Page 18 of To Heist and to Hold

Despite its being nearly summer, the night was brisk as Heloise, along with Laney and Sylvia, made their way down the narrow alley that backed Dionysus.

Behind them the streets were busy with bodies desperately trying to hang on to the last bit of the London Season before they had to return to the quiet boredom of their ancestral homes.

All was gaudy, the street lit up with bright flames to stave off the night, the people almost manic.

The alley in front of them, however, was silent, light shining at intervals in a muted gold, flames flickering behind amber stained-glass lamp covers, the only people the two hulking guards that flanked a single door.

Apprehension vibrated along Heloise’s nerves, growing more intense the closer they got to those overlarge men and the door that stood, looking innocuous, beneath that flickering golden light.

Sylvia and Laney, however, did not share her disquiet. No, it seemed they felt the very opposite, their excitement palpable as they strode along, arm in arm, at Heloise’s side.

“Goodness,” Sylvia said, voice electric with her eagerness as she hugged Laney’s arm tighter against her, eyes glittering bright in the gilded light, “this is all quite thrilling, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed,” Laney joined in. She grinned at Sylvia. “It gets the blood pumping.”

Sylvia laughed, the sound like tinkling bells in the still, close air of the alley. “Heloise, I have said it once and I shall say it again: This plan was positively brilliant.”

Heloise, momentarily distracted from her spate of nerves, felt the warmth of that compliment down to her toes.

But she would not allow herself to soak in the pleasure of it.

No, now was not the time for complacency.

Eyeing the guards, who were nearly within earshot, she said in a low voice, “You will be fine investigating the dealers at the tables while I attempt to make further headway into Dionysus’s inner sanctum?

” Which, of course, meant trying—once again—to get close to Mr. Sinclaire, something all the more imperative after her near discovery while trying to search the private hallway that morning.

She felt the full weight of all her failures with that man.

If she didn’t succeed tonight, she didn’t know that she would ever be able to.

It was one thing to fail at seducing the man during the day when stark, cold business was at the forefront of their time together.

It would be quite another to fail when Dionysus was at its most atmospheric, when the whole mood of the place was focused on excess and sensuality.

Dear God, if she failed tonight, she might as well enter a nunnery for all the good she could do in this particular department.

“Oh, of course,” Sylvia said, waving a hand in the air, the massive rings on her fingers—worn more for attention than style—winking in the low light.

“Besides my ability to squeeze information from even the most taciturn person, I also happen to have quite the talent for play, as my dear Laney can attest to.”

“Sylvia truly is a fine card player,” Laney agreed, giving Sylvia a heavy-lidded look. “And money is not the only thing she has won at the tables.”

Again Sylvia laughed, though there was a certain huskiness to it now that told of a very interesting story indeed.

They reached the guards then. Heloise stepped up before them, gripping her hands tight in her skirts to stave off their shaking. She had a part to play, and she’d best play it for all she was worth.

“Mr. Isaac Sinclaire invited us to this evening’s game,” she said with a certain haughtiness she did not feel. “This is Lady Vastkern and Mrs. Laney Finch, and I am Mrs. Heloise Marlow.”

There was not a flicker of emotion on the men’s faces, yet they reacted immediately, opening the door and stepping aside, motioning them to enter. With only the barest pause, Heloise stepped forward into the dim hallway, Sylvia and Laney following.

The moment the door closed behind them, Heloise stopped.

She didn’t mean to. She meant to stride forward with confidence, as if she knew exactly what she was about.

But now that she was here, she couldn’t seem to help herself.

Which was silly, really. She had, of course, been inside the hell before.

She had become used to its strange, sultry atmosphere, and this visit should be no different.

Yet it was completely different. It felt as if with the coming of night Dionysus had awoken, as if it were a living, breathing thing that had sucked her in and would not soon let her go.

Laney placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Heloise, are you quite all right?”

“What? Oh! Yes, I’m fine, perfectly fine,” Heloise replied, perhaps more brightly and loudly than warranted. Straightening, she turned a wide smile to the two women. “My apologies. Shall we?”

Without waiting for an answer, she started off again, following the faint sounds of low, feminine laughter and clinking glasses. And then they were at the end of the hall and stepping through an open door into a large room filled with the most fashionably dressed women Heloise had ever seen.

“Goodness,” she managed. She had never witnessed such riches and extravagance in her life.

Each woman was draped in the most luxurious fabrics, the most glittering jewelry.

It was as if some unseen hand had reached into every London ballroom and plucked out only the most stylish ladies present.

As if she were in a soaring aviary of the most elegant birds in existence.

Just then Mr. Isaac Sinclaire approached them.

“Mrs. Marlow, you have come,” he said in his cheerful way, that wide smile that seemed part and parcel of his features lifting his cheeks.

“Mrs. Finch as well. How wonderful to see you again. And this must be Lady Vastkern.” He bowed over her proffered hand, starting only slightly when the large jewels adorning her fingers caught the light, winking in his face.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady. Welcome to Dionysus.”

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” Sylvia replied. “It is an honor to have nabbed one of the coveted invitations to your private games. I have heard they are difficult to come by.”

Mr. Isaac Sinclaire chuckled. “Anything for someone so important to Mrs. Finch and Mrs. Marlow.” His gaze once more flickered to the rings on Sylvia’s fingers.

Heloise, watching him carefully, narrowed her eyes, thinking of Lady Ayersley’s jewels and how the person who had fleeced Julia must have been eyeing them from the moment they’d entered the place.

“But please,” he continued, gaze once more firmly on Sylvia’s face, “come this way. I have the perfect table for you.”

He turned, leading the way across the room. Heloise, frowning, made to follow—until a very large, very warm hand on her arm stopped her. Letting loose a small gasp, she spun about, only to come face-to-face with Mr. Ethan Sinclaire.

The breath lodged tight in her chest. The man was wickedly handsome in the daytime, in a rough and incredibly masculine sort of way that always had her feeling slightly off-center.

But now, in the evening, dressed from head to toe in stark black—even his cravat—he looked like Hades rising from the underworld.

She swallowed hard. And from the way his eyes glittered beneath the heavy shadow of his brow, she had the fanciful notion that she was Persephone about to be spirited away.

“Mrs. Marlow,” he said, his voice a low, intimate rumble that tripped over her skin like sensual fingers. “I did not expect to see you here this evening.”

She might have been able to settle her thoughts had it not been for his large hand still on her arm, his fingers gentling to almost a caress.

She cleared her throat, intensely aware of how hard her heart was pounding.

She had intended to locate him tonight but had fully expected it to be no easy feat.

Dionysus was large, after all, and as owner he no doubt had much to do and many places to be.

Yet here he was, in front of her, seeking her out. She could not have planned for such a fortuitous outcome. Which, naturally, made her immensely wary.

Something she could not show. She smiled, allowing his light grip on her arm, though she didn’t have a clue what to do with it, as he had always made it a point to keep from touching her before.

“Your brother was kind enough to secure places for Mrs. Finch and her partner Lady Vastkern at your tables,” she explained.

“And you?”

She blinked at the loaded huskiness of his voice, which was settling low, so very low, in her belly in the most disconcerting way. “I’m sorry?”

His full lips quirked up on one side, making him look at once boyishly charming and dangerously attractive. “Will you be joining them at the tables?”

“Oh!” She flushed, more for the fact that her body continued to respond in the most baffling way to his tone than any embarrassment that she had not understood him.

“I do believe there is a place for me should I wish to. And as those places are quite hard to come by, I would be a fool not to.” Then, in a voice that shook ever so slightly for all she dared to try it, “Unless there is someplace better I should be spending my time.”

To her utter shock, his half smile transformed into a full smile, something she had never witnessed from him, his gaze turning heavy-lidded as he looked her up and down. She felt that gaze like a physical touch over every inch of her body.

“I do believe,” he murmured, his voice dark and rich and delicious to her suddenly oversensitive senses, “that there may be someplace much more interesting for you to spend your time here tonight.”

Before she knew what he was about, his hand traveled down her arm to her hand. And then his fingers—his warm, calloused fingers—were gripping hers, and he turned and walked from the room, pulling her with him.