A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) (9 page)

He’d been thinking about that freckle quite a lot. He’d been remembering the taste of her skin at that very spot. He’d been imagining sampling it again more than he cared to admit.

By tacit agreement, neither of them had mentioned their kiss the day before.

As he watched her, the delectable freckle so clear in his mind, Samuel realized that he
wanted
to mention the kiss.

If it wasn’t mentioned, then they couldn’t discuss it. If they didn’t discuss it, then he couldn’t be absolutely certain things were right between them again. They
felt
right to him. It seemed as if the anger and awkwardness had passed. He was not, however, a consistently good judge of such matters. And Esther was remarkably skilled at hiding her true thoughts and feelings. He didn’t want her to hide them now. If she was still angry…if she was hurt, he wanted to know. He wanted to fix it.

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the task before him. “Esther.”

She didn’t so much as flick him a glance. “Hmm?”

“I want it to be understood.”

“Yes?”

“I liked kissing you.” There, that was clear. In no way could that be misconstrued as an insult.

She looked away from the window at that, and there was a long pause before she spoke.

“I see,” she said at last. She closed the curtains, lifted her veil, and stared at him some more. Finally, she looked away and asked, “Then why did you insult me?”

“I did not insult you.” He grimaced at his defensiveness. “That is…that was not my intention, and—”

“You implied I did something wrong.”

The devil he had. “There is nothing wrong with what we did.” He would
never
imply otherwise.

“No, not with what—” She made a small frustrated noise. “Your comment implied that I did the thing badly.”

“I don’t see how. I merely observed that you were unpracticed but—”

“Yes,” she cut in again. “Unpracticed. People who engage in activities they’ve not practiced, perform
badly
.”

“It isn’t a performance, Esther.”

“Then why did you feel it necessary to offer a critique?”

“It was not a critique.”

“It certainly wasn’t a compliment,” she muttered.

“I told you I liked it. How is that not a compliment? I
meant
it as a compliment.” Surely that counted for something.

“One can like something awful,” she returned and began digging through the bag at her waist.

“I find that hard to believe. No one likes something awful, else it wouldn’t be—”

He broke off when she pulled out a miniature picture frame and held it up for him to see.

He had no idea what he was looking at. It appeared to be some manner of pond captured from a view aloft. There were two enormous lily pads at the top, what could be a lopsided boat stretched across the entire bottom half of the water, and what were either overlong blades of grass or very small trees scattered about the banks. “What the devil is that?”

“Peter’s self-portrait at the age of six.”

Ah. Eyes, mouth, and hair on a head. “It’s…um…”

“It’s atrocious. And I like it.” She tucked the frame back into her bag. “And when he gave it to me, I did not embarrass him by remarking upon his obvious lack of artistic skill.”

And she was embarrassed, he realized. He’d not noticed that at first. For obvious reasons, he’d noticed her anger before all else. Now he saw the faint blush in her cheeks and her determination to avoid his gaze.

Suddenly, he remembered his first kiss. The nerves, the eagerness, the pride. And yes, afterward, the awkward embarrassment. How much worse would it have been had the young lady remarked upon his lack of experience? And then insisted they hold a conversation on the subject the next day?

That wouldn’t have been embarrassing, he decided. It would have been mortifying.

He swore and rubbed the back of his neck. He had chosen his words, and his timing, very poorly.

“Esther.” Leaning over, he took one of her hands in his. “There is absolutely no reason for you to feel embarrassed. There is nothing embarrassing in a woman—or a man—being inexperienced in these matters.” Nor should there be anything embarrassing in discussing them, but he rather doubted she could be convinced of that at present. He sat back and pointed at her bag instead. “You say that portrait is atrocious, but you don’t mean it. It is only when viewed from the wrong perspective that it becomes less than it is.”

“And what is it through the correct perspective?”

“Beautiful. If Peter gave you a thousand more just like it, they would all be equally beautiful. Equally cherished.”

“And equally unskilled,” she said, but she was softening. He could see it.

She fiddled with the clasp of her bag a moment, her mouth turned down in a thoughtful frown. “You made me feel as if I’d done it all wrong.”

“God.” He’d been a damned oaf. “I’m sorry for that. I didn’t mean to… You didn’t do it wrong. Honestly, there
isn’t
a right or wrong way to kiss.” He reconsidered this. “Apart from a few obviously ill-advised techniques, but—”

“Such as?”

Bloody hell, he should have known she would ask.

“I don’t know,” he muttered and wracked his brain for an example. Any example. “Don’t recite the alphabet. Don’t hop on one foot. Don’t spit.”

“Don’t hop on one foot and
spit
?” Gone was the blush of embarrassment, the averted gaze. She goggled at him, all astonished amusement. “You’ve found this to be a common mistake amongst the kissing population, have you?”

“Of course not—”

“Because if that is the sort of kissing you’ve been experiencing, you really ought to have given me a standing ovation.”

“It is not—”

“All the way back to the hotel.”

“I haven’t—”

“Three curtain calls worth at least.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“And tossed roses at my feet,” she continued.

In the ensuing silence, he dropped his hand and eyed her warily. “Are you quite finished?”

Her mouth trembled with contained laughter. “Thornless ones. So that I might partake of their scent without pricking my unspitting lips.”

“For God’s sake,” he laughed. He was amused, frustrated, and unable to tear his gaze away from those very lips. “I should have done all those things. I should have…” He searched for the right thing to say. “I can be very clumsy with words.”

She considered this before offering him a hesitant smile. “I am sometimes quick to perceive a slight where none was intended.”

“These are not complementary flaws.”

Her gaze dipped to his mouth. “Not very complementary, no.”

“We are not compatible people,” he said and began to lean forward.

She shook her head slowly and leaned toward him as well. “Not at all compatible.”

“We probably shouldn’t—” he began, drawing closer.

“Oh, we absolutely shouldn’t—” she agreed.

They met halfway, their lips coming together softly in the center of the carriage.

He curled his fingers into the edge of the seat to stop himself from reaching for her. He would not control what happened between them this time. If she wanted a change, wanted something more or something different, she would have to lead them both in a new direction. He wanted her to take that risk, to experiment, to discover for herself what he hadn’t been able to put into words. There was no right or wrong, no good or bad way to enjoy a kiss. Even mistakes could be part of the fun if one was kissing the right person.

There were quite a few mistakes he’d like to make with Esther Walker-Bales.

He sensed her impatience at his reserve. She scooted closer and grasped the front of his coat in her small hands. After a moment, she pulled away to look at him through hooded lids. “Why won’t you kiss me?”

“I want you to kiss me. Do whatever you like, Esther. It won’t be wrong. I promise.”

“Is this a lesson?”

“For both of us.” He pressed a kiss to the beguiling freckle above her lip. “How am I to know what pleases you,” he whispered, “if you don’t know what pleases you?”

Her pretty blue eyes lowered to his mouth. “Anything I like?”

“Anything.”
Everything
.

She hesitated only a moment, then lightly pressed her lips to his and held still, as if absorbing the sensation for the first time. It was the sweetest of touches, and his body responded by going hard as stone.

Pulling away a little, she ran her finger over his mouth, tracing the edges. After a moment, she leaned in again and kissed his bottom lip, a small, gentle movement that made him shiver. She lifted her head once more, and her tongue darted out to catch his taste on her lips. He had to close his eyes at the sight of it, his fingers digging harder into the seat.

He’d often thought of kissing in terms of eating—tasting and sampling. Esther nibbled at him like he was an entire table of exotic culinary delights. She sampled lightly, retreated to savor each flavor, then came back again and again for another test, another bite, another kiss.

He did his best to sit still through her delicate onslaught. Desire raced through his blood. His muscles ached from the need to reach for her.

When he felt her mouth part over his, he felt his control slipping away.

That was the trouble with handing Esther the reins. She had too much courage, too much curiosity. She’d drive them both straight over a cliff. And, God help him, all he could think was that he wanted to go faster.

An apology formed on his lips, but he wasn’t sure if it came out as a mumble or a growl, and didn’t much care. He let go of the seat, slid his hand around the nape of her neck, and pulled her close so he could devour her.

Somehow he managed to remove her bonnet and delve his fingers into the silken locks of her hair. Still it wasn’t enough. He hauled her into his lap, her skirts dragging against his legs.

With one arm bound tight around her waist, he used his free hand to press lightly against her chin. “Open for me.”

She obeyed with a small moan and he slid his tongue inside the warmth of her mouth, tasting her deeply for the first time.

Suddenly he was torn between the sharp pleasure of the kiss and the pressing need to go faster, do more, take everything. Even as he lost himself in the moment, his mind raced forward to the next, to how quickly he could remove the layers of fabric between them, how it would feel to have her naked and willing beneath him, how his name would sound spilling from her lips as she took her pleasure.

She tensed against him and shifted, and he realized that his hand had found the hem of her skirts. He’d bunched them up to her calf, his knuckles brushing along her leg.

No, not like this. Not in a carriage. Not with Esther.

He wanted a bed of down for her. He wanted to give her moonlight and candlelight, flowers and soft words. His hand fisted in the material of her gown briefly before he released it.

Determined to do the right thing, he began to soften the kiss in stages, relaxing his hold, returning to the light tease of his lips over hers. He pressed a kiss to her jaw, her cheek, her temple, then pulled away.

She blinked at him owlishly. Her lips were swollen, her skin flushed. She looked unbearably sweet. It took everything he had not to pull her close again.

Not in a bloody carriage.

“The carriage is stopped,” she whispered.

It had been stopped for some time.

Wordlessly, and with enormous regret, he lifted her by her hips and set her on the seat next to him. He retrieved her bonnet from the floor and settled it back on her head, tying the black ribbons carefully beneath her chin.

She returned the favor by straightening his tie. For reasons he couldn’t name, the simple gesture made his chest tighten with pleasure.

“It would appear we did it right this time,” she said quietly.

He curled his finger under her chin and tormented himself with one last taste of her lips. “Both times.”

She gave a small nod in agreement. “About that…” She cleared her throat. “Your beard isn’t really scratchy. I’m sorry I said so before.”

“Forgiven.”

A corner of her mouth hooked up. “Did smell wet, though.”

He laughed at the small, silly barb as he opened the carriage door. It would always be this way with Esther, he supposed. There would always be a bite with the sweet.

She surprised him by reaching past him to shut the door again.

Then she stared at him, worrying her bottom lip.

“What is it?” he asked. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I just…” She looked away and back again. “I like kissing you, too,” she said at last, and quickly, as if it was a little difficult to get the words out, or maybe she just found them hard to say while they were looking eye to eye.

She smiled hesitantly once, then pulled her veil down, swung the door open, and hopped out on her own.

He watched her walk toward the front door of the hotel. Yes, there would always be the bite and the sweet with Esther, he thought. And there would always be surprise.

He was finding he liked the combination more than he had realized.

* * *

Not curiosity, then.

Esther bit into her apple and scrunched up her face in thought as she stared out her hotel window.

Her assessment of Samuel’s reason for kissing her had been wrong. A man didn’t kiss a woman twice out of curiosity, not when the first kiss ended so badly.

And Samuel had not kissed her like a man scratching at the itch of curiosity.
Her
kiss had been curious. His had been…elemental, devastating, a little bit dangerous. Absolutely wonderful.

She sighed and smiled at the memory. Perhaps she’d been wrong about his feelings toward her all along.

Then she winced a little, remembering his angry words less than a year earlier.

Selfish imbecile.

No, his feelings for her had been clear.

So what had changed? She supposed
she
had to some degree. Certainly, she was happier than she’d been in the past, and she was determined to improve herself in a way she never had been before. But she was still a Walker, illegitimate or not. She was still the woman who’d played henchman for her criminal father, still the woman who’d spent years as a liar and a thief, and she would always be that woman. There was no escaping it, no rewriting the past.