Soft snores still came from Grae’s father. Maybe he couldn’t fight Wild or Raffer, but someone could. She had no explanation for why determination burned so hotly in her chest, but there was one thing she knew for certain. “I promise I won’t let this happen,” she whispered to the unconscious man.
Arista hurried back to her room and tucked the bag into the wardrobe. She wrote a quick note for Becky, telling her where the chest of money was hidden. If she didn’t return, she had to be sure that her friend was taken care of. She took the remaining letters and started to bundle them when one caught her eye. Lord Huntington. He’d blackmailed his way into a title that granted him a seat in Parliament. She could offer him a trade—give him back his secret, if he would spearhead an investigation into Raffer’s business. It might be enough to stop Raffer.
She tucked Huntington’s letter into a separate pocket from the rest. He’d been at the ball earlier. If she hurried, she might make it back in time to catch him.
To make him an offer he could not refuse.
Finding Lord Huntington proved easier than she expected.
He was positioned at the buffet table, stuffing his face with anything he could reach. The ridiculous jester vest seemed even tighter than it had been only a few weeks ago. Arista made her way to his side, swallowing back revulsion at being so close to the man again.
“Lord Huntington,” she said near his ear. He smelled of sweat and sickly sweet cologne. He glanced at her, but there was no recognition in his eyes. She had grabbed her gypsy mask before leaving the Sinclair house, but still had on her traveling dress. It must have made an odd combination.
“Who’s asking?” he mumbled as crumbs fell from his lips.
“I believe I have something that used to belong to you.” Arista waved his letter in front of his face before tucking it back into her pocket.
Huntington narrowed his eyes. “You have some nerve, girl. There are men from the Watch all over the place, and you think you can just show up and demand—what, more money?” Hatred glittered from his eyes. Arista moved away from the table, toward a quiet alcove. Huntington followed, scowling at her the whole time.
“I’m offering you an exchange. Your help, for the return of your information.”
“What kind of help?” Clearly he did not trust her at her word.
“If you can start an investigation into Lord Raffer’s activities concerning slave trading, I will give you your secret back and we will be done. You won’t have to worry that I’ll ask for anything else again.”
Huntington licked his lips and eyed the pocket where she’d put the letter. “Never again?”
“You will never see me again—I can assure you.”
A calculating look came over his face and he leaned closer. “I think I can help you get what you want. Stay here while I find a colleague of mine who might be interested in what you have to say. If I can get his cooperation, we have a deal.”
“Twenty minutes. No more than that,” she said.
Lord Huntington hurried away and Arista fought back the feeling of unease. Wild might be here, but he would not know her in this disguise. She had to remain vigilant. Alert. Being careful not to draw attention to herself, she started making her way around the room, keeping to the darkened edges.
When thirty minutes had passed, Arista sighed in frustration. She would have to negotiate with Wild after all. It had been a long shot at best, to hope that Huntington would be agreeable to a trade. The man hated her and made no secret of that fact. Now she would have to go to Covent Garden and confront Wild.
Just before she stepped outside to leave, a young servant tapped her shoulder. “This is for you, miss.” He handed her a folded note, then faded into the crowd.
At the fountain. Have what you need.
H
Arista smiled in relief. She’d been wrong about Huntington. Now she could return to the Sinclairs’ with assurance that the blackmail would not take place. She could finally tell Grae the truth about her part in all of it.
There were no guests outside. It was only just past midnight, and everyone was still too busy dancing. In the main circle of the garden, a huge stone fountain stood sentry. Water gurgled softly in the still night. Light spilled out from the open doors and illuminated the front of the stone basin, while deep shadows stretched out behind it.
She was close enough to the fountain to see that no one was waiting there. Huntington had lied. Then something caught her attention—a movement just past the enormous fountain, in the shadows there—and she moved toward it.