should have thought it too dull for you.”
“It was, eventually, but I enjoyed it at first. It was something new, after all.”
“I suppose it was. But what of the decision to keep your father’s role in Lady Stale’s rescue a secret? You must have been angry about that.”
“Not at all.” Unlike her sister, she’d never been under the mistaken impression that Will Walker had become a reformed man. She’d always known him to be a blackguard. He’d earned his ignominious end. But even if he had sought redemption, it would have made little difference for the Walker children. “Lottie says that, had our father been given his due credit for the rescue, we’d have become sensations as well.”
“Yes.”
“Making it an easy thing for our father’s enemies to find us.” There was no escaping the past. No matter how much one might wish it. “It was all done for the best, and I suspect you’ve earned that knighthood a dozen times over, with or without my father’s help.”
That seemed to cheer him up rather nicely. “I like to think so.”
“I heard you were all given very dramatic names and descriptions by the papers. Renderwell was the Gentleman Thief Taker, Gabriel was the Thief Taker most likely to seduce his prey, and you were—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Thief Taker Almighty,” she said and laughed when he groaned. “Oh, come now, it isn’t so terrible a name. I should think you’d be flattered.”
“Flattered?” He made a face at his plate. “No one wants to be remembered for having been shot an inordinate number of times.”
“Only four,” she replied and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing again.
“Only four?”
“Just the three when you’d earned the name.”
His expression turned baleful. “Just three.”
“Indeed. It should be at least six to warrant ‘Almighty.’”
“Six? Why six ?”
“I don’t know. It can’t be counted on just the one hand. That’s something.”
He gave a short bark of laughter. “Why not make it eleven so it can’t be counted on the hands at all?”
“That seems a trifle excessive.”
“A trifle…? Esther, one is excessive.”
She agreed wholeheartedly, but she was enjoying the silly disagreement. Even better, so was he. “But not all that impressive, is it? Anyone might stumble into the path of a single stray bullet.” She shook her head at him. “No, I think six is a reasonable threshold.”
“I see. Well, I shall endeavor to increase the pace of my stumbling, as it appears I have some way to go.”
Suddenly, the conversation no longer felt quite so silly. The humor took on a dark, even macabre cast. It was one thing to argue over the number of shots in the abstract; it was another entirely to look at the man and remember him ashen faced and in pain, a bullet hole in his shoulder.
“Samuel?” She waited for him to meet her gaze. She knew he didn’t fully trust her. She accepted that he would probably never believe half of what came out of her mouth. But for reasons she didn’t fully understand herself, she wanted him to believe her now. She wanted it desperately. “I am very glad it has not been six.”
He smiled at her then, that wonderful, cheerful, friendly smile she’d never had from him before.
“So am I, Esther.”
* * *
For the life of him, Samuel could not figure out what had possessed him to share his ugly childhood memory with Esther.
It wasn’t that his father’s penchant for drink and violence was any sort of secret. But what was general knowledge and what one brought up as breakfast conversation were two different animals entirely.
Furthermore, the incident with the fire poker wasn’t general knowledge. By some miracle, it had never made the papers, and he’d never spoken of it to anyone but Gabriel and Renderwell. He’d never intended to speak of it to anyone else. He wasn’t ashamed of the fight—he’d not done a damn thing wrong that night. But it was an uncomfortable
“It was, eventually, but I enjoyed it at first. It was something new, after all.”
“I suppose it was. But what of the decision to keep your father’s role in Lady Stale’s rescue a secret? You must have been angry about that.”
“Not at all.” Unlike her sister, she’d never been under the mistaken impression that Will Walker had become a reformed man. She’d always known him to be a blackguard. He’d earned his ignominious end. But even if he had sought redemption, it would have made little difference for the Walker children. “Lottie says that, had our father been given his due credit for the rescue, we’d have become sensations as well.”
“Yes.”
“Making it an easy thing for our father’s enemies to find us.” There was no escaping the past. No matter how much one might wish it. “It was all done for the best, and I suspect you’ve earned that knighthood a dozen times over, with or without my father’s help.”
That seemed to cheer him up rather nicely. “I like to think so.”
“I heard you were all given very dramatic names and descriptions by the papers. Renderwell was the Gentleman Thief Taker, Gabriel was the Thief Taker most likely to seduce his prey, and you were—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Thief Taker Almighty,” she said and laughed when he groaned. “Oh, come now, it isn’t so terrible a name. I should think you’d be flattered.”
“Flattered?” He made a face at his plate. “No one wants to be remembered for having been shot an inordinate number of times.”
“Only four,” she replied and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing again.
“Only four?”
“Just the three when you’d earned the name.”
His expression turned baleful. “Just three.”
“Indeed. It should be at least six to warrant ‘Almighty.’”
“Six? Why six ?”
“I don’t know. It can’t be counted on just the one hand. That’s something.”
He gave a short bark of laughter. “Why not make it eleven so it can’t be counted on the hands at all?”
“That seems a trifle excessive.”
“A trifle…? Esther, one is excessive.”
She agreed wholeheartedly, but she was enjoying the silly disagreement. Even better, so was he. “But not all that impressive, is it? Anyone might stumble into the path of a single stray bullet.” She shook her head at him. “No, I think six is a reasonable threshold.”
“I see. Well, I shall endeavor to increase the pace of my stumbling, as it appears I have some way to go.”
Suddenly, the conversation no longer felt quite so silly. The humor took on a dark, even macabre cast. It was one thing to argue over the number of shots in the abstract; it was another entirely to look at the man and remember him ashen faced and in pain, a bullet hole in his shoulder.
“Samuel?” She waited for him to meet her gaze. She knew he didn’t fully trust her. She accepted that he would probably never believe half of what came out of her mouth. But for reasons she didn’t fully understand herself, she wanted him to believe her now. She wanted it desperately. “I am very glad it has not been six.”
He smiled at her then, that wonderful, cheerful, friendly smile she’d never had from him before.
“So am I, Esther.”
* * *
For the life of him, Samuel could not figure out what had possessed him to share his ugly childhood memory with Esther.
It wasn’t that his father’s penchant for drink and violence was any sort of secret. But what was general knowledge and what one brought up as breakfast conversation were two different animals entirely.
Furthermore, the incident with the fire poker wasn’t general knowledge. By some miracle, it had never made the papers, and he’d never spoken of it to anyone but Gabriel and Renderwell. He’d never intended to speak of it to anyone else. He wasn’t ashamed of the fight—he’d not done a damn thing wrong that night. But it was an uncomfortable
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