Tangled Webs

by Lee Bross

  “No, I’ve never left London.”

  He stared at her intently. His fingers ran over her wrist, so softly that it might have been a whisper of fabric touching her, if not for the heat. Arista stood still, caught in his gaze. Blood pounded through her veins. No one had ever looked at her like this.

  A couple waltzing by bumped her elbow and she stumbled. He reached out and steadied her, but it was enough to break the spell he had cast. What was she doing?

  She had one job tonight. She had not come to the masquerade to lose herself in wistful dreams. Or in the eyes of the most intriguing young man she’d ever met. She should not wonder which exotic lands he had seen, nor wish to hear more about them. No, she should be meeting Lord Huntington and finishing up Bones’s business. Yet there she stood.

  “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

  Arista glanced up and saw genuine concern filling his eyes. Unable to speak just yet, she shook her head. Her hands trembled. He reached for one and tucked it against his chest. Under her fingers, his heart thumped as quickly as hers. It was right there, on the tip of her tongue, to ask how much passage on one of his ships might cost.

  Real fear stretched her nerves tight. What if Bones somehow knew what she was thinking? He wasn’t a mind reader, of course, but he had an uncanny ability to know her feelings. If he knew how close she had come to contemplating escape, he’d kill her rather than let it happen.

  “I have to go.” She desperately tugged at her hand. He let it go, but she spent several more seconds staring into his eyes. This must be what a caged bear felt when finding an open door. The offer of freedom so close, but the threat of punishment all-consuming. From a distance, the clock began chiming the midnight hour.

  “Can I see you again?” His voice was plaintive. “Tell me I can.”

  Unfamiliar feelings constricted her chest. She shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She made it only a few more steps before she heard him call out.

  “Your name then? Please.”

  Oh God, it would be so easy to tell him that one simple thing.

  Color and sound moved around her at dizzying speed. All around, bodies spun by, and she could see no way of escape. The room seemed to grow smaller around her.

  “I’m Graeden Sinclair,” he said. “Grae to my friends.” He stepped back into her line of sight and reached for her hand. His gaze bore into hers and again, the urge to tell him her real name—to ask for passage on his ship—was overwhelming.

  The loss of control shook her to the core.

  “I’m sorry.” Arista drew in a ragged breath, and when a wave of dancers passed by, she dove among them, putting the crowd between her and the man who had nearly destroyed her defenses. She stood on the outskirts of the room, forcing the errant feelings back inside, where she hoped they would eventually die.

  Grae. Like his eyes. Like the thunderclouds that filled the sky before a storm.

  She pressed her gloved fingers to her lips to keep from saying it out loud.

  A hand appeared on her arm, and another at her back. For a moment she thought Grae had followed her, and an unexpected rush of anticipation made her skin tingle.

  “You okay, gypsy? Thought I lost you there for a minute.” Nic stood in front of her, partially shielding her from the crowd. Always the protector. Always looking out for her, like he’d promised to do so many years ago.

  Arista closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Not Grae. Nic.

  “You know I hate when you call me gypsy.” The words came out rough, betraying her still-fragile control. Where had the highwayman gone? She could not see him over Nic’s shoulder, which meant he had not followed her. The bitter sting of disappointment made her close her eyes.

  “Well, we still have work to do—gypsy. You feeling up to it?” Though Nic asked, she knew there was no choice. It didn’t matter that her composure had slipped dangerously out of her control. She had a debt to collect. A job to do.

  She cleared her throat, took a deep breath to clear her thoughts, and nodded. “Where is Lord Huntington now?”

  Nic flicked his eyes toward an archway where Lord Huntington stood. Arista already knew it led to the library, just as she knew every exit in the house. The first few minutes of each job were spent getting the feel for their surroundings. Unless they had been there before. “It’s time, then.”

  They walked side by side around the edge of the room. Little by little, her composure returned. Each step took her away from what had happened on the dance floor.

  Lady A had regained control once more.

  Just steps away from Lord Huntington, Nic stopped her with a slight touch on her arm. She could not help the immediate comparison to how Graeden’s fingers had affected her.

  Arista stared at Nic’s hand, waiting, hoping for something more, but there was only the familiar feeling of safety, not excitement.

  “Really, is everything okay, gypsy?” He stared at her, his eyebrows drawn with concern. No trace of humor remained in his eyes.

  For the briefest second, she had an overwhelming urge to cry. She had not cried since she was six years old, and it had been in Nic’s gangly eight-year-old arms. She’d sworn it would never happen again. Tears were for the weak—the powerless. She was neither.

  “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

  Nic looked as though he wanted to say something more, but Arista turned away before he could. No more distractions.

  Lord Huntington saw them coming and quickly disappeared down the hall. After they entered behind the earl, Nic checked to be sure they were not followed. He switched to bodyguard mode seamlessly.

  An enormous pair of carved-oak doors took up most of the wall at the end of the hallway. Nic pushed them open soundlessly and locked the doors behind them after they entered.

  Arista’s skirts rustled in the quiet of the room.

  Lord Huntington stood in front of the large mantelpiece, his back to them. Arista waited several long seconds before he turned and acknowledged her—a tiny play for control on his part. She gave it to him. She let him think he had a choice, at least for the moment.

  Lord Huntington’s mask had been carelessly tossed aside on a polished side table next to his ridiculous hat. The seams of his silk jacket were even more strained up close, and it seemed as if the buttons would fly off at any moment. It took him three tries to clear his throat enough to speak.

  “Lady A.” His voice sounded hoarse, like he’d only just started using it.

  She inclined her head slightly. He took a long swallow from the glass of brandy clutched in his fat fingers. Just like that, she had the power again.

  His gaze shifted over her shoulder to Nic, who stood with his back against the door. Arista glanced back and smiled. Nic’s arms were folded across his chest, his black jacket pulled tight across lean muscles. Though he looked almost casual standing there, no one could mistake his deadliness.

  Lord Huntington cleared his throat again. “I trust, after this, I won’t see you again.” He handed her a thick envelope with a red wax seal. It bore the insignia of his family crest: an open-mouthed lion, crossed by a sword and spear. He seemed to relax enough to swallow the last of the brandy in several hasty mouthfuls.

  The envelope was thicker than the normal payment. It appeared that Bones had set a much higher price on Huntington’s request. The going rate for a seat in Parliament, and a very powerful position at that, was indeed high.

  Now it only remained to be seen who would eventually pay an even higher price to lay Huntington low. Every secret could be sold. Bones played no favorites. And those who had a secret and wished it to be kept—well, they would be forced to pay even more to keep it safe.

  They never quite thought that part through—that someone else, someone more desperate, might be willing to pay dearly for their secrets to gain an advantage. Bones’s services went to the highest bidder, plain and simple.

  Those prices grew higher every day.

  “Lord Huntington.” Her voice came
out perfectly manicured and a tad bored. It was all part of the aristocratic image she had to convey—her elaborate deception. “Whether you’ve fulfilled your side of the bargain remains to be seen. Bones will decide after he receives this. Until then, consider your obligation outstanding.”

  Lord Huntington’s face turned beet red. He threw the crystal glass, and it flew past her head to shatter on the stone hearth. Arista did not flinch. She’d seen it coming. Nic, however, immediately started across the room.

  “You’ve gotten your bloody secret from me as down payment, and now a small fortune to keep it quiet. If you think for one second you’re not done with me…I could snap you in half, girl.” The words exploded from his mouth and spittle flecked his chin.

  He took a single menacing step toward her, and Nic growled a soft warning. Arista saw the surprise on Huntington’s face, and then something else. A tic began in his right eye. The fingers on his right hand flexed, and he shifted his weight to his right foot.

  He would fight after all.

  She knew he had a knife under his vest. The earl really should have chosen a more relaxed fit of clothing if he’d wished to use the element of surprise.

  “He has a weapon.”

  Lord Huntington shoved his hand into his pocket, but Nic was faster. He twisted the earl’s right arm behind his back. The buttons that had been on the verge of exploding flew across the room as Nic ripped open Huntington’s vest and disarmed him. Disbelief filled Lord Huntington’s eyes and he stumbled away from them. Arista chuckled.

  The sound seemed to shock Lord Huntington. He pressed against the wooden doors as if trying to disappear through them. They thought they were so much better than her, men like Huntington, but in moments like these, she held all the power. Arista walked toward the sputtering man until she stood close enough to smell his overindulgence of cologne. It did little to mask the odor of sour sweat and hard liquor.

  “You would do well to remember…” She lifted her booted foot and rested it against the door by his leg. Slowly, she raised her skirt well past the curve of her knee with a sly smile. “Cooperation would be in everyone’s best interest, and much less…messy.”

  His eyes ran down the length of her exposed flesh, and he visibly balked at the sight of the knife strapped to her thigh. He swallowed nervously, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like a dinghy adrift on the Thames.

  “You’re mad.” Lord Huntington fumbled behind him, his cheeks getting redder as he struggled to find the lock. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you stay away from me or I’ll put a reward on your head the size of the palace, and then we’ll see who pays.”

  He sneered at her, but his lips trembled.

  Arista slipped the knife from its sheath. The earl’s gaze darted from the blade to her face as she lifted the knife and slowly ran the tip down his cheek. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough for him to know that she was deadly serious.

  “Are you threatening me, sir?” Her voice lowered and turned deceptively soft, coating the steel lurking just beneath the surface. If he thought he could scare her, he would be disappointed. She did not cower at the raised voice of a man like him. “You made a deal, and you will honor it. Are you not a gentleman of your word, Lord Huntington?” She lifted one eyebrow and let her words, and the blade, trail off.

  He sputtered but did not reply.

  “Good evening, then, my lord.” Arista sheathed the knife and sank into an exaggerated curtsy. Lord Huntington remained silent. With a dismissive turn, he clicked the lock and swept out the door in a flourish of peacock green.

  As soon as the door shut, Arista leaned her forehead against the cool wood. She closed her eyes and exhaled.

  “That went well.” Nic’s wry chuckle sounded very close. “Thought we’d have a real fight on our hands for a second. Ready to head back to the palace, princess?” Arista lifted her head. He stood no closer than a foot away, and held out his arm like a gentleman would.

  With a relieved smile, she took it without hesitation. Now that their business was done, the high from being in charge faded instantly. Exhaustion set in and her body felt heavy. His arm was strong and solid under her hand.

  Nic was her rock, the wall between Arista and Bones. He made sure that no matter what, she remained safe from their brutal guardian. There had been opportunities over the years when she might have slipped away—away from Bones and her life on the streets. But she had never taken them. She had nowhere to go. Not without Nic.

  Once, she’d had the childish dream that they might get away from London together. But as Nic grew into a man, Arista saw the reality of the situation. He liked this life.

  Nic liked the power that came with controlling those better than them. Lately, Arista had started seeing traces of Bones in Nic, and it scared her. Maybe there was a way to convince him to leave with her before it was too late.

  “This way if you please, my lady.” Nic led her through a set of doors hidden by heavy drapes, and they slipped out onto a brick courtyard, away from the partygoers. Thick fog had rolled in as it did most nights, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere. Buildings rose up into the dark shadows above them.

  Away from the stifling heat of the crowded ballroom, the air chilled her flushed skin, making her shiver involuntarily.

  A lady of quality always has a shawl.

  Becky’s admonition sounded as clearly as if the girl were there with them. The damned gentry had a rule for everything, and it exhausted Arista to remember them all—but tonight, a shawl would be welcome.

  Not that she was a lady of quality, by any stretch of the imagination.

  Sensing her need, Nic shrugged out of his jacket and slipped it around her bare shoulders. He brushed his fingers over her skin, and this time, warmth quickly spread from the spot he had touched. Nic tucked her arm in his and led her through the heavy front gate. They passed by several couples too engrossed in each other to even lift their heads. Arista pretended not to see them.

  A sleek black carriage rolled by, the wheels rattling on the cobbled street, hooves clopping a steady rhythm as it passed. The sounds of the orchestra faded as they walked farther from Dover Street.

  Tonight’s task had been completed; the thick package was tucked securely in Nic’s jacket. It pressed into her ribs as they walked. Exactly how much money was she carrying right at that moment? Enough to buy passage on a ship for all three of them—her, Nic, and Becky? The thought came and went quickly.

  She would not look. Not ever again. Only once before, when Bones first sent her out as Lady A, had she dared to peek inside an aristocrat’s envelope. She hadn’t thought Bones would miss just one shilling from the package. It had taken weeks for the bruising to heal. Of course he knew, to the halfpence, how much to expect.

  “Do you think he’ll ever have enough?” Arista asked softly.

  Each time Lady A made an appearance, the risk to Arista grew. At first, she’d only collected secrets and delivered information back to the clients. Then Bones had started sending Lady A to collect the actual money as well. That’s where the real danger came into play for Arista.

  Bones used the aristocracy’s own secrets to blackmail them: they paid up or risked having their secrets sold to a higher bidder. Bones often left out that part of the deal until he had what he wanted and his client had what he or she needed. Only the most desperate or devious people resorted to the service Bones offered—ones who would lose big if their truths ever came to light. So they always paid. Only one had ever refused.

  He’d hung himself from the London Bridge when his secrets had been exposed in the Spectator. A powerful message to all who thought to double-cross Bones; it also put a larger target on Lady A.

  They might pay for silence now, but none would hesitate to kill her if given the chance. It was why she never went out in public as herself. If anyone found out what she looked like under the disguise, she would never be safe.

  Nic never worried about his own safety, though he
, too, wore a mask when they met with clients.

  “I doubt it,” Nic replied. “He’s greedy, and he enjoys the power more than the money, I think.” He expertly whisked her down another maze of alleyways filled with dark shadows, where the light from the street lamps didn’t reach. There was no need to illuminate this part of London. No one cared what happened in the dark there. Her skirt swished in the silence.

  None of the people who used Bones’s services really understood what they had done—the true ramifications of trading their darkest secrets for more power and money. At some point, there would be no more secrets, but it wouldn’t matter. Bones would have the means for a lifetime’s worth of blackmail, if not multiple lifetimes—generations of noble families. No, these people who thought themselves so clever had become pawns in a game only Bones would win.

  After several minutes, she stopped and looked up at Nic. “He could destroy every single one of them, if he wanted to.”

  Though she couldn’t see his face in the shadows, Arista could hear the smile in Nic’s voice. His words chilled her even more.

  “Aye. Whoever controls the secrets controls those rich bastards.”

  The walk back to their “home” only took a short half hour. Taking shortcuts through alleys was second nature to Arista and Nic, and few dared maneuver them in the darkness of night. Nic gripped her arm, and his muscles tightened and released at her touch. Always in a constant state of alertness. To be mistaken for gentry in this part of London would not end well.

  In her usual attire she wouldn’t have attracted a second glance, but clothed in silk and paste jewelry, she was a walking target. Thankfully, Nic’s dark jacket covered most of the skin exposed by the cut of the dress, and the black silk blended with the shadows. Still, she would not be completely safe until she made it back to her room.