Tangled Webs (12 page)

The idea of submerging her entire body in water just for the purpose of getting clean seemed unnecessary. The street men bathed in the Thames, and most of the children swam there when the heat
got to be too much, but Arista never joined them.

Not out of modesty. Arista couldn’t swim. Water, even in this contained form, terrified her.

Though the tub only came up to her hip, it might as well have held the entire river. Arista swallowed and ran her fingers tentatively through the water, tiny currents trailing behind. She stared
in fascination. The water rippled outward from her fingers, its effect hypnotizing.

She leaned over the side and watched her reflection break apart, then come together, only to break apart again. Even in the unstable water, she could see the black smudges on her face. It
wouldn’t hurt to wash her arms
in
the tub. She took the soap and plunged her hands under the surface, lathering them until soft bubbles trickled down her forearms. The black soot
washed away, revealing clean, pink skin. She pushed up the sleeves of the gauzy shift and scrubbed higher on her arms.

The soap felt decadent against her skin. The aroma wafted through the air, thick and sweet. She ducked her arms into the water, as far as she could from the odd angle where she was standing. Not
entirely right, but not wrong either. Heat seeped through her skin and settled next to her bones. Amazing. Arista bit her lip. If Nic were here, he’d be taunting her, calling her a coward.
“Becky, would you please check the lock?”

Becky adjusted the screen so it provided a barrier to the rest of the room, and then disappeared. Arista glanced once more at the bath and took a deep breath.

The buttons at her neck came undone easily, and the nightgown slipped off her shoulders. She held it tightly against her body and climbed onto the stool next to the tub. She let the nightgown
fall and gripped the edge of the tub. First a toe, then an ankle, then a leg.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she stepped in with the other leg. She stood still, arms crossed over her chest, as the water lapped gently at her thighs. She could wash like this and get
clean enough, but what would it feel like to fully immerse herself in that warmth?

Very slowly, she sank down until she could sit. The water cocooned her body, and panic reared up. She grabbed the edge of the tub to get out before her heart exploded inside her chest.

“That’s it, miss, just give it a minute,” Becky said, coming around the corner. Arista sank back down so fast that water sloshed over the edge of the tub. Immediately the
warmth of the water encompassed all of her at once. Heat soaked into her limbs, down to the bone, and Arista exhaled. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

Becky rolled her sleeves back and took the square cloth from the stand. She dipped it into the water and then scrubbed the cake of soap over it. The room filled with a thick, sweet fragrance
that reminded Arista of the women at the masked balls, dancing by in their clouds of scented air.

“Lean forward, miss,” Becky said.

Arista followed the order as if she was looking down at herself from a distance. Becky scrubbed the slick cloth over Arista’s back and shoulders. When she tried to wash Arista’s
arms, Arista refused to unwind them from her knees. Tiny ripples covered the water from where her limbs still trembled. Each time she shifted, the water moved and pulled her slightly off balance.
What if she slipped under?

“How about I wash your hair first?” Becky gently guided Arista’s chin back and up, and then used the pitcher to slowly pour warm water over Arista’s head.

It wasn’t that much different than getting caught in the rain. Arista let out the breath she’d been holding. Another burst of fragrance filled her lungs, and then Becky’s
fingers were on her scalp. As Arista was not used to being touched, the sensation was both uncomfortable and luxurious.

The warmth of the water made her arms grow heavy. She let them fall away from her knees and they floated, suspended, next to her. She watched them with a sort of detached amusement. A sigh
escaped, and she gave in and closed her eyes. Becky’s fingers worked the lather into Arista’s short hair with practiced ease.

The remaining tension in her body floated away as Becky massaged Arista’s scalp. A languid calm settled over her. By the time Becky poured two more pitchers of water over her head, Arista
could have fallen asleep. Baths might
not
be a terrible thing after all. Becky handed Arista the cloth when she was finished. It was all very different than washing one body part at a time
with a damp rag.

“Ready?” Becky stood next to the bath with a larger cloth.

No, she wasn’t ready, but the water grew cooler by the minute and Arista’s teeth were beginning to chatter. Her legs shook as she stood and stepped over the edge. Becky immediately
wrapped the cloth around Arista. Goose bumps sprang up along Arista’s arms.

Becky took another cloth and vigorously rubbed it up and down Arista’s arms. A bit of heat returned and Arista’s teeth stopped chattering. Becky grabbed a robe from the peg on the
screen. The bright red silk had exotic-looking tigers stitched in orange thread, rearing back with their mouths wide open. Exactly what she pictured a brothel girl wearing. The robe came only to
her knees. She tugged at the hem, but it would go no lower.

“There are clothes in the wardrobe,” Arista said. Hopefully something more tasteful than the robe. It would probably be a low-cut scarlet dress. Maybe Becky could find an errand boy
and borrow some clothing for Arista to wear?

As Becky hurried to the wardrobe, Arista hung back, not comfortable enough to step out from behind the screen dressed in only a short robe. The door was locked, but she did not doubt that Wild
had a master key.

When Becky returned, Arista braced herself for some monstrosity posing as a dress, but the garment Becky was holding seemed quite plain. The dark blue muslin material had been cut and sewn into
a flattering and demure shape. The neckline was lined with lace, and not indecent at all. In fact, it covered more than any of the dresses she’d worn as Lady A.

A wide darker sash was wound around the waist. Not what the working girls would wear; it covered too much skin for them. A maid, maybe? Becky hung it on the peg and set down a pile of white
underclothes, then left a pair of shoes on the floor. Not a single piece of the clothing screamed
whore
.

“Would you like me to help you get dressed?” Becky asked.

Arista picked through the pile of underclothes. Normally she wore only a shift under her man’s shirt and jacket. Not even Lady A wore quite so many things. There had to be a half dozen
different pieces here. She’d never get them all on correctly.

She could only nod.

Becky knew exactly what went where, though, and in only a few minutes Arista had on a chemise, a petticoat, silk stockings held up by lacy garters, and a corset laced not too loosely around her
middle.

“All this when a simple shift would do just as well under a dress,” Arista mumbled. The bones in the corset forced her back straight, which in turn forced her chest out. No one would
mistake her for anything but a girl.

Becky lifted the dress over Arista’s head and slid it down, shaking it as she did so that the material fell into place perfectly. After a few tugs here and there, Becky tied the sash in
the back.

When Arista turned around, Becky’s eyes opened wide and her fingers pressed against her lips. “Oh, miss. You look beautiful.” She dashed a stray tear away, then hurried to hang
up the robe.

Heat flooded Arista’s cheeks. She felt more exposed now than while standing naked at the tub. She lifted the hem of her dress to her waist and secured her knife to her thigh, and finally
felt more like herself. More in control.

Now
she was ready to go and make a deal with the devil.

A
rista only had to wait ten minutes before the maid, Cecily, returned. “If you’ll come down to the garden, Mr. Wild will join you,
miss.” Cecily curtsied and motioned for Arista. “Follow me, please.”

Arista took Becky’s hand and squeezed. “I’ll be back before you know it, and everything will be taken care of.”

Becky’s eye shone with unshed tears. She gripped Arista’s hand tight. “What will you do, miss?”

“I’m going to give him what he wants, but on my terms. Now lock the door behind me.” Arista let go of her friend’s hand and turned away.

The long corridor outside her room was empty. Sounds filtered up from below, but no one else was in the hall. A well-worn runner spanned the length of the hall, stretching out to the left and
right. After hearing the telltale click of the lock, Arista followed Cecily to the left, away from the music.

Most places like this had separate stairs for servants, so they could come and go unnoticed by the clientele. Cecily led her to a dark stairwell, and down it to another door. More steps wound
further below them. When there were no more steps, Cecily swung open the last door. The hall they entered was empty; obviously the servants’ area. The walls were rough and bare, and no rugs
covered this floor. It didn’t matter here.

“This way, miss.” Cecily led Arista through the kitchen, where several hunched-over women tended to a line of pots hanging above a huge fire. None looked up as they walked past.
Incredible smells filled the air, and despite the fact that she had eaten earlier, her stomach growled loudly. She grabbed a warm roll from a tray—a small show of defiance, if only in her own
head. Cecily opened yet another door, and cool air immediately swept past her. A small, well-tended garden was just outside, with a stone walkway winding out of sight.

“You can wait on the bench if you like.” Before Arista could answer, the door had closed behind her. She stood alone, with only the glow from a single window illuminating the
fenced-in space. It appeared to be a small kitchen garden, filled with herbs and a few flowers. Someone had put a wooden bench in the corner by the tall fence, in the darkest part of the garden.
Arista gravitated toward the shadows. The hem of her dress brushed against the fragrant foliage, and the air filled with a spicy mix of scents. She sat, her back to the fence, so that she could see
Wild the moment he stepped outside.

In the silence, Arista cleared her head, and focused on what needed to be done. The warm bun practically melted in her mouth. After a lifetime of stale bread, there were no words to describe how
delicious the food here tasted.

Mentally, she ticked off what her demands would be:

A place to live. A safe place, not like where they’d been before.

Food to eat.

A promise of safety for Becky, if anything should happen to Arista.

And Nic. He had to find Nic for her. Oh, he’d said he would send men to
inquire
, but Arista had no assurance that he actually would. By attaching the request to her list of demands,
it might make Wild look for him just a little bit harder.

Arista had to know for sure that everything Wild had told her was true. If Nic had already planned an alliance with the man, he could tell her if Wild was in fact trustworthy. At least,
trustworthy enough to get what she needed from him.

If Wild met her demands, then Arista would agree to give their deal a chance. She would become Lady A again to protect her friend. And in doing so, she would secure their future as well. With a
fair cut of the profits, they would be able afford passage on a supply ship within a few months. Maybe even the one her mysterious highwayman captained.

The thought made her pulse jump, but she steeled herself against it. She had no time to dwell on him. Right now, she had to be sure that Becky remained safe.

“I barely recognized you dressed like that.”

Arista swung around, reaching for her knife instinctively. Wild was there, half covered by the shadows. Behind him, a gate swung shut. Damn him. He’d taken her by surprise while she was
lost in thought. “I’m ready to make a deal.” She stood as he approached, his gait relaxed and confident. They were equal now. Partners.

Wild smiled and took a long inhale off his cheroot. “A wise business decision. One that will benefit you greatly, Ana.”

Arista nodded and chose her next words carefully. A man like Wild manipulated and used people. There could be nothing left up to interpretation or chance. “There are a few things I will
need from you first.”

The corner of his lips turned down a fraction, giving away his displeasure. Enough of a pause for her to remember that Wild was not her friend. He might not get his own hands dirty like Bones
did, but Wild and Bones were both used to getting what they wanted—no matter who suffered. Bones had used her. Wild sought to do the same—only now, she would benefit from this
arrangement a lot more. She’d make damned sure of that.

“What do you need?” he asked. His shoulders were relaxed again, and he leaned casually against a statue of a cherub holding an urn upside down.

“We need a place to live.”

Wild lifted one eyebrow and glanced at the building behind her.