, I’m afraid. Sorry, Sir Samuel.”

  “Not your fault.” Samuel gestured toward the parlor. “You know where to find the others.”

  What was left of them. He’d purchased a small fortune of replacements the last time he was in town. At the rate Harry was going, however, Samuel would need to either replenish the supply on a monthly basis or learn how to make the damn things himself.