“She must mean a great deal to you,” he said.
She thought she saw something flicker in his eyes, but in the darkness she could not know for sure. “I made her a promise. Do we have an agreement?” she asked briskly.
He dropped the cheroot and ground it under the heel of his boot. He looked thoughtful, then smiled. “Agreed. So, now that we have your needs taken care of, let’s discuss our mutual business agreement.” Wild moved closer, and Arista could finally see all of his face.
Today he wore a tailored jacket and matching trousers, and looked every part the aristocrat. His casual demeanor almost made her forget that, underneath the costly clothes, he was lethal. He had the power to ruin anyone, rich or poor. Even the notorious Lady A could be taken down by him. Their arrangement was not without risk.
“Where would you like to start?” she asked.
“I don’t suppose you have access to the secrets you traded in?” he asked drolly. “That would make things a lot easier.” His tone may have been nonchalant, but Arista noticed the slight tightening of his lips, the way he unconsciously flexed his right hand. He wanted that information desperately. But if he thought she had that information, he’d be sorely disappointed.
“I was only the messenger.” It was a half truth. The night he kissed her, Nic had told her where Bones hid the secrets, the money. But were they anything beyond ashes now? Maybe she could sneak away and check. It would give her additional leverage should Wild try and renege on their deal. “I’m not interested in becoming one of your lackeys, either. I want no part in your thievery operation.”
“Of course not. This is an entirely separate matter. You are Lady A. We only need your reputation to continue doing business. I will simply make sure that those in need of your services have a way of contacting you. And of course, our alliance will be kept between ourselves.”
There was a hint of warning in his tone. Arista nodded. “It would not benefit Lady A’s reputation if it were thought she was working with the Thief Taker General, either. So as far as le bon ton are concerned, nothing has changed with Lady A’s services.”
Wild nodded. “Then we are both in agreement that this arrangement stays quiet. Good.” He took her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. Without gloves, the touch was far too intimate for her liking. A voice interrupted them and she withdrew her hand.
“Excuse me, sir, but Lord Whitley is at it again. He refuses to leave again this morning.” Light poured out from the open kitchen door, and Arista saw the silhouette of Cecily.
Wild scowled. “I’ve warned him for the last time. I’ll be right there.” He stalked toward the door and turned on the threshold. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll send a carriage to take you to your new home. Be ready.”
He left her there in the garden, the protest falling from her tongue unheard. Tomorrow. That seemed so…soon. Arista stood for several more minutes, unable to make her legs move. Exhaustion washed over her and she had to sit for a few minutes. Though she’d had days of rest already, weakness filled her limbs. She would never be able to sneak out later that night if she didn’t rest first. And she had to return to her old home, just once, before it became impossible.
Reluctantly, Arista made her way back inside and to her room. She crawled under the quilt and watched the sky grow lighter outside her window. By the time sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, Arista had fallen asleep.
“Miss.” Becky’s soft voice broke through the haze of sleep.
Arista opened her eyes and blinked.
“Are you feeling better, miss?” Becky held up a lantern and a soft glow illuminated the room. Outside the window, the sky was dark.
Arista sat up and shoved the quilt off her body. “What time is it?” she demanded. Her heartbeat thundered against her ribs. Was it too late? How could she have slept the entire day?
“It’s just past midnight, miss.”
“I don’t have much time.” Arista slid out of bed and smoothed down her wrinkled dress. Her dress. She needed something more appropriate to go walking about at night in her old neighborhood. Her knife skills would not be enough. There had to be trousers somewhere; this was a brothel, after all.
Without a word to Becky, Arista flung open the door and made her way back down the servants’ stairs. She stepped into the kitchen, through a rush of warm air, and cleared her throat. None of the kitchen girls even looked up from their tasks.
“Can someone tell me where the laundry is done?” Arista asked in her very best Lady A accent. When one of the girls looked up, Arista crossed her arms across her chest and glared down at them. She tapped her foot impatiently.
“Across the hall to the right, miss.” The girl couldn’t be any older than Arista, but fatigue was written all over her sweaty face. It made her look as old as Bones. Her hands were red and chapped from her duties.