As soon as the door shut, Arista leaned her forehead against the cool wood. She closed her eyes and exhaled.
“That went well.” Nic’s wry chuckle sounded very close. “Thought we’d have a real fight on our hands for a second. Ready to head back to the palace, princess?” Arista lifted her head. He stood no closer than a foot away, and held out his arm like a gentleman would.
With a relieved smile, she took it without hesitation. Now that their business was done, the high from being in charge faded instantly. Exhaustion set in and her body felt heavy. His arm was strong and solid under her hand.
Nic was her rock, the wall between Arista and Bones. He made sure that no matter what, she remained safe from their brutal guardian. There had been opportunities over the years when she might have slipped away—away from Bones and her life on the streets. But she had never taken them. She had nowhere to go. Not without Nic.
Once, she’d had the childish dream that they might get away from London together. But as Nic grew into a man, Arista saw the reality of the situation. He liked this life.
Nic liked the power that came with controlling those better than them. Lately, Arista had started seeing traces of Bones in Nic, and it scared her. Maybe there was a way to convince him to leave with her before it was too late.
“This way if you please, my lady.” Nic led her through a set of doors hidden by heavy drapes, and they slipped out onto a brick courtyard, away from the partygoers. Thick fog had rolled in as it did most nights, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere. Buildings rose up into the dark shadows above them.
Away from the stifling heat of the crowded ballroom, the air chilled her flushed skin, making her shiver involuntarily.
A lady of quality always has a shawl.
Becky’s admonition sounded as clearly as if the girl were there with them. The damned gentry had a rule for everything, and it exhausted Arista to remember them all—but tonight, a shawl would be welcome.
Not that she was a lady of quality, by any stretch of the imagination.
Sensing her need, Nic shrugged out of his jacket and slipped it around her bare shoulders. He brushed his fingers over her skin, and this time, warmth quickly spread from the spot he had touched. Nic tucked her arm in his and led her through the heavy front gate. They passed by several couples too engrossed in each other to even lift their heads. Arista pretended not to see them.
A sleek black carriage rolled by, the wheels rattling on the cobbled street, hooves clopping a steady rhythm as it passed. The sounds of the orchestra faded as they walked farther from Dover Street.
Tonight’s task had been completed; the thick package was tucked securely in Nic’s jacket. It pressed into her ribs as they walked. Exactly how much money was she carrying right at that moment? Enough to buy passage on a ship for all three of them—her, Nic, and Becky? The thought came and went quickly.
She would not look. Not ever again. Only once before, when Bones first sent her out as Lady A, had she dared to peek inside an aristocrat’s envelope. She hadn’t thought Bones would miss just one shilling from the package. It had taken weeks for the bruising to heal. Of course he knew, to the halfpence, how much to expect.
“Do you think he’ll ever have enough?” Arista asked softly.
Each time Lady A made an appearance, the risk to Arista grew. At first, she’d only collected secrets and delivered information back to the clients. Then Bones had started sending Lady A to collect the actual money as well. That’s where the real danger came into play for Arista.
Bones used the aristocracy’s own secrets to blackmail them: they paid up or risked having their secrets sold to a higher bidder. Bones often left out that part of the deal until he had what he wanted and his client had what he or she needed. Only the most desperate or devious people resorted to the service Bones offered—ones who would lose big if their truths ever came to light. So they always paid. Only one had ever refused.
He’d hung himself from the London Bridge when his secrets had been exposed in the Spectator. A powerful message to all who thought to double-cross Bones; it also put a larger target on Lady A.
They might pay for silence now, but none would hesitate to kill her if given the chance. It was why she never went out in public as herself. If anyone found out what she looked like under the disguise, she would never be safe.
Nic never worried about his own safety, though he, too, wore a mask when they met with clients.