She caught Nic’s ever-watchful eye and tilted her head in the direction of Lord Huntington. He understood right away and disappeared into the crowd.
Nic would not harm him. The nobleman simply needed a reminder of his obligation. Of what he now owed, in return for using the services of her employer. Arista had practically delivered the title of earl to him, along with all that went with it, just one month ago. Thanks to Bones’s information—that the previous Earl of Huntington, cousin of Arista’s current quarry, was illegitimate—Huntington had been elevated beyond his wildest dreams. He had secured the earldom for his own, as the only rightful male heir still alive.
And now he expected her to chase him down for payment? It was damned near impossible to run in a dress and heeled slippers.
Nonetheless, she would chase him all over London if necessary.
Arista had almost reached the open doors when a surly Lord Huntington reappeared. Right behind him was Nic. The earl shot a venomous glance over his shoulder, then pushed his way back into the crowd. Arista moved away from the doors, to a spot where she could see the earl and also the clock. They had only five more minutes to wait.
Nic wouldn’t let Lord Huntington out of his sight now, but she still glanced back at Huntington every few seconds. In crowded spaces like the ballroom, it became harder to keep a watchful eye on the nearly unnoticeable tics that gave away a person’s intentions. Most people gave off small clues—tensed muscles, a slight shift in movement, a subtle glance—that indicated what they were about to do. Body language told her what people were thinking before they even knew it themselves.
When she was a child, sent to the market to pick pockets, Arista had spent hours watching people. The way they held their heads; what their hands were doing; the way they walked or stood. All were useful clues. This skill showed her the best people to steal from: the ones who were thinking about something else, who were distracted or daydreaming. It also made Arista one of the best thieves Bones had.
Her abilities had saved her life on more than one occasion. Just last week, the Duke of Conley—a thin, vapid man who sniffed into a perfumed handkerchief the entire time Arista waited for payment—had thought to use several hired men to attack her to get out of his obligation. Unfortunately for him, Arista had seen the flicker of the duke’s gaze, the merest nod of his head, and the shine of victory in his eyes—all of which gave away his lackeys’ location.
“Behind me. Left,” she’d said, without breaking eye contact with the duke. Nic had sprung into action. The hired men were disarmed and unconscious before the duke could even blink.
Nic was powerful, fast, and deadly accurate.
The look of disbelief on the duke’s face had almost been payment enough. Arista had smiled during the rest of the transaction, even when the duke hissed out a new threat before disappearing into his carriage. “I love it when they think they’re gonna outsmart you,” Nic had said with a wide grin. He lived for the fight. The scars on his knuckles proved it.
But Arista already knew Lord Huntington would not fight. He was entirely too soft to have ever gotten physical with anything more than an oversized roast duck.
A couple swept by, and Arista could not help but notice the way the woman tilted her head back, just enough to let the gentleman sneak a kiss where her neck and bared shoulder met. For one fleeting moment, Arista wondered what it would be like to be that woman. To lean in close, her hands on a man’s chest, and smile coyly up at him. To see the flare of desire make his eyes dilate in the candlelight.
Arista met Nic’s dark stare between the dancers. Did he wonder the same thing?
He had dressed as a pirate for the masquerade, and looked as dark and dangerous as the real thing. His clothes were not of the finest materials, but they hugged his lean body like a glove. The mask he wore was a simple eye patch that covered his left eye.
Arista’s chest tightened, and for a moment, she could picture them as guests, dancing to the soft strains of the orchestra. Nic would brush his lips over hers, whispering in her ear, like he did with the girls at the docks. Those unknown words that made the girls smile flirtatiously as they slipped their hands into his, leading him up the scarred wooden steps to the floor above.
Heat pooled in her stomach and she pressed her fists against it to try and physically force the feeling back down. When had she started to see Nic as more than just her bodyguard? He was the only person in the world that she trusted with her life on a nightly basis. She wouldn’t be alive if not for him. He was her friend. That was all.
And still…