Tangled Webs (17 page)

“Y
ou.” The word came out in a long exhale and Arista could not help but look at his lips and remember.

She hugged herself tighter. What cruel fate had brought her to this house, of all the houses in London?

Emotions played across his face. Surprise. Relief. Rage. His eyes narrowed and he grabbed her upper arm. “What the hell are you doing in my father’s house?”

Arista stepped back, shocked by his reaction. Before, he had been all soft words and warm eyes. There was nothing of that in his face now. The emotions that she saw there were all too familiar.
The urge to flee made her muscles spasm painfully.

They’re all alike.

She should have known he had no real concern for her.

“Let go of me.” She tugged at her arm, but he would not release her. She reached for her knife, but Grae spun her around so fast that she lost her balance. Before she could exhale,
he had her back pressed up against his chest and his free arm around her waist, holding her immobile against him.

“What are you doing here?” he growled in her ear.

“Let go of me! I’m a guest. The daughter of a business partner.” She gasped out the lie. His hold tightened and she clawed at his arm, kicking back uselessly in a tangle of
skirts. He released her suddenly, and fear seized her body. Next his fists would rain down on her. Instinctively she cringed, pulling her arms to her chest. His expression faltered, but the anger
never left his eyes.

“I know who you really are,
Lady A
.” He practically spat the name at her.

The fight left her body, and she glanced around to see if anyone had heard his accusation. They were still alone in the garden, which was both good and bad. Had he known all along? Her stomach
rolled and her entire body shook. Her own anger swiftly replaced the fear. He’d used her.

“You knew? When we met, you knew who I was?” she said accusingly. Unwanted tears burned the back of her eyes. What did it matter? Everyone wanted something from her. Except
she’d wanted him to be different. She’d believed the lies he’d whispered in her ear.

Grae shook his head, and Arista thought she saw a flash of hurt in his eyes.

“I didn’t know who you were when I met you. I just knew I had to see you again. I asked a few discreet questions. They kept leading me back to the same thing: a woman who traded
secrets for money. A cunning blackmailer who wore a mask of raven feathers.” His gaze darted over her face as if he were trying to reconcile the woman in the mask with the girl who stood
before him.

Arista tried to still the shaking in her body. No one knew her identity outside the mask, aside from Nic and Becky. He could out her to everyone, and her value to Wild would be gone. Any chance
at safety for Becky would be lost with it. Once again, someone else held the power of her future in his hands.

She straightened her shoulders and forced her face into a mask of indifference. He had no proof against her. “You’re mistaken.”

He laughed; a dark, hollow sound. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” His stare burned into hers and she couldn’t look away. He lifted his hand and traced
a finger along her jaw. His voice was deceptively calm now. “I know it’s you. Your eyes. I won’t forget them until I take my last breath.”

The urge to lean into his touch gripped her. He had haunted
her
dreams, as well. She could keep denying who she was, but they both knew the truth. “So now what?” she asked,
raising her quivering chin at him.

“Now that we have established your identity, I want the bloody truth. What the hell are you doing in my father’s house? Are you blackmailing him? My family?” The hand on her
face slipped lower and he gripped her bare shoulder. His touch burned her skin.

“I…” What was she supposed to say? No answer would satisfy him. She started to shake her head.

“Graeden?” Mrs. Sinclair’s voice floated over the garden. “Is that you?” Grae tensed behind her; then his arm slowly fell away. Arista took a quick step away from
him.

“I’m here, Mother.”

“Your father said you were home.” Marguerite came to the gate that separated the kitchen garden from Arista’s private one.

Arista pressed her hand against her stomach and turned away, sucking in a quick breath. She kept her gaze on the ground, not wanting to see the hatred in Grae’s eyes. Not that she blamed
him one bit. She was an imposter. A fake.

“There you are.…Oh, I see you’ve met our guest, Ana.”

“Yes, we’ve met.” His tone dripped anger. “Actually, Mother, I think you should know…”

Arista gasped. She met his stare and saw his determination. He would tell the family. That could not happen. Not only would it put her in danger, but then they would know Grae’s father had
done something very unscrupulous. Secrets like that destroyed families. She would not allow that to happen.

“It’s not what you think,” she whispered quickly.

Marguerite moved closer to them now. Arista looked up at Grae, silently begging him for a chance to explain. Grae’s penetrating gaze stripped Arista of all her defenses. She hoped that he
could see that there was no deception in her eyes.

“Should know what?” Marguerite asked, looking between Arista and Grae.

Please.
She sent one last silent request to the man who held her future in his hands.

After several tense seconds, his jaw relaxed.

“That I’ll be joining you for dinner tonight.” He seemed to tear his stare from Arista’s face with difficulty.

“Oh, how wonderful. I’ll let Jane know. Will you be staying overnight, too?”

Arista heard the joy in his mother’s voice, but could not look away from Grae. Behind the anger, something else was burning, far more dangerous than any threat he could make. She swallowed
against a dry throat.

“Yes, Mother. I think I will.”

“Excellent. I’ll have Wilson open up your room.” She started to turn away, but seemed to change her mind. She said nothing, but Arista saw the question in her
eyes—whether or not it was wise to leave them alone in the garden together.

No
, Arista screamed in her head.

“Tell Father I’ll be there in just a minute,” Grae said. “I’ve a new shipping route to discuss with him.”

Mrs. Sinclair smiled. The simple gesture was so full of love that it took Arista’s breath away. In that moment she knew that Grae would do anything to protect his family. The only defense
of this charade that would be acceptable to him was the truth. But if she told him why she was really there, he would know that his father had made some kind of deal with Wild already.

Never in her life had she wanted to keep a secret that was not her own this badly.

Arista sat down hard on the nearest bench. She glanced up in time to see the look of warning Marguerite directed at her son as she left the garden. She might not know the truth about why Arista
was there, but something made her wary nonetheless.

Grae sat on the bench opposite her. This would not be a pleasant exchange. He leaned back and crossed his legs at the ankles. His shoulders were squared and rigid, a sign that his irritation had
not yet dispersed. Everything about his body spoke of anger, and yet Arista wasn’t afraid for her safety. Before, blind fear had taken over, but she knew now that Grae would not harm her
physically. She knew that as surely as she knew he would accept nothing less than the truth. Which she could never give him.

“Talk,
Lady A
.”

Arista looked around before narrowing her eyes at him. “Stop calling me that.”

“Ana, then? Is that really your name?” His eyes narrowed. When she could not look at him, he sighed. “Of course not.” He unfolded his arms and leaned closer.
“I’ve gone to every damned party and ball since Lady Carstair’s, you know. Looking for you.”

Her pulse quickened, despite the precarious position she was in. There was a tone of vulnerability under the steely rage in his voice. It made her stomach twist in unexpected ways. It made her
remember their brief time together. She, too, had wished they might meet again under the safety of a disguise. Heat surged to her cheeks. She had to be glowing like a lantern. Did he remember the
kiss as well as she did?

His voice lowered, took on a dangerous undertone. “It was an acquaintance of mine, Lord Kalman, who finally informed me that the lady I sought was a
notorious
blackmailer.”

Lord Kalman. Arista wracked her brain but could not put the name to a face. There were so many faces she wished to forget. She closed her eyes to ward off the accusation in his stare.

“Were you marketing your skills for new clients that night,
Ana
?” he asked roughly. “Did you think I might be of some use to you?”

Her gaze dropped. She had been excited about the fact that he’d sailed to India. She’d only wished to know everything he’d seen and done. It had nothing to do with Lady A. He
mistook her silence for guilt. “Do you provide such a hands-on service to all who employ you?” Hurt radiated from his eyes, and she knew that some of the anger wasn’t because she
was there in his home; it was because he thought his feelings were one-sided. His entire body was tense. “Did you lose interest once you figured out that I didn’t need what you were
offering?”

His cruel words dug under her skin. Arista shook her head. She wanted to tell him that he’d made her feel things she’d never felt in her life. That she had planned to seek him out
again, but the fire changed everything. No one had ever affected her as he had. She knew from the first time they’d touched that he could be trusted—a feeling so rare that Arista was
sure she’d been mistaken. Their second meeting proved she had not been wrong.

She could tell him that despite the pretense on both of those nights, what she’d said—how she’d acted—it had been real.

His accusation—that she’d faked everything between them, simply to gain a new client—hurt more than anything he could physically do to her.

“You have no idea who I am. You know nothing about me or my past, or what I’ve had to do just to stay alive.” Arista covered her mouth and stood. She hadn’t meant to say
that much. The tears in her eyes were treacherously close to spilling over. “Just leave me alone.” She whirled around, running blindly for the door.

“Ana! Wait—” Grae’s words followed her through the door.

She stood with her back against the hard wood, taking deep, shuddering breaths. Why did she have the urge to tell him everything? To make him understand that none of this was her doing? She
hated the look in his eyes when he’d called her by her name—Lady A—like it was an accusation. That look was familiar, and it made her feel ashamed of who she had to be. How many
people had looked at her with the same disgust on their faces, every day of her life? How nice had it been that Grae only knew her as a girl at a party, and not a notorious extortionist?

A quick knock at her inner door sent her pulse racing. Had Grae come back? Would he demand the truth from her? The knock came again. She could not ignore it. He knew she was in her room.
Steeling herself, she walked to the door and opened it.

It was not Grae. A strange disappointment settled inside her.

“This just came for you, miss,” Wilson said, handing her a card. “The messenger said to bring it to you straightaway.”

The address was written on the outside, along with her made-up name:
Ana.
The writing looked unfamiliar, but it could only be from one person—the only other person who knew she was
here.

“A trunk was also delivered. It’s in the front hall. Should I bring it to you?”

“A trunk for me?”

“Yes, miss.”

It couldn’t be hers—she had nothing now, after the fire. Not that she’d had much before that. Certainly not enough to fill a trunk. Wilson stood there waiting. She could argue,
but she had a feeling it would do no good.

“Yes, please—bring it in.”

Arista quickly closed the door and swung around to press her back against it. She clutched the card tightly in her fist. She had not expected Wild to call so soon. She slipped her finger under
the seal and opened the card.

An invitation. Tonight?

Another soft knock came from the door and when she opened it, Wilson stood there with a rather large trunk behind him. “Your things, miss.”

Things? She owned nothing. “Are you sure that’s for me?”

“It came with the card, miss. And this tag has your name on it.” Wilson looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“Of course.” It had to be from Wild, but what on earth was in it?

Wilson pulled it inside the room and set it down. “Your maid is with Sara in the kitchen, if you need her.” He waited expectantly.

“No, that’s fine. Thank you.” She could not keep from staring at the trunk. It was about the size of a crate of vegetables at the market.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Wilson, Arista pulled the straps free. She lifted the lid and gasped. Inside the chest were clothes. Clothes that were most definitely not hers—she
had never owned that many nice things in her life.

She pulled the first dress free and shook it out. The fabric was simple cotton, a rich brown color that looked almost like chocolate. It had a modest neckline lined with delicate lace. Arista
held it up to herself. Of course the length was perfect.

She carefully laid it on the bed and dove back in, pulling out several more dresses and undergarments. They were all dark colors, appropriate for a girl in mourning. Wild had thought of
everything. At the bottom were shoes and stockings and a pile of dark clothes tied together with string. A note had been pinned to them.

For the esteemed Lady A.

Her fingers shook as she lifted the bundle; it was a reminder that there was a price to the luxuries bestowed upon her.

She set the package on the bed and untied the string, then folded back the paper, revealing more clothing. But this was different. There was a blouse, stark white with a low neckline, lined with
ruffles. Next she found a brightly colored skirt, seemingly made from hundreds of different pieces of cloth, sewn together in patchwork fashion. A black corset lay under the skirt. A plain black
mask sat on a pair of tall black boots at the very bottom of the pile.