Page 28 of To Heist and to Hold

From the look in Ethan’s eyes when she walked through the door to his suite, Heloise had been certain that he was going to kiss her. The heat

in his gaze fairly scorched her, and she felt an answering flame spark to life deep in her belly.

But no matter how much she might wish for him to take her in his arms—and she did wish it, much more than was at all healthy for her peace of mind—she had come here determined to implement the next part of her plan: leveraging herself into areas of the club where she would not otherwise be permitted, to locate the jewelry for Julia.

But he did not move to kiss her. Instead he planted his feet wide as if preparing for a blow and asked with a strange awkwardness, “Did you come with Mrs. Finch and Lady Vastkern?”

She blinked at his strangled tone. “Er, yes,” she replied, shifting from foot to foot, finding it strangely difficult to keep from rushing to him—truly, what the devil was wrong with her?

“They’re in the private gaming room. They’re so thrilled to have been invited, they may make it their second home.

” She laughed, but it came out more like the wheeze from the bellows in her forge, so tight was her chest.

He nodded distractedly and motioned to the office behind her. “Shall we have a drink?”

God yes. The answer fairly screamed through her mind, loud and desperate. While she had planned to keep herself from his bed as long as possible, it was growing increasingly difficult as she looked at him.

“That would be lovely,” she replied instead, with what she thought was impressive poise considering the very loud voice in her head urging her to just kiss him already.

Silencing that voice as best she could, she retreated to his office, finding a seat as he moved to the sideboard.

For a long moment silence reigned, broken only by the faint sounds of the patrons arriving below and the soft tinkle of glass as he poured their drinks.

Which only increased the tension threading through Heloise, so much so that, when he returned to her side and handed her the glass, she snatched it from him, the amber liquid nearly sloshing over the rim.

Bringing it to her lips with hands that shook ever so faintly, she downed the lot in one long gulp.

The burn of it traveled down her throat, through her chest, hitting her nearly empty stomach.

There. That should distract her from the fantasy of dragging Ethan back to his bedroom and having her way with him.

But when she lowered the glass, she discovered he was still standing in front of her, hand outstretched, surprise lifting his brows. And she found that just one glass wouldn’t do in erasing her desire for this man.

“Do you… wish for another?” he asked, apparently reading her mind.

Her face heated. “Yes, please. Actually,” she continued as he reached for her empty glass, holding it tight to her chest like a bit of crystal armor, “why don’t you bring the whole decanter? I’m feeling particularly parched this evening.”

His brow quirked up with a combination of curiosity and amusement, but he did as she bade. When he returned and poured her a second glass, she managed to gain enough control over herself to sip from it with a modicum of poise. Thank God.

“How is your cousin adapting to working with Mr. Ferris?” he asked as he deposited the decanter on a low table nearby and sat in the chair beside her.

She choked on the liquor, wholly unprepared for mention of Euphemia—or Cousin Herbert , as Ethan would know her—the brandy doing much worse than burning as she fought to dislodge it from her windpipe.

Ethan reached across the small space between them, pounding on her back to assist. That, however, only managed to add to her distress. Truly, could she be more awkward?

Finally, blessedly, her chest cleared enough for her to wave him off.

“I’m fine,” she croaked. With clumsy fingers she wiped at her streaming eyes.

“But you were asking about my cousin.” The words came out strangled, and she cleared the last of the brandy from her throat.

“He’s adjusting well, thank you. Quite excited to learn all he can from Mr. Ferris. It was kind of him to take Herbert on.”

Ethan, who was still looking at Heloise with a healthy dose of concern, nevertheless settled back into his seat.

“Ferris is a good man,” he said, taking a sip of his own drink.

He regarded her over the rim, a shuttered look dropping over his eyes.

“But if you have family close by, I’m surprised you agreed to live with Lady Vastkern. ”

Heloise froze. The comment was harmless enough, but an underlying current indicated there was something more to the words than met the eye. Then she realized: She had never told him she lived with Sylvia.

It was a warning, plain and simple: He was telling her that he had looked into her background.

She was, of course, not unduly worried that he would uncover anything damning about the Wimpole Street Widows Society.

Sylvia was a master at making certain their tracks were covered, that they appeared for all intents and purposes an odd group of widowed women banding together for support and camaraderie.

Yet that didn’t ease the tension that pulled her every nerve tight as she considered Ethan. She had almost forgotten how dangerous the man was. But she would not forget it again. Just as she would not lose sight of why she was here in the first place.

He was watching her closely to see what her reaction to his revelation would be. But, after two years under Sylvia’s tutelage, she was no longer a novice.

“If you are looking to shock me with knowledge I never gave you,” she said, “you will have a long wait.”

His eyes narrowed, his lips kicking up in one corner. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “It would be strange, after all, for someone in your position to remain ignorant of those surrounding him. It makes perfect sense that you would wish to protect Dionysus.”

He tilted his head, taking her in from the top of her head to the tips of the slippers peeking out from under the hem of her borrowed sapphire silk gown. “I admit,” he finally said, “I did not expect such a calm answer.”

She gave a light laugh. “Did you expect me to fall into histrionics over something so mundane? It is no secret that I live in Lady Vastkern’s home.” She paused for effect. “Anything you wish to know you may ask, and I shall answer you truthfully. I have nothing to hide.”

It was an outright lie, of course. And if the sardonic lift of one of his eyebrows was any indication, he didn’t believe her. But he settled back in his chair, pursing his lips. “Anything, eh?”

“Yes.” Her eye caught the glint of the crystal brandy decanter, and a wholly inspired idea struck her, one that would not only hopefully quiet any suspicions he might still have about her, but would also provide her with the means to get access to the hidden parts of Dionysus.

She grinned, reaching forward and grabbing the bottle, holding it up for his perusal.

“But that kind of thing goes both ways, doesn’t it?

Why not make a game out of it? We may ask one another anything we wish.

If the other person refuses, they must pay a penalty.

Namely, in the form of a drink.” She leaned forward, wagging the decanter back and forth so the amber liquid sloshed about.

“You are a man who thrives on chance. What say you, Mr. Sinclaire?”

He grinned. She could tell he hadn’t wanted to.

He seemed to be fighting it with everything in him.

But in the end that wonderful smile won out, transforming his face in an instant.

“Very well,” he replied. He downed his drink and took the bottle from her.

“To see we’re on even footing,” he explained as he took both their glasses, making certain each had a fingerful of brandy before passing hers back.

“I’ll go first, shall I?” he asked. When she nodded, he shifted in his chair, leaning toward her. “How did you come to know Lady Vastkern to such a degree that she would invite you to live in her home?”

She was prepared for this type of thing.

It had been part of her training when she had first joined the Widows, how to deal with questions that might arise when in the field.

The general rule was to remain as close to the truth as possible.

A relief, really, as she was not the most talented when forced to think on her toes.

Even so, it took her some seconds to gather her thoughts.

Settling more comfortably in her chair, she adjusted her skirts, smoothing them over her legs.

Which, apparently, had the added benefit of serving as a distraction for Ethan, if the way his suddenly hot gaze followed her hands was any indication.

A smile tugged at her lips at the very thought that she could affect him in such a way.

But he had asked her a question. “How did I come to know her?” She gave a small sigh, remembering the despair, the darkness. And then Sylvia, there like an angel descended from the heavens.

“My husband had been dead some months,” she said softly, lost in the memory, “and I was failing horribly at keeping his fencing salon afloat. People were more than happy to learn from me when a man had been in charge of the place. But once I was the sole proprietor, they would not think of crossing the threshold.” She huffed a small, humorless laugh.

“Sylvia had heard about it through the normal channels of information, the gossips no doubt finding delight in the downfall of a woman they saw as reaching much too far above herself. She came to the salon just as I was about to give up, introduced herself to me, and offered me a place to stay in nearly the same breath.”