Page 27 of To Heist and to Hold

Mr. Sinclaire, sir?”

Ethan, having managed to snatch only a couple of hours of fitful sleep after his return from the ride in Hyde Park, started at the sound of Russell Keely’s voice.

He glanced up to find the young man standing in the doorway of his office, looking as if he had been there for some time trying to gain his attention.

Damn it all to ever-loving hell, he really had to start being more aware of his surroundings.

This being distracted at all hours of the day and night was not conducive to keeping his head, something that was imperative when Dionysus’s future was on the line.

Not to mention his own sanity where Heloise was concerned.

But the man wouldn’t be here now, mere minutes before they opened for the night, if it wasn’t important. And considering the particular tasks Ethan had set him on—as well the grave look in his eyes—Ethan suddenly found he was not the least bit tired.

“Come in,” he said, motioning the young man to the seat before his desk. Keely, cap in hand, closed the door tightly behind him before doing as he was bade.

“Shall I assume,” Ethan continued as the other man settled into his chair, trying to ignore the tension threading through his shoulders, “that you have something imperative to impart?” And which of the tasks he had given Keely was he here to report on?

“Aye.” Keely twisted his cap in his hands, fairly strangling it. “But do you want the boring information first, or the not-so-boring information?”

Ethan blinked. Well, he certainly hadn’t expected that. “Er, the not-so-boring information, I suppose?”

Keely pressed his lips tight and nodded. “Righto, then.” He took a deep breath, as if steadying himself for an unpleasant task. Which only made Ethan more anxious, something he had not thought possible.

“The grumblings are getting louder about Dionysus’s trustworthiness,” the other man stated, almost apologetically. “Most are quick to defend the club. And I’ve done my best to silence what I can. But that hasn’t stopped the few outliers.”

Ethan cursed softly, leaning back in his chair and running a hand over his face.

Like a drop of ink in a bucket of crystal-clear water, a few outliers were all it took to pollute everything.

He’d seen it ruin a good many men, destroying their livelihoods, like woodworm in the support beams of a house.

“It’s all well and good to say there is gossip about our tables,” he said now, not bothering to hide his frustration. “But what exactly are they saying? Where is this information originating from? I cannot fight it if it’s so damn vague.”

Keely shrugged. “So far they look to be servants to upper-crust employers. Which most likely means it’s their employers that are talking behind closed doors, and the servants are getting wind of it.”

Ethan went cold. Damn it all to ever-loving hell, if the blasted ton got wind of this, Dionysus was done for.

He despised the aristocracy with everything in him, which was why he had no qualms about taking their money from them.

If the spoiled fops wished to throw away their inheritance at Dionysus’s tables, who was he to complain?

But if those same aristocrats began to distrust Dionysus, they would take their business elsewhere. And Dionysus would cease to exist.

“I’ve done my best to find out more from them,” Keely continued.

“But they become close-lipped when I pry.” He pursed his lips, studying his grimy fingernails.

“Mayhap if I had the blunt to cross their palms, I might get somewhere…” He let the sentence trail off, shooting Ethan a meaningful sideways glance.

“You know I’ll give you whatever funds you require,” Ethan replied, reaching into his desk drawer, pulling out a small pouch and tossing it at Keely. The other man caught it, testing the weight of it in his palm, giving a satisfied nod as it jingled merrily.

“There’s a bit of something for me as well here, I take it?” he queried.

Ethan raised a brow. “Naturally,” he drawled.

“That’ll do then, I’m thinking,” the other man said with a grin.

“Just be quick about it.” Ethan frowned down at the broadsheet currently laid out on his desk, the illustration of Mrs. Laney Finch and her opponent, Mrs. Holburn, in full pugilistic poses staring up at him.

“I want to get this straightened out before the masquerade and boxing match.” God knew the damage this insidious gossip could cause if it remained unchecked.

He eyed Keely, who was still focused raptly on the bag of coins in his hand. “And now for the boring bit of news?” he prompted.

“Aye, that.” The other man cleared his throat, tucking the coin bag in an inside pocket of his coat with deft fingers. “You had me looking into Mrs. Heloise Marlow.”

And the tension was back. It was natural for him to wish to learn all he could about Heloise; even if he hadn’t been suspicious as hell of her, she was an unknown gaining access to his club, working in close concert with him.

He would do the same with anyone coming into Dionysus’s purview, and had, often.

Why, then, did he feel so damn guilty?

“Truthfully,” Keely said, blissfully unaware of the mental torture Ethan was putting himself through, “I guess it’s not exactly boring information. The lady has led a hell of a life.” He chuckled.

Ethan narrowed his eyes. “Explain.”

Keely held up a hand, ticking off items on his fingers.

“Orphaned at a young age; sent to live with her uncle, who she learned blacksmithing from; married the famed fencer Marlow at eighteen and worked in his fencing salon alongside him.” He chuckled, a hint of admiration in it.

“It’s not an ordinary life for a female, is it? ”

No, it wasn’t. Which was why Ethan had expected some manner of deviation from what little she had told him.

And yet everything thus far matched up exactly. He should not feel such relief. Yet here he was.

“Then Marlow died some two and a half years ago,” Keely continued. “His widow tried to keep the salon afloat but couldn’t. That’s when she joined the Wimpole Street Widows Society.”

Ethan blinked. “The what?”

“Wimpole Street Widows Society, a fanciful name really for what seems nothing more than a harmless group of widows living together. The Viscountess Vastkern began it some years ago. She brings in all manner of women who have nowhere to go after their husbands give up the ghost.” He jerked his head in the direction of the broadsheet on Ethan’s desk.

“Mrs. Laney Finch is part of it, too, as well as several other odd females. There’s not a typical one in the bunch.

” Again that laugh. “Which I suppose is why they all band together, like a flock of hens.” He paused, tilting his head. “Do hens flock?”

Ignoring the question, Ethan sat forward, resting his elbows on the desktop, steepling his hands in thought.

It would certainly explain why Heloise was so close not only to Mrs. Finch but to Lady Vastkern as well.

And why she had been given the job of Mrs. Finch’s manager when she had absolutely no experience in the sport.

That relief that had settled in his shoulders sank deeper, melting into his bones at this proof that his suspicions of her had thus far proven completely unfounded. Don’t let your guard down , he warned himself severely. But it was a weak warning, barely heard over the rushing in his ears.

Which was why he forced himself to say, “Look into the Wimpole Street Widows Society.”

Keely, who had been lovingly patting the bag of money in his coat pocket, looked up sharply. The man was not stupid, though he might like to pretend otherwise, and understood far more than he let on. A talent that was invaluable to Ethan, especially in moments such as these.

“Aye,” he said, short and succinct, before he rose and made his way from the office.

Ethan remained at his desk, listening to the sounds of his footsteps receding down the hall.

Soon those footsteps were overtaken by the noise from below, the evening’s patrons already arriving for their night of revelry and sin. Which meant Heloise would soon be here.

His heart gave a strange, eager lurch in his chest. He should not be looking forward to her arrival as much as he was.

But no amount of stern thoughts could have stopped him from hurrying from his desk into his bedroom, to the large window that looked down onto St James’s and the general chaos of a night just begun.

He should be concerned as hell at his actions.

He was not some inexperienced green boy.

And yet that was just how he was acting, thinking with certain parts of his anatomy that should not be doing his thinking for him.

Though Keely’s report on Heloise had been innocuous enough, Ethan knew he should not be letting down his guard.

He should instead be exercising even more caution than before.

Something wasn’t entirely right; he had felt it from the very beginning.

And though his suspicions had quieted some—hell, they’d quieted more than some , and would have disappeared altogether if he had not learned about the peculiar Wimpole Street Widows Society—he still wasn’t totally convinced that she was innocent of all subterfuge.

It should not be so hard, however, to hold on to that doubt.

He ran a hand over his face. Mayhap entering into this affair had been a bad idea.

He could not afford to lose control of himself like this.

Perhaps he should end it. He had believed that, by playing into her hand in allowing her to seduce him, he could force her to let down her guard and reveal what she had planned for Dionysus.

Now that he was flirting with the possibility that Heloise was no threat to him and his, however, he should break things off with her, this time to protect his sanity.

Yet when he thought of her, eyes heavy lidded and lips swollen from his kisses, ending their affair was the very last thing he wanted to do.

He placed his palms flat on the cold glass of the window, looking down at the long line of carriages below but not seeing them.

What, was he so emotionally and physically weak that her kisses sent his mind completely packing?

Was he so overwhelmed by the idea of holding her in his arms again that he could not think straight?

Truly, one would think he was falling in love with her.

He snorted. That right there was the exact reason he should not end this affair, if only to prove to himself that he was most definitely not falling in love with her.

Yes, he thought as he straightened away from the window, he would continue this affair and squash any idiotic idea that he was becoming smitten with her.

He had never run from anything before in his life.

He was most certainly not going to start now.

Though, he admitted ruefully to himself, recalling his reaction to her just that morning, perhaps it would be best if he pulled back some.

Letting his desire have free rein over him was not necessarily conducive to clear thinking.

Tonight he needed to keep his cock in his pants for as long as possible while in her presence.

A faint knock sounded, and he turned to find Heloise standing in the doorway to his suite. If the way his body reacted to her small smile was any indication, it might not be long at all.