The scarf in her hair had been a gift from Nalia, the Indian laundress at the orphanage, the only woman there who’d showed any kindness toward Arista. When Arista had left, Nalia had given the scarf to her as a reminder that a whole other world existed out there. India became the refuge that Arista clung to on cold, dark nights. One day, she vowed, she would escape from London and go.
Now she was closer than she’d ever been before. “Where did you go? What did you see?” she begged. The party around them faded as she focused on his answer. He leaned in close, and her pulse leapt in an unfamiliar way. She took a quick step back. Her instincts had saved her more than once, but this didn’t feel unsafe. In fact, the feeling in her veins excited her.
“We traveled to the West Indies, then to the islands, then to Fort St. George. My father owns a fleet of merchant ships, and I am working my way up to captain.” Pride shone from his eyes as he again leaned in close, as if he were going to share a secret with her. “This next trip, I hope, will be under my command.”
“You don’t seem old enough to be a captain.”
He laughed. He had a very nice laugh. It sank under her skin and made her want to hear it again and again.
“I’m nineteen, so yes, maybe a little bit young. But I’ve been aboard ships since I could walk. I love the freedom; open ocean as far as the eye can see. Away from the rules of society, it doesn’t matter who you are. London is stifling. I hate coming back here. Well, until now, that is.” Light danced in his eyes. Their bodies were almost pressed against each other, so close she could feel the heat radiating from him. Distracted by his words, she hadn’t noticed right away. People never got this close without her sensing it. Arista swallowed but didn’t move.
“That sounds so perfect,” she whispered.
More questions danced on her tongue. She wanted to know everything—what the air smelled like when no land could be seen; what kind of people he had met; what cities looked like across thousands of miles of ocean.
“It is perfect.” His expression was so open; she kept waiting for his disguise to crack. It had to be an act. No one could be this…nice. Everyone wanted something from her. Yet he was talking to her as if they were equals. Maybe he thought they were. People pretended to be anything they wanted at the masquerades. Arista knew for sure that the milkmaid currently sneaking off to a dark corner with the very badly dressed king was in fact the Duchess of Harpswell. The very married duchess.
“Have you ever been on a ship before?” he asked, drawing her eyes back to him. All his attention was focused on her, despite the array of beautiful women eyeing him as they walked by. A thrill of pleasure washed over her.
Arista closed her eyes for a moment, envisioning herself on a massive ship with nothing but the sea in sight. She could not even imagine the kind of freedom he spoke of. Her life had been dictated by one man for so long, she barely even knew who she was—really was—anymore. She wanted that freedom more than anything, but it would never happen. Not for her.
“No, I’ve never left London.”
He stared at her intently. His fingers ran over her wrist, so softly that it might have been a whisper of fabric touching her, if not for the heat. Arista stood still, caught in his gaze. Blood pounded through her veins. No one had ever looked at her like this.
A couple waltzing by bumped her elbow and she stumbled. He reached out and steadied her, but it was enough to break the spell he had cast. What was she doing?
She had one job tonight. She had not come to the masquerade to lose herself in wistful dreams. Or in the eyes of the most intriguing young man she’d ever met. She should not wonder which exotic lands he had seen, nor wish to hear more about them. No, she should be meeting Lord Huntington and finishing up Bones’s business. Yet there she stood.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
Arista glanced up and saw genuine concern filling his eyes. Unable to speak just yet, she shook her head. Her hands trembled. He reached for one and tucked it against his chest. Under her fingers, his heart thumped as quickly as hers. It was right there, on the tip of her tongue, to ask how much passage on one of his ships might cost.
Real fear stretched her nerves tight. What if Bones somehow knew what she was thinking? He wasn’t a mind reader, of course, but he had an uncanny ability to know her feelings. If he knew how close she had come to contemplating escape, he’d kill her rather than let it happen.
“I have to go.” She desperately tugged at her hand. He let it go, but she spent several more seconds staring into his eyes. This must be what a caged bear felt when finding an open door. The offer of freedom so close, but the threat of punishment all-consuming. From a distance, the clock began chiming the midnight hour.
“Can I see you again?” His voice was plaintive. “Tell me I can.”
Unfamiliar feelings constricted her chest. She shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She made it only a few more steps before she heard him call out.
“Your name then? Please.”
Oh God, it would be so easy to tell him that one simple thing.