by Lee Bross
“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.
One 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.
Arista gnawed nervously at her bottom lip. The strings to her mask seemed too tight suddenly. Around her, people moved toward a lone, gloved servant standing sentry. Only those with the correct invitation were allowed in.
Bones’s newest client must be someone very important if they frequented a party of this caliber. Typically, the information was passed to Nic, who then brought Arista to the planned rendezvous; but this time, Arista had been handed a card directly from Becky. And Nic had not yet joined her.
After the kiss last night, Nic had taken her hand and led her back to the house. Not a word had passed between them. She knew with a sinking clarity that Nic thought she had accepted his offer. She had not tried to persuade him otherwise, either. In truth, she still couldn’t quite believe what he had proposed. Surely he didn’t really mean to betray Bones?
All the next day, Arista waited for Nic to come to her room. She waited until Becky told her she had another task, a last-minute meeting. Arista figured Nic would be there waiting to escort her, just like always. But he wasn’t. Arista had walked to the address alone. Maybe he would meet her here.
“Your card, miss?” The butler had turned to her; it was her turn.
Arista gripped the card as tightly as possible, and took one last look over her shoulder for Nic before moving toward the man. The black card in her hand simply had an address in gold foil on the back. She waited to be called out as a fraud and turned away, but the butler took the card from Arista and ushered her through to the magical world that lay hidden behind those stone walls. Behind her, a vocal woman dressed as a queen was denied entrance.
Arista followed a wide path edged with glass-encased candles. It wound through shrubs and aromatic flowers, opening into a small garden. She walked around the edge, fighting the growing apprehension in her stomach. Without Nic at her side, she felt vulnerable. A few heads turned to watch her as she made her way down a second walkway.
Arista had always skirted the edges of crowds, blending in to remain anonymous, but tonight, she felt noticed. Rarely did she attend such intimate gatherings with so few people. The crowds of a public masquerade helped her to blend in. Here, every swish of her dress could be heard as she tried to keep from running back out through the gates. Her neck prickled.
Only the weight of her knife against her thigh kept her on task.
Arista moved on; her chin lifted. Enormous crystal vases of lilacs and roses had been placed along the crushed-shell walkway, and the heady scent brushed over her skin like a gentle caress. Everywhere she looked, couples were hidden away in the darkness. Soft chuckles and long sighs pierced her head like arrows. The party had a decidedly different atmosphere than any other masked ball she had attended. The others were full of gaiety and fun, but this party had a distinctly indulgent air—and with good reason.
Lady Carstair was well known for the exclusivity of her guest list for her masquerades. The King himself could be in attendance, though Arista had heard a rumor that he had been excluded on purpose after a particularly rancorous evening. She could not imagine how one would enforce such a restriction if the King showed up at the gates.
There were unspoken rules about not revealing what went on at these private events—or who attended—and to speak of it would ensure permanent removal from the list. A punishment worse than death to those who craved excitement. Arista had only heard about these parties, had never been invited until now.
The pathway opened up to an even larger, more opulently decorated garden. On a raised dais, backlit by enormous floor-to-ceiling glass doors, sat a string quartet. All
of the players were dressed as fairy folk. Soft strains of cello and violin drifted past her, adding to the decadent feeling that hung thick in the night air. The music did not encourage dancing, but instead created a sultry mood. A woman drew her bow across the strings of a violin as light reflected off the blue crystals that adorned her eyelids.
Why had Bones acted so out of character by sending her here alone? If any meeting required a diligent chaperone, it was this one. Arista could not stand still, so she walked along the outside edge of the garden again. A couple sat partially hidden by ornamental shrubs. When Arista turned her head away, the feathers on her mask swayed gently. Even they seemed invitingly sensual in their movements.
Her dress swished softly as she moved toward the elaborate display of food and drink on huge tables in front of a gurgling fountain. A crystal bowl held some sort of punch. Arista took one of the delicate cups and filled it herself.
At Lady Carstair’s balls, there were no servants—only the butler who took the tickets. People were completely on their own in the gardens, free to pursue any pleasure, limited only by their own imaginations. Away from gossiping mouths and curious eyes, any manner of things could happen.
The punch tasted sweet, full of exotic fruits that Arista could not name, and with an undertone of rum that should have eased the tension in her shoulders. Instead, prickling heat climbed the back of her neck. She turned her head slowly, and found the highwayman only a couple of steps behind her. A rush of warmth flooded her face. He made no move to get closer, but his stare pinned her in place as firmly as if he held her. She could not mistake him. He wore the same black silk scarf around his face, the same dark hat pulled low. Arista turned completely to face him, and if she’d had any doubt about his identity, his eyes proved it without a doubt. Grae.
He had filled her thoughts constantly over the past several nights, despite her best efforts to push him away. She stared up at him, waiting, fighting the breathlessness that had made it difficult to inhale normally.
He stood tall, hands clasped behind his back as he watched her. His confidence was almost palpable. He had to be someone important under that mask, if he had procured an invitation to this particular event. But he had told her before that he was working toward becoming a ship captain. Surely merchants would not have the means or status to attend a masquerade at Lady Carstair’s home.
Had he lied to her? And if so, why?
She should turn away, move, before he took her silence as an invitation. She shivered at the thought of being close to him again. As if he’d read her mind, he started toward her. His steps were confident and determined. If she were going to run, it had to be now.
But Arista remained caught in his stare until the highwayman closed the short distance between them and stopped much too close. She tilted her head back to look up at him. He brushed his fingers along her arm and goose bumps broke out over her bare skin.
The same wave of longing swept over her again. Half for Grae himself, and half because of the ache their previous conversation had unleashed. She wanted to know so much more about the places he’d traveled, and thought she’d never have the opportunity to do so. Now, here he stood, right in front of her. Questions burned on her tongue.
“Good evening, my lady.” He slid his fingers down and took her gloved hand, then raised it to his lips. “I had hoped I would find you again.”
A touch of unease made her hand tremble. Did he wish to strike a deal with Lady A, then? Was he her client tonight? No one ever approached her directly. Everything went through Bones.
“If you wish to do business, sir, I’m afraid you must start with my boss. Good evening to you.” Arista started to turn away, but his touch held her there. Even in the dim light, she saw the confusion in his eyes.
“I have no business that needs attending to this evening, milady. Unless you count convincing you to dance. Then I cannot deny you’re correct.”
Arista studied him. There was no tension around his shoulders or mouth; his arms hung loosely at his sides, and his gaze never wavered from hers. All signs that he spoke truthfully. She let out a small sigh of relief. The idea that he had charmed her simply to get to Bones had made her feel ill. She didn’t want this man to be seeking Lady A. She wanted him to be looking for her: Arista.
“So, will you dance with me tonight?” He held out his hand and waited for her response. Around them, only a handful of couples were moving to the soft music. None paid any attention to the others.
You’re here to do a job, she reminded herself.
As if sensing the reason for her hesitation, he leaned in close. A fresh aroma of cedar and something spicy, exotic, made her head feel cloudy and light. “I’m not really a guest here tonight. The truth is that I snuck past the butler when I saw you arrive at the gate.”
“You were spying on me?”
“No. Only hoping that you would be in attendance tonight.”
Again, she saw no signs of deception. And if he had indeed sneaked into the masquerade, that would explain how a merchant had gotten into the party. If anyone there knew they were in the company of a merchant and a beggar…It almost made her laugh out loud.
“You realize if anyone finds out, you will be escorted off the grounds?”
He leaned in even closer. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Are you going to tell them?”
A shiver danced down her spine. Not from apprehension or fear, but anticipation. She held her breath until he moved away again. The intensity of his stare made her heart beat faster. She heard the way his breath hitched slightly as he waited for her reaction. He’d come to see her. Arista was unprepared for his honesty.
“No, I will not.” Her reply came out on her exhaled breath. Duty and her reason for being there vanished. Despite all her years of training to be aloof and unapproachable, her thoughts scattered and she was left unsure. Her gaze dropped to his lips without her consent.
He inhaled sharply and closed the distance between them in two steps. When he touched her bare shoulder, Arista forgot how to breathe. The warmth she remembered so well spiraled outward from his touch. When he curled his fingers around the back of her neck and inched her head closer, a frantic beat began in her chest.
The indulgent nature of the party wound around them as the strains of music drifted through the air. Fire burned in his eyes, and it made her feel wild and reckless. It made her forget who she was supposed to be. She was not Lady A now. She was only Arista. And this highwayman wanted her.
This was a masquerade, after all—why shouldn’t she indulge, just a little? It might be her only chance to let go for one time in her life and just feel. No Nic. No Bones. No Lady A. Just the two of them.
His eyes grew darker. Holding her so her head was almost pressed against his chest, he took her hand and led her into the first steps of a waltz. Her feet followed automatically. Grae held her tightly and much closer than propriety would have allowed under normal circumstances. She could hear his heart beating. His breath brushed over the sensitive slope of her ear, causing her to forget everything. When she stumbled, he pulled her completely against him, never missing a step.
Arista had never danced at a party. She didn’t attend them for fun, and had never indulged in the frivolity that went on as she conducted business. And yet, Becky had insisted Arista learn to dance as part of her training. Right that moment, Arista had never been more grateful that her friend hadn’t listened to her complaints that it was an unnecessary skill. Nothing in her life had ever felt better than being in Grae’s arms. The ground beneath her feet gave way and she stood on nothing but air.
Grae steered them effortlessly into the shadows. His stare held her captive. “Can I kiss you?”
Still feeling as though she were floating through the waltz, she nodded, caught so completely in this mysterious spell that she couldn’t bear to say no. Grae ran his thumb along her jaw, softly stroking closer and closer to her lips. When he brushed a finger along her bottom lip, she closed her eyes
. She was tense, yet her legs felt like jelly. Grae’s finger moved away, and when she opened her eyes, he was watching her, his finger hovering over her mouth.
Arista needed to get closer to him—as close as she could. She dug her fingers into his jacket and held on as if her life depended on it. The desire was foreign and unnerving, but not unwanted, and she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.
Having only been kissed once before, she felt unsure and awkward as she leaned up and pressed her lips against his. He responded immediately. His lips took hers and this time he didn’t hold back. The masks helped Arista maintain a degree of anonymity, which led her to be much bolder than she would have in any other circumstance. For once, she did what she wanted—gave in to the desire to touch someone, to let him touch her in return. Deprived of this luxury for so long, Arista soaked up the feeling like a sponge.
She kissed Grae back with every ounce of longing in her body. It was him, the promise in his eyes when he looked at her, that was causing this reckless abandonment. This stranger’s touch was igniting something wild inside her, something she could neither deny nor control. She wanted the kiss to go on and on forever.
He could be her way out.
Arista jerked away from the man and backed up, never taking her eyes off his face. His closeness made it hard to breathe. She pressed her hand against her chest to slow her frantic heartbeat. He looked bewildered and slightly off-kilter.
Her lips still burned from his touch and she scrubbed a gloved fist over them. She had again been on the verge of asking him to take her away with him. And maybe he would take her with him.