Page 17 of To Heist and to Hold

“I don’t give a damn what Teagan likes,” Parsons growled. “It’s three against one; I refuse to allow him to hold us all hostage to his whims a moment longer. You’re the manager; make it happen.”

Chuckling darkly, Mr. Copper moved for the door, letting himself out into the hall, closing it with perhaps more force than necessary. Leaving her alone with Mr. Parsons.

Which was entirely too unnerving. The quiet of the place was unforgiving, betraying the slightest sound.

She focused on controlling her breathing lest it expose her presence.

Even so, it sounded ragged and overloud to her ears, bouncing off the sofa on one side and the wall on the other in a horrible, unending echo.

Minutes—or perhaps hours; she had no clue how much time passed, tense as she was—ticked by, she certain that at any moment Mr. Parsons would realize he was not alone.

Yet the man continued to stand eerily still at the large window, gazing down at who knew what.

Just when she thought her rapidly cramping legs would give out, the man slammed his fist into his palm, the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh mingling with the low, rough curse that exploded from his lips, causing her to jump and nearly topple over.

“Fucking bastard,” he snarled. Then, without another word, he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Heloise dug her fingers into the rug beneath her as she listened to the sounds of his retreat, forcing her disordered thoughts into place as best she could.

There were two very important things she had to do.

One, she had to escape from this place before she was found out; there was no way her luck could hold if someone else were to enter this room.

And as it appeared for all intents and purposes to be the owners’ suite, a place where they could watch over their domain like angry gods from on high, that seemed very likely.

And two, she thought with determination, rising from her place behind the sofa, ignoring the screaming muscles in her thighs as she made her hasty way from the room, she had to secure a place for Sylvia at Dionysus’s private women’s games.

For if there was anyone who had the clout to gain admittance, it would be the viscountess.

Damn it all to hell, what the devil was she still doing here?

Ethan, who had hidden away in his office for much longer than he was willing to admit to avoid Mrs. Marlow and her baffling array of fluctuating personalities, had finally dragged himself back down to the casino floor to confer with Isaac about a minor detail of the upcoming masquerade when, out of the corner of his eye, he spied her.

Not that she should have garnered his attention.

She was, as usual, dressed in staid clothes, with not a single bow or bit of lace or lowered bodice in sight.

And yet…

He scowled. And yet she nevertheless drew his eye like nothing else ever had. And, blast it, she was headed his way.

Without even the morsel of a thought behind the action, he quickly ducked behind a nearby velvet curtain, heart pounding heavily in his chest. Isaac, who had been standing next to him, was silent for a charged moment before he said in a voice much louder than it had any right to be, “Ethan, what in hell are you doing?”

“Shut your blasted mouth,” he hissed desperately, “and pretend you didn’t see me.”

“Pretend I didn’t…?” Isaac muttered, the words trailing off—which Ethan was soon to learn was due to Mrs. Marlow’s arrival on the scene.

“Mr. Sinclaire,” she said, and Ethan, behind his curtain, dug his fists into his thighs to try to curb the electric jolt that ran through his body at the sound of her voice. “How nice to see you again.”

Isaac did not respond, and Ethan held his breath, hoping that the damned fool wouldn’t say something to give him away. Blessedly, his brother was not stupid and quickly rallied to become his typical cheerful self.

“The feeling is mutual,” he replied, the smile evident in his voice. “And how is Mrs. Finch? Looking forward to the event, I hope.”

“She is at that. I have never seen her so focused on her craft. It’s quite thrilling.”

“Splendid. I cannot wait to see her fight. Teagan has filled my head with how inspiring the sight is, and I’m eager to witness it for myself.”

“Laney will be happy to hear it. But I had best take myself off. Good day then.”

Ethan listened with bated breath as her footsteps began to recede. Just as he was about to exhale and slip from his hiding spot, however, she spoke again.

“Forgive me, but I’ve heard something altogether interesting about your club and was hoping you could help me.”

“Of course,” Isaac replied. “Anything at all.”

She cleared her throat delicately, the rustle of her skirts reaching Ethan as she seemed to move closer. “I have heard,” she went on, voice lowered in an intimate way that affected Ethan in places he would rather not think about, “that you hold private games for females?”

“We do indeed,” Isaac replied, amusement lacing his voice as he lowered his tone to match Mrs. Marlow’s. “Are you thinking you would like to join?”

“I would, as would Mrs. Finch, I daresay. But it is more for Mrs. Finch’s partner, Lady Vastkern. She is quite keen on games of chance, you see. I don’t suppose you could secure her a spot at one of your tables. The viscountess would be most appreciative.”

It was an innocuous enough request. They received dozens of them a day from women wishing to join in those private games, all hoping to get a taste of what their husbands and sons and fathers could indulge in freely anytime they wished.

Why, then, did the hair at the nape of his neck stand on end, telling him that there was something decidedly suspicious about Mrs. Marlow’s inquiry?

“Oh, certainly,” Isaac responded. “Anything for Mrs. Finch and her partner. Anything at all. When were you all thinking of joining in?”

“Tonight, if at all possible.”

Tonight? He frowned. There was something too eager in the request. Not for the first time, he wondered what the hell Mrs. Marlow was up to.

But Isaac was apparently free from Ethan’s suspicions as he proceeded to explain just what the women had to do to gain access that evening.

When they were done and Mrs. Marlow finally took her leave, Ethan was not so quick in attempting to leave his hiding spot, and not only because he feared the woman might turn around once again.

Could she simply wish to secure a coveted spot for this Lady Vastkern?

Certainly. But as he had distrusted her motives from the very beginning, his suspicions could not help but be roused now.

He growled in frustration. What he wouldn’t give to get in Mrs. Marlow’s head and see just what she was up to.

Which, unfortunately, led to wondering what it would be like to get into other parts of her. Which, in turn, made him desperately happy for the cover of the drapery.

Of course, that was when Isaac yanked back the heavy velvet and stood staring at him with no little confusion.

“Why the hell did you wish to hide from Mrs. Marlow?” he demanded.

Before Ethan could come up with a plausible response—truly, he was drawing a complete blank for a reason that would satisfy his brother without revealing his suspicions regarding the woman and Dionysus in general—Teagan sauntered up.

“You’re hiding from Mrs. Marlow?” He snorted. “I’ve never known you to shy away from a seduction before.”

Which was not anything he had expected. He frowned at his partner, certain he must have heard him wrong. “Seduction? What the devil are you talking about?”

To which Teagan rolled his eyes so violently Ethan was surprised they didn’t roll out of his head. “Don’t play stupid, man. It’s obvious to everyone that the woman is trying to get you in her bed.”

Ethan could only stare. Teagan was known for his sarcasm; the man could write a book on the fine art of underhanded ridicule.

Yet this time there was nothing but the ring of truth to his words.

And suddenly everything regarding Mrs. Marlow—or, at least, everything regarding her baffling actions toward him the last few days—clicked into place. She was trying to seduce him.

Holy hell.

A soft breath escaped him. He had been so focused on his suspicions, as well as on controlling his body’s unwelcome reactions, that he had not seen her attentions for what they were.

Now, however, thinking back on every touch, every glance, he saw it with a clarity that struck him like a brick to the head.

She truly had been trying to seduce him in her own awkward, strange way.

Teagan, watching him the whole while, laughed outright. “And I thought you were smart.”

“Wait,” Isaac said, holding up a hand, his eyes wide in surprise. “Mrs. Marlow wishes to sleep with Ethan?”

“Hard to understand, I know,” Teagan drawled, giving Ethan an amused sideways glance. “Of course, the question is: What is Sinclaire here going to do about it?”

A very good question, Ethan thought as the two men sauntered off, laughing at his expense.

He looked to the large double doors of the casino, now firmly closed after Mrs. Marlow’s departure.

And one that did not take a great deal of thought to come up with an answer to.

While she might simply wish to have him in her bed, she could also be looking for an opportunity to harm the club.

He narrowed his eyes as he considered how allowing Mrs. Marlow to seduce him could provide him with the opportunity to keep a close eye on her and thwart whatever scheme she might have in mind—determinedly ignoring the flare of hot excitement that trailed over his skin at the thought of the intimate details that affair would entail.

He smiled slowly. If the young widow wished to take him to her bed, who was he to refuse her?