by Lee Bross
He sighed and leaned into her hand. The rough stubble on his cheek scratched against her fingertips. It was a sensation she wanted to feel every day for a lifetime.
“You make it hard to deny you anything.” He turned his face and pressed his lips against her palm. “You asked me to trust you once, and I want to. I really do. No more secrets between us. Tell me everything and we’ll figure this out together. Promise me.”
Arista swallowed. How could she look him in the eye and lie to him? If she did, there would be no going back. Tears burned her eyes and she spun away.
“Don’t. Please don’t turn away from me again, Arista.” She crossed her arms and hugged herself.
“I can’t make that promise,” she said softly.
Grae sighed. His eyes were watery. “Why not?”
She had to take several steps away from him to suppress the urge to throw herself into his arms and promise him anything he wanted. “My entire life is based on secrets and lies. I’ve done horrible things that I never want to say out loud. Isn’t the fact that I stayed—that I’m trying to help you—enough?”
“No.” He crossed the cabin and pulled her into his arms, against the hard planes of his chest. “And what you’ve done to survive doesn’t matter—not to me.” He shook her gently by the shoulders, then slid his hands around to cup her face in both his hands. His gaze was hard, intense, but filled with something that took her breath away. “Damn it, Arista, the fact that you’ve not only stayed alive, but retained your integrity—it proves how strong you are. No one deserves to be happy more than you.”
Nic had told her the same thing. She wanted to believe it more than she’d wanted anything in her life.
“No one deserves it more than you,” he said again, holding her head still so she could not look away.
“Why are you doing this?” Her voice came out scratchy and raw. He kept coming back. He kept saving her. But why? Why did he care what happened to her?
“Because I have to.”
Her spine straightened. He thought she was some kind of charity case, then? She tried to pull away, but he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her against his body.
“I have to because I’m in love with you, and the more I know about you, the more certain I am that it’s real. I would never have asked you to marry me if I distrusted you.”
Marriage. She still had not gotten used to the idea that Grae truly wanted her for his wife. Her stomach churned and her throat grew tight. “You only feel sorry for me. You want to help some poor little beggar girl.” The words were punctuated by huge sobs ripping from her chest. He couldn’t really want her or love her. She was nothing. An orphan girl with no past.
She had nothing to offer anyone. She didn’t deserve happiness—isn’t that what Bones had drilled into all their heads, year after year? That they were all unwanted from the beginning.
Arista twisted furiously in his arms, but he wouldn’t relent. He just held her there, solid and warm and strong.
“What I see is the bravest person I know. You’re kind and compassionate. You care about my family, one you’ve only known for a short time, but you cared enough to risk your life to help. You could have run, but you chose to stay and fight. That is not what a selfish, undeserving person would do. You have a good heart inside you. You are good. You still feel, Arista—I know you do. And that’s why I love you.”
The pressure in her chest cut off her ability to breathe. He was saying words she had longed to hear all her life. The ones she kept locked deep inside her mind.
“Please stop,” she begged through her tears.
“I will tell you the same thing every day for the rest of your life until you believe it.”
Her shoulders shook and she tried to pry his arms from around her. She opened her mouth to drag air into her lungs, but a deep sob escaped. More followed, until her entire body shook violently.
Her legs crumpled and Grae held her upright. Something inside her let go. She clung to him as if her life depended on it. Dug her nails into the back of his jacket while he whispered words she couldn’t understand through her grief. The years of bottled-up feelings burst free in huge waves. She’d fought against feeling anything for so long that the rush of emotions was overwhelming.
As the sobs grew weaker, her limbs felt as if they were weighted down with stone. As if he knew, Grae carefully lifted her into his arms and walked across to the bunk, where he deposited her carefully. He brushed his lips over her forehead and pulled a quilt up over her body. Before she could protest, he sat in the chair closest to the bed. “Rest. I’ll be here when you wake. I promise.”
She wanted to talk more, but heaviness pushed down against her eyelids, forcing them closed. She would be no good to anyone if she were too exhausted to move. Maybe a short rest, before she had to do what she still planned on doing…
“Captain, I’ve got a message.…” The knock and the man’s voice came at the same time. Arista pulled away and ducked her head.
“Begging your pardon, sir, I didn’t know you had a guest. This came from your father’s house, and the lad said it were urgent.” The man handed Grae a note and backed out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him.
“Sorry about that,” Grae said. She could hear the smile in his voice. “My men aren’t used to their captain entertaining women aboard the ship.” His confession produced a most pleasing feeling of contentment in her chest.
“I should see what it is, though. Father never sends me messages about urgent matters. He comes himself.” Grae slid his thumb under the wax and broke the seal. After a few quick seconds, his expression changed.
Grae handed the letter to her. “I believe this is for you.”
Her hand shook as she took the letter.
Gypsy~
I’ve got what you asked for. Meet at our spot at dusk.
~N
“Who is it from?” Grae asked.
“A friend,” she whispered.
Arista stared at the crudely written words. She’d taught Nic to write years ago, after Becky had taught her, but he’d never managed to get past the basic steps. The letters were uneven and jagged.
Grae took the note and read it. “Who’s N? Where is this spot?”
“I…” The words died on her lips. She’d told Nic she needed something on Wild. Did this mean he had it?
“How well do you know this person?” Grae asked.
Once, Arista might have said she trusted him with her life. Now? She wasn’t sure. He had saved her by sending the note to Becky, but he was also the one who’d set her up for murder. Still, he’d warned her about Wild, and he’d given her Bones’s secrets. That must mean he did still care what happened to her.
It really didn’t matter, though, because if he had something that could free Grae’s father from Raffer’s grasp, she’d do anything. Take any risk to get it.
“I know him well enough.” She watched his jaw flex.
“You want to meet him? How do you know it’s not a trap?”
She didn’t. That was the biggest unknown in all this. Something in his eyes at Newgate gave her hope that he didn’t really want her to die. Next time I say run, you run, he’d told her.
Nic had been working for Wild. He must have something she could use to blackmail the Thief Taker into calling off Raffer. She just needed one secret. Something irrefutable that could be used if needed. Something that would scare Wild.
But Grae would never understand. She watched as he paced the length of the cabin like a caged tiger. Frustration rolled off him like the waves lapping at the ship’s hull.
“What about your safety? If you leave the ship, you’ll be arrested immediately. They know who you are now. Everyone has seen your face under the mask. It’s too risky.”
Arista stood on wobbly legs and walked across the room to him. “Grae.” Her hand shook as she raised it to his face. When she touched his cheek, he froze. Neither of them dared to breathe.
“I appreciat
e everything, more than you’ll ever know,” she said softly. “But for the first time in my life, I can control something. I can keep people I care about from getting hurt. I wasn’t always able to do that, and it will haunt me until I die. This is a small way to make amends.”
“I’ll go instead.” He stopped pacing and stood with his arms crossed over his chest. A surge of love filled her, so sweet and overwhelming that it brought tears to her eyes. This had to work. If Grae’s family fell apart because of her, she would never forgive herself.
“We can go together,” she finally conceded. “But I need Becky. Tell her to bring me the traveling bag that’s in the back of the wardrobe. It has everything we’ll need. I can’t leave London without it or her.”
“I’ll take care of it myself. You can stay here on the ship. It’s safe and you can rest. My men won’t let anyone on. I’ll be back very soon and we can finish this business and then…” He leaned closer. His kiss was soft, gentle. “We can set sail and start our lives together.”
Grae meant it to be a brief, parting kiss, but she realized it might be the last time, and her hand snaked up his arm and held the back of his neck. She tangled her fingers into his hair. When he started to pull back, she moved closer and deepened the kiss. Desire and sorrow twisted together inside her, fueling the burning need to be as close as possible to him. Just one last time, in case things went bad.
“Arista,” he murmured against her lips. Her tears threatened to spill over, so she closed her eyes. They sat like that for a few precious minutes. When he finally tore himself away, his chest rose and fell with his rapid breaths. There was a soft look in his eyes. She could see the love in them.
“I love you.” His lips curled up in a tender smile that almost undid her resolve. He did. She could see it clearly. He really did love her.
It took all her strength to smile back. Her lips trembled with the effort. When the door closed behind him, the tears finally slipped free. She brushed them aside.
This was not the end.
In Grae’s wardrobe, she found several jackets hanging neatly side by side. She took the one that looked most well-worn. Grae’s familiar scent of cedar and exotic spices enveloped her. She slid her arms into the sleeves and turned the collar up. The sleeves hung well past her fingertips, and the shoulders hit halfway down her arms, but it would have to do.
She couldn’t help burying her nose in the fabric and inhaling deeply before she reached for the smallest-looking set of trousers. She paused at the sound of movement near the cabin door. She pressed her back against the wall and waited. After only a minute, whoever-it-was left, and Arista heard steps going back up to the deck. The air whooshed out between her teeth.
Arista walked around the cabin, running her fingers along the shiny wood surfaces, committing every detail to memory. Everything was neat and orderly—the heavy wood furniture built into the walls and secured to the floor to prevent movement when the ship was at sea. The spicy scent of cedar and salty sea air filled the space. Grae smelled exactly the same.
She would never forget the combination.
He’d sat in that chair. Worked at that desk. Slept in that bed. A shiver of excitement danced over her skin at the thought. She ran her hand over the quilt they had both laid on. Her pulse quickened, and she removed her hand hastily. She could spend all day simply touching things that belonged to him. But that would not solve her problem.
With one more quick check to make sure the door was locked, she unlaced the corset and threw it onto the bed, then pulled her stained shirt free from the waistband of the skirt.
A noise outside the door had her scrambling into the stolen clothes. She waited, her heart in her throat, but no one tried to enter the cabin. Arista gathered her gypsy disguise and tucked it under the mattress. Carefully, she slid the lock free and opened the door. The hall remained empty. She started out, then realized that she had not remembered to take a cap. Anyone with eyes could see she was a girl. Grae had to have one somewhere.
She checked the cupboards and the built-in wardrobe, and found nothing except more clothing. A smaller chest sat at the foot of the bed. It was the only place that she hadn’t checked, because it was locked. But people were predictable, and she went to the desk to check for the key. Sure enough, in the second smallest drawer, she found the key that fit the lock.
Before she opened it, Arista hesitated. No one kept their hats under lock and key. What if she found something inside that changed her opinion of Grae—that proved he wasn’t as sincere as she thought? What if his darkest secrets were inside this chest? Her hands shook as she lifted the top.
On top of a stack of papers, the first thing Arista saw was a black raven feather. It was the one she’d lost from her mask the night they met. Becky had fussed mightily over it, too. The feather was still sleek and soft, and she ran her fingers over it. A smile teased her lips. Grae had kept this as a memento of her.
She ran the feather across her lips, and then set it aside. There was nothing else but papers, maps marked up with ink, coordinates that made no sense to her. After replacing the feather, she closed the lid and turned the key.
She’d have to go back below deck, where the crew would most certainly have many caps. Hopefully her luck would hold. She crept back to the stairs and quietly went down into the dark room.
Every member of the crew should have a cap in their belongings. The first trunk had none, nor the second. She moved to another, farther away from the porthole. She fumbled with the trunk’s clasp.
“You there—what are you doing down here?” The voice boomed across the room and Arista froze. “All hands on deck.”
“Right there, sir,” Arista mumbled. She’d slipped back into the rough tones of the street and kept her voice low. “Forgot my cap, sir.”
The man grunted. “Git yer arse back on deck.”
Arista threw up the trunk’s lid and hoped with all her might that this one had a cap.
“Time’s up. If you don’t move now, boy, I’ll whip yer backside.”
She swallowed back the sob of frustration. There had to be one. She dug her fingers through the fabric, searching for the familiar feel of wool. Boots stomped behind her, getting closer. If he got her in the light, he’d know the truth. Grae would be summoned, and she’d have to explain what she was doing. Her plan would fall apart.
“Got it!” She pulled the cap free, slammed the trunk and slipped it over her head. Using the dark to hide her face, she darted past the man.
“I’ll just get back to work, sir,” she said.
She didn’t see his hand, but a sharp burst of pain bit into her ear. “Next time, when I tell ye to do something, boy—do it.”
“Yes, sir.” Arista ran up the stairs, down the hall, and above deck before he could do worse. The sunlight blinded her for a moment and she stumbled to a stop. Men were busy everywhere. Some were rolling barrels toward the open hatch on the far side of the deck. Others climbed through the rigging, each with a coil of rope slung through one arm, to repair any signs of wear. None paid her any attention.
Except the man coming up the steps behind her.
“You waitin’ for an invite, guvnor? Get yer arse to work.” As soon as she heard him, Arista bolted across the deck. So much for slipping away unnoticed. By the time he realized she meant to cross over the gangplank, he was too late to stop her. A shout came from behind her and a hand reached out, but she ducked and spun away, barely escaping the grasp of a great, burly man. In one leap she was on the narrow plank connecting the ship to the wharf.
Don’t look down.
If she fell, she was dead. She would sink to the bottom of the Thames and never resurface. The board jerked and Arista shrieked. She windmilled her arms to keep her balance, and barely kept herself upright. She raced across the last few feet and jumped onto the solid wood of the wharf.
When she looked back, no one was giving chase, but the man who had clobbered her upside the head stood with his arms crossed over his c
hest.
“Don’t ye be showing yer face back here, boy, or I’ll beat you and throw you to the fish.”
Arista didn’t wait to hear any more. Her boots skidded on the damp wood as she ran toward Fleet Street. She would meet with Nic, beg him to help her—but the first thing she had to do was find a weapon.
Because the most important lesson Nic had ever taught her was not to trust anyone.
It had been too easy to steal the wicked-looking knife from the butcher’s stall at the market. Concealing it, on the other hand, proved to be a challenge, and she ended up taking another, smaller knife instead. It wasn’t intimidating to look at, but she could still wield it with precision. It was carefully tucked in her waistband now.
She kept her head low as she moved among the crowd of shoppers. Blending in was effortless, and soon she was past the people and skirting the riverbank. The stench of the water was thick in the air. Children in rags ran along the edge, pulling out anything that looked like it could be sold. It was something she had done as a child, too.
Her time away from this part of London, where squalor lurked in every crevice, made her realize how bad it really was. Had she truly lived there all her life? She walked with her forearm over her nose to try and keep some of the noxious smell out of her lungs. Cool air battered her face, bringing the stench even closer. How could she have forgotten the smell?
Only a few more blocks and she’d be at the small dock where she’d spent so many nights wishing for a different life. A few men passed, pulling heavy carts filled with coal. Their skin was covered in soot, their clothes stained with black smudges. She gave them a wide berth, as much for their smell as to avoid attracting notice.
The closer she got to the warehouse, the fewer people she passed.
The old warehouse that sat back from their small dock would be the perfect place to hide and make sure Nic came alone. She hoped he did. If not, it meant that he really had changed—had become the person she dreaded he would.
Someone had boarded up the doorway, but the wood was rotted through, and the boards came away easily enough. After a quick glance around, she slipped inside. The air inside smelled musty with age. Light filtered in from the side of the building that had burned, so she picked her way over to where the cargo would have been loaded into the warehouse. Where the doors met, there was an opening the width of her hand. Perfect. She could watch the waterfront and remain unseen.