His mind still spinning, Harte turned to find Jack Grew making his way across the dance floor. Too late to make his escape, he swallowed the blood that had pooled in his mouth and waved a greeting to Jack. He hardly felt any satisfaction at Jack’s appearance. All he could think of was the girl.
“I thought that was you,” Jack said with a smile that told Harte he’d already been drinking. “Well, come on, then. I have a table in the corner.” Jack pointed across the crowded room.
“Lead the way,” Harte said amiably. He tentatively checked his still-tender tongue as he forced himself to forget about the girl and focus on the situation before him. She wasn’t his problem anymore, but Jack Grew might be his solution.
A WASTE OF GOOD BOOTS
Esta ducked farther back into an alcove on the second floor and tried to force herself to calm down. She unfastened the top two buttons of the heavy velvet dress to dispel the heat that had climbed up her neck.
He’d kissed her.
She could still feel him on her lips, still taste the whiskey that had been on his breath. She didn’t know who he was or why he’d picked her, but she hated him for it.
First he’d ruined her chance at lifting the old man’s wallet—and her chance of getting Bridget Malone’s attention right along with it—and then, of all things, he’d kissed her like he had a right to.
As his head had bent toward her, it felt like time had gone slow, like the room had dimmed around them and she was frozen. It wasn’t that he had any power to actually stop time, not like she had. It was simply that she—who had spent her whole life training for attacks, who was an expert at getting out of tough situations—knew what was about to happen and somehow still couldn’t make herself move away or put a stop to it.
Worse, she’d kissed him back. Like an idiot.
When his lips finally touched hers, she’d been braced for an attack, so she was too surprised by how gentle he was to even think. She’d felt the warmth of his mouth, the scent of him, like soap and fresh linen and citrus, and something inside of her had split open. It wasn’t that she’d never been kissed before. Of course she’d been kissed. By Logan, by men she’d needed to distract on various jobs. She might have even gone as far as saying she liked it, the tangle of breath, the push-pull excitement of desire.
But she hadn’t realized how much she craved gentleness. How susceptible she still was to a yearning for human contact that was more than the physicality of her sparring matches with Dakari. For warmth.
His mouth had offered her that, and for a moment she’d fallen into the kiss as easily as breathing. She hadn’t even tried to stop herself. It was like the mistakes she’d made with Logan all over again.
If she was honest, that bothered her more than the kiss itself.
Luckily, she didn’t have time to be honest with herself any more than she had time to think too much about the kiss. Or how stupid she’d been. Thank god she’d finally come to her senses and given it all back to him, and then some.
Too bad that only made her feel marginally better.
From her vantage point in the alcove, she could see the entire ballroom, including the boy. He’d been so commanding on the dance floor, she’d assumed he was older, but now that she looked closer at him, she realized he didn’t have any more than a couple of years on her.
She couldn’t help but watch him. It was important to understand your enemy, she told herself. It didn’t hurt that he was nice enough to look at. His suit fit perfectly over his broad shoulders. She knew firsthand that there wasn’t any padding in his coat—she’d felt his strength as he’d gripped her wrist and held her in his arms. Still, there was something about him that bothered her. Something more, that is, than the way he kissed.
Maybe it was simply that the old adage was true—you really can’t con a con—but after a few minutes of studying him, she realized all his confidence and swagger was an act. Or at least part of one. Just like Logan’s easy charm was a way to manipulate and Dakari’s fierce features were only a cover for the softness beneath.
The longer she watched, the more she noticed how uncomfortable he was. He fidgeted. The small tugs at his sleeves, the way he touched his temples to make sure every hair was in place, the way he arranged the gloves on the table, lining up the fingertips so they matched—he couldn’t seem to stop checking himself. The longer she watched, the more she wondered what he was hiding. Or what he was hiding from.
Then something struck her—the other man at the table was familiar. It took her a second to place him, but once she realized that he’d been older the last time she’d seen him, she easily recognized the blond as the man who’d shot Logan in Schwab’s mansion.
She pulled herself back from the railing. She wouldn’t steal the Pharaoh’s Heart for another twenty years or more, and in that past, he hadn’t known her. She was probably safe enough now, but it was too much of a coincidence that the man who had ruined everything at Schwab’s mansion was here as well.
She needed to find Bridget Malone before anything else happened. . . .
“Well, what have we here?” a voice said from behind her.
Esta jumped and turned to find a large man with whiskers like a goat leering at her, his belly preceding him into the small alcove. With him came the stale reek of sweat and beer and too much cologne.
“Corey said he had a treat for me tonight.”? His heavy gold signet ring flashed as he flexed his fingers in what was clear anticipation. “I see you’ve anticipated my arrival,” he said, gesturing to her open collar.
At first Esta thought the man had made a mistake or had confused her for someone else, but his eyes traveled over her, lingering on her chest, her corseted waist and hips. She remembered suddenly where she was, in one of the semiprivate areas the girls who worked the hall used to entertain their clients. The man clearly thought she was there waiting for him on purpose, and before she had a chance to correct him, he’d already moved closer, blocking her in with his wide body.
She really hadn’t wanted to injure anyone else tonight, she thought, as the man took another step forward. Backing up until she was pressed against the railing, she considered her options.
“Now, now,” the man slurred, stumbling toward her. ?The smile curving his lip exposed his yellowed teeth when she lifted her hands, preparing for his attack. “None of that,” he said, the excitement clear in his voice.
The man grabbed for her, and he was lighter and faster on his feet than Esta expected. She barely had a chance to focus on the moment, to find the spaces between the seconds, so she could create a path through it and away from him. The room stilled, the bright cawing laughter and tinny notes of the band dimmed to a low drone, and the man went almost comically slow, as though he were moving through air as thick and solid as sand.