Tangled Webs (6 page)

Arista pushed through the dense brush and carefully stepped over the spot with a missing plank. Water lapped gently against the wood supports, and the tension gripping her shoulders finally
melted away. The hopes and fears of a seventeen-year-old bubbled to the surface, finally free from the constraints she kept them under. Every minute of the day, her movements were calculated, as
either a gypsy beggar boy or the notorious Lady A. Neither role fit. She wore someone else’s skin all the time, except in rare moments like these, when she could escape both and just be
Arista.

At the ball earlier, when she’d lost sight of herself for a moment in a stranger’s arms, a slight breeze had swept over her from an open courtyard door, beckoning to her. An
indescribable urge to run away had overtaken her. An urge to go someplace like where the man described; where she could be completely free. She’d never been so close to running.

Bones owned her, and he made sure she never forgot it, but something stubborn inside Arista refused to give up. She wanted freedom. Wanted to make her own choices and have a future, away from
the streets of London. Maybe even find love.

She yearned for something pure and beautiful in her life. When she looked at Nic, she could sometimes see a ray of hope. Oftentimes it was clouded beneath the darkness that had been lately
creeping into his eyes, but when she remembered everything he’d done for her, she tried to ignore it. She could see the faint hints of a future she hardly dared to imagine.

Lately though, trying to find hope in these short moments of solitude had become harder. As if she were fading away from herself. How long would it take before she only existed as a beggar or
Lady A? What would happen when she forgot who she
really
was?

Across the river, a light pulled away from the glittering reflections, and a barely discernible boat glided across the water. Oars dipped down and cut through the water, and Arista saw the
lamplit face of an old man staring earnestly down at the river.

Goose bumps spread up her arms. Bodyfinders. They skirted the river’s edge in the dark, dredging for bodies with a long, hooked pole. Once found, they would pull them onto the boat,
rummage through the pockets for valuables, then take their clothes and dump the naked corpse back into the river.

There were no proper burials for the forgotten.

The thought made Arista tremble harder. How different was she from a body floating in the river? Who would care if she ceased to breathe? She had no past and no future, no family to lay claim to
her.

“Daydreaming again, gypsy?” Nic’s amused voice came from behind her. He settled down on the rickety dock without a sound, his arm brushing against her. The familiar ache
started again, and she looked up at him from the corner of her eyes.

“If I ended up like that…” She swept her hand out over the river, where the old man in the boat was now fishing something out of the water with his hooked pole. The words
lodged in her throat and she had to force them out. “Would you care?”

She’d never been closer to asking Nic if she meant something to him. Her breath hitched on the exhale, waiting for his answer.

He waited so long that heat burned a path from her neck to her cheeks.
Stupid. Of course not. We don’t care about anything, right?
She turned away, pretending to be engrossed in
what the man on the river did, and that Nic’s silence meant nothing to her.

“When Bones brought you to us, I thought you looked like a drowned kitten.”

She could feel him smiling, and she let herself relax enough to exhale. He was still talking to her as he always had.

“You were a spitting, angry, scared kitten who scratched anyone who came near. You were so small—five, I think. I know you still think about the first night every time we go back
through that door.”

“Yes.” Her pulse thumped dully in her ears. She didn’t know that he knew that.

Nic reached out and slowly twined his fingers through hers. “I remember the panic when I realized you had not brought anything back that first day. I tried to keep an eye on you in the
square. I half expected to find you trampled at the end of the day.”

Arista hated the memories that slammed into her head. She’d been so helpless and scared.

“I remember you gave me what you’d taken and then got hit for it.” Emotion swelled inside her throat. “I thought you were just a mean boy, but you weren’t. You
saved me that night. I would have died if I’d been put inside that room for one more day.”

“I know.” He grew quiet again, but he kept his fingers wound through hers. “I thought you were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.”

Arista glanced over at Nic, but he looked out across the water now, as if back in that moment. A small smile played over his lips. He wasn’t just toying with her, feeding her a line like
he did with the brothel girls. Heat pooled in her stomach. She had never dared to ask him.

“I hated the idea of him putting his hands on you.” His grip tightened painfully around her fingers, but then slowly relaxed. “I begged him to let me teach you how to steal. I
was the best at it, you know. I’ve always looked out for you, gypsy—not because I had to, but because I
wanted
to.” His voice lowered and grew thick with the rough accent
of the streets. The warmth of it sank deep into her bones. He was familiar; with him, she felt safe. Her fingers tingled where he touched them. His thumb stroked the back of her hand in lazy
circles, and a shock of heat raced up her arm.

They’d never had a conversation like this before. He’d never touched her so deliberately before. Her pulse leapt. “Do you think we’ll ever get away from this?”
Neither of the orphans had ever spoken of escape.

Instead of answering, Nic scooted back until he leaned against a mooring pole, then pulled her back to rest against his side. One arm curled lazily around her shoulders. “Where would you
go, gypsy?” His finger danced up her arm, leaving a wake of goose bumps. She liked this side of Nic. A lot.

Though she spent almost all her free time at the docks, watching the ships come in and out of the harbor, she knew very little of the world outside London. Only the bits and pieces of talk
bantered about by the sailors that constantly filled the docks. India. China. The Caribbean. America, even. They sounded so exotic and wild.

But going anywhere, even getting to the outskirts of London, took money. It was nice to dream about running away, but without the means, she would not get far. Plus, she was a commodity that
Bones would kill to keep. Becky and Nic, not so much. She could not risk their lives for frivolous thoughts of escape.

This was her life.

She shook her head. “There is nowhere.”

Nic leaned down until his lips brushed across her ear. “What would you say if I told you that Bones has grown so afraid of the Thief Taker General’s ever-expanding reach that he has
cut ties with most of the men in his employ for fear of betrayal? What if I told you I am one of Bones’s last confidants, and I know where he now hides his money? That I can get to it? Where
would you want to go then?”

Icy fear sliced along her spine. Was he really thinking about stealing from Bones? If he got caught, he’d be killed without a second thought. Bones was swift and cruel with retribution;
Arista had seen it firsthand many times. It was how he ensured complete loyalty among his men.

“There’s a board in his office, under the chair by the stove. If you pry it up…”

Arista spun around and covered his mouth with her hand. “Stop.” Her plea came out as a whisper, like Bones himself might hear them talking. Men had been gutted and left to bleed for
far less.

Nic gently pried her hand away. A glint of excitement shone in his eyes. His lips turned up into an eager grin. “I’m serious, gypsy, I have a plan. We can use Bones’s paranoia
to take what we want right from under his nose. We can do this. Imagine if we took Bones out of the equation. We could have enough money to be one of them.
We
would own them. No one would
ever dare to cross Lady A.”

A cold breeze blew in off the river, but Arista shivered for a different reason. She had always known that Nic had ambition—he’d risen in Bones’s ranks until he was the old
man’s trusted right hand—but to hear him talk like that, say such things, only solidified what Arista feared. Nic would never give up this life. He loved bringing the rich to their
knees, and he wanted Arista—no,
Lady A
—to help him. She tried to pull away, but he held her fingers in a tight grip. Almost too tight. Arista ground her teeth together and
stopped fighting.

“Really, gypsy, what do you want the most? Anything. Don’t you want what they have? To go to a party as a real guest? To have a grand home? And carriages and dresses and people to
take care of you? What about your freedom, gypsy? I know how you long for that.”

She shook her head in denial, but for just a second she had allowed herself to imagine it. The taste was bittersweet on her tongue, because it would never happen. Nic huffed and looked out at
the water. “Why should Bones get everything, when we’re the ones doing the dirty work? We are exposed to the danger and yet we get nothing. It has to stop.”

If anyone heard what he’d implied…Panic licked at her skin like fire. She glanced around, wide-eyed, afraid someone might hear them.

The man on the boat seemed closer than before. Could he be in Bones’s employ?

“Nic.” She tugged desperately against his grip, but he held her firmly. The man in the boat drifted away again, intent on another spot in the water.

“We can do this, gypsy, together. I’ve been thinking about it for years, and Bones trusts me now. I’ve been talking with someone who can help us, too. It’s the perfect
time.”

He actually wanted her to help him take over Bones’s operation.

“Don’t worry, gypsy, I’ll still keep you safe.” Nic ran his free hand up her arm and slid it behind her neck. Instead of the familiar heat of his touch, there was only
dull, thumping discomfort. He urged her head closer, and she stared up into his eyes.

He was going to kiss her.

She’d wanted it for so long, and yet could not push away her unease. It was as if the kiss would seal a bargain she hadn’t yet agreed to. But when his lips brushed across her cheek,
so soft that they barely touched her skin, she leaned in closer. This
was
what she wanted. Yet there was still hesitation in her movements.

Part of her uncertainty stemmed from inexperience. What if she did it wrong? Almost all her knowledge of what happened between men and women came from watching the girls at the docks. The rest
came from the masquerades she attended as Lady A. Neither were exactly places of virtue.

Nic, on the other hand, had plenty of experience. He cradled her neck gently in his fingers while stroking his thumb over her jaw. The simple feeling of being touched like that, like she was
finally wanted by someone, took her breath away. Arista closed her eyes and shushed the voices in her head. A gentle nudge was all it took to move her face toward Nic. All that stood between them
now was a whisper.

When his lips finally pressed against hers, he was gentle and slow, and Arista found herself leaning closer, deepening the kiss. This was it. Finally, she was kissing Nic. Her Nic.

After several long moments, he pulled back with a sigh and cradled her face against his chest. “I promise I’ll give you the life that you deserve, gypsy.” He pressed another
kiss against her temple and Arista leaned back in his arms to look up at him.

In the dim light, she studied his profile. A bump rose up in the middle of his nose from a fight many years ago. His jaw was square and hard and clenched in determination as he stared out across
the river. Arista finally had proof that Nic cared for her, that she was more than just an obligation.

The kiss should have fixed everything she thought was wrong inside her. Pieces should have fallen into place. Damaged parts should now be miraculously fixed. Instead, the hollowness remained and
it only added to her confusion.

What did this mean?

Was she so broken that nothing could heal her anymore?

Could she not feel anything?

Yes, she could feel something—
had
, in fact, earlier in the evening. Only it wasn’t her longtime friend, the boy she thought herself in love with, who made her body tingle with
awareness. It wasn’t Nic’s promise that made her heart pound erratically as she sat in the darkness.

It was the memory of a dark-eyed stranger in a highwayman’s disguise that made her yearn for so much more than this life.

O
ne night later, Arista stood alone at the entrance to Lady Carstair’s opulent mansion. The three-story home towered over the street, and
every single window shone with light. Through the wrought-iron fence, Arista could see a pair of ornately carved lions sitting sentry on each side of the enormous front steps.

Even from the street, the soft strains of music drifted through a thick row of hedges, adding to the exclusivity of the event. This affair was anything but a typical public masquerade.