Read Online A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) by Alissa Johnson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alissa Johnson
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large gig came careening around the corner. Its young and obviously inebriated occupants tossed a bottle from the vehicle and laughed wildly at the pedestrians who scrambled out of the way of bottle, horse, vehicle, and the spray of puddles sent up by the carriage wheels.
Samuel grabbed Esther and shoved her behind him just as the gig raced by, launching a great wall of ditch water over the curb and onto him.
It soaked him through to the skin, and there was nothing he could do but drag a hand down his face and flick the excess moisture from his fingers.
Esther snickered. Actually, she coughed, but it was a hide-the-snicker sort of cough. It didn’t fool anyone.
He glowered at her.
She snickered again.
“Get in the carriage, Esther.”
For once, she complied without argument. She clambered inside, one hand covering her mouth. The moment the door was closed, her laughter filled the carriage.
“Oh. Oh, Lord.” She flipped up her veil. “I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry. But the state of you. Good heavens.” She calmed herself a bit and reached over to pat his knee. “My hero.”
Then she laughed some more.
He ought to be offended, really. Annoyed at the very least. But he couldn’t seem to move beyond amazed.
He’d never heard her laugh before. Not like this. Not with her head tipped back and the sound just flowing from her.
Samuel wracked his brain for a single memory of Esther laughing, really laughing, and came up blank. Years ago, when she’d been little more than a girl, she had giggled. Once or twice, she may have chuckled. Certainly, he’d heard her snicker. But he hadn’t heard her laugh. Not as a child, and not since he’d known her as an adult.
The woman simply didn’t laugh in front of him.
It seemed an odd thing not to have noticed before now. Stranger still that he should find an ordinary sound so extraordinarily appealing. There was a sweet, clear tone to it that made him think of wind chimes. Not the tinny sort Mrs. Lanchor had hung in the garden two years ago (and the beast had mauled into oblivion three days ago) but the solid sort that put one to mind of woodwinds.
Her laugh reminded him of wind chimes that reminded him of woodwinds. By God, he was England’s finest poet.
“You’ve changed,” he murmured. There used to be a brittleness about her, a deep unhappiness she kept hidden away along with her kindness and honesty, all buried beneath a layer of cool indifference. He couldn’t see that brittleness anymore.
“Beg your pardon?” Her laugh tapered off slowly, and she looked at him uncertainly. “I didn’t mean to cause offense.” A spark of mischievousness lit in her blue eyes. “Well, maybe a little offense, but—”
“I’m not offended… Maybe a little offended,” he corrected with humor. “But I wasn’t implying that you’ve changed for the worse. It’s for the better.”
“Oh.” Her lips curved in a small, hesitant smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re happier, aren’t you?”
“I am,” she agreed, and so readily that he could only assume she’d given the matter some thought recently. “I am starting to be.”
“It is nice to see.” It was more than nice. It was something else, something more.
Here, he thought, was the woman he’d caught glimpses of before. The remarkable one who amazed and fascinated him. Only it wasn’t just a glimpse. He remembered her insistence that he wasn’t a hard man and her defense of the little boy. And he wondered now if the traits he admired in her had never been quite as buried or transient as he imagined. Anything could seem like a glimpse, he realized, if one looked away too quickly.
He was finding it hard to look away from her at present. A light, very pretty blush had formed high on her cheeks at his comment.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He grunted, which, for some reason, she seemed to find amusing.
Laughing softly, she loosened the ribbons of her bonnet. “Are we going straight back to the
Samuel grabbed Esther and shoved her behind him just as the gig raced by, launching a great wall of ditch water over the curb and onto him.
It soaked him through to the skin, and there was nothing he could do but drag a hand down his face and flick the excess moisture from his fingers.
Esther snickered. Actually, she coughed, but it was a hide-the-snicker sort of cough. It didn’t fool anyone.
He glowered at her.
She snickered again.
“Get in the carriage, Esther.”
For once, she complied without argument. She clambered inside, one hand covering her mouth. The moment the door was closed, her laughter filled the carriage.
“Oh. Oh, Lord.” She flipped up her veil. “I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry. But the state of you. Good heavens.” She calmed herself a bit and reached over to pat his knee. “My hero.”
Then she laughed some more.
He ought to be offended, really. Annoyed at the very least. But he couldn’t seem to move beyond amazed.
He’d never heard her laugh before. Not like this. Not with her head tipped back and the sound just flowing from her.
Samuel wracked his brain for a single memory of Esther laughing, really laughing, and came up blank. Years ago, when she’d been little more than a girl, she had giggled. Once or twice, she may have chuckled. Certainly, he’d heard her snicker. But he hadn’t heard her laugh. Not as a child, and not since he’d known her as an adult.
The woman simply didn’t laugh in front of him.
It seemed an odd thing not to have noticed before now. Stranger still that he should find an ordinary sound so extraordinarily appealing. There was a sweet, clear tone to it that made him think of wind chimes. Not the tinny sort Mrs. Lanchor had hung in the garden two years ago (and the beast had mauled into oblivion three days ago) but the solid sort that put one to mind of woodwinds.
Her laugh reminded him of wind chimes that reminded him of woodwinds. By God, he was England’s finest poet.
“You’ve changed,” he murmured. There used to be a brittleness about her, a deep unhappiness she kept hidden away along with her kindness and honesty, all buried beneath a layer of cool indifference. He couldn’t see that brittleness anymore.
“Beg your pardon?” Her laugh tapered off slowly, and she looked at him uncertainly. “I didn’t mean to cause offense.” A spark of mischievousness lit in her blue eyes. “Well, maybe a little offense, but—”
“I’m not offended… Maybe a little offended,” he corrected with humor. “But I wasn’t implying that you’ve changed for the worse. It’s for the better.”
“Oh.” Her lips curved in a small, hesitant smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re happier, aren’t you?”
“I am,” she agreed, and so readily that he could only assume she’d given the matter some thought recently. “I am starting to be.”
“It is nice to see.” It was more than nice. It was something else, something more.
Here, he thought, was the woman he’d caught glimpses of before. The remarkable one who amazed and fascinated him. Only it wasn’t just a glimpse. He remembered her insistence that he wasn’t a hard man and her defense of the little boy. And he wondered now if the traits he admired in her had never been quite as buried or transient as he imagined. Anything could seem like a glimpse, he realized, if one looked away too quickly.
He was finding it hard to look away from her at present. A light, very pretty blush had formed high on her cheeks at his comment.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He grunted, which, for some reason, she seemed to find amusing.
Laughing softly, she loosened the ribbons of her bonnet. “Are we going straight back to the
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