Page 38 of To Heist and to Hold

The air was crisp, a cool fog having settled over the landscape as Heloise, following closely behind Sylvia and Laney, hurried through Hyde Park to the designated meeting place.

A fine mist peppered her face beneath the edge of her hood, though it did little to cool the heat on her skin from her galloping heart.

The path was empty this early in the morning, the dim gray of the coming dawn barely lighting their surroundings, giving the whole scene a macabre feel, like something out of a gothic novel.

She half expected a tragic masked figure enveloped in black to stumble out of the shrubbery to set a curse down upon their heads.

Blessedly, none did. That did not mean, however, that Heloise was any more at ease.

Truthfully, she only grew more anxious with each step, perceiving each rustle of leaves, every call of a bird, as if it were a harbinger of doom.

As they made their swift way along the wide path running parallel to the Serpentine and the bridge loomed into view, elegant stone arches spanning the dark waters, a sudden movement in the corner of her eye had her reaching for the knife tucked in her sleeve.

There was no small blade in her pelisse collar today.

No, each weapon she had secreted on her person was long, wickedly sharp, and intended to inflict maximum damage.

The steel flashed in the fitful predawn light as she turned, hand outstretched, eyes straining as she scanned her surroundings…

Only to see a swan on the bank of the river stretch its wings and give them a good flap before settling back down and tucking its head along its back in obvious unconcern.

She let loose a shaky breath. “Damn swan,” she muttered, glaring at the creature.

“What was that, Heloise?” Sylvia whispered, looking back, face barely visible under the edge of her hood.

“What? Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.” Sliding the knife back within the leather sheath she had strapped along her forearm, Heloise stretched her head from side to side in an effort to relieve the strain in her neck and hurried on after the other women.

Soon they were at the bridge, stopping just short of the tunnel that spanned the path.

It yawned before them, a great maw, hiding God knew what—or whom—within. Heloise shivered in trepidation.

For a long moment they barely dared to breathe, ears straining for any hint of sound. But there was nothing to indicate anyone had arrived.

“Are we too early, then?” Laney asked, the words quiet on the still, heavy air.

Before Heloise could think to reply, a voice floated out of the shadows. “Not a bit,” a man said. “I’d say you’re right on time.” With that, a figure stepped out of the mouth of the tunnel. The fog swirled about him in agitation as he moved toward them with a practiced, unconcerned ease.

At once, Heloise’s hand was back on the blade strapped to her forearm, fingers curling around the hilt.

Not that the man appeared threatening. In fact, with his slight frame and nondescript clothing, he looked like an average man you might encounter on the street, a fellow who could easily blend into any crowd without suspicion.

Though Heloise knew that the ones who appeared nonthreatening were often the most dangerous of all. Subtly shifting, she moved just in front of Sylvia, muscles tensed and ready.

Proving that he wasn’t as harmless as he seemed, the man’s eyes glittered beneath the brim of his cap, his lips curving up ever so slightly as he caught the movement.

“I understand your caution,” he said in a soothing voice that only heightened Heloise’s apprehension.

“But I swear I’m not here to cause you harm.

I really am looking for people who may have been cheated at Dionysus. ”

“And what do you hope to do with that information?” Sylvia asked.

As was typical when she wished to hide her identity, her voice took on a rougher cadence, a callback to her less-than-elegant upbringing before she married a viscount and entered into the aristocracy.

And a subtle threat that she was not to be trifled with.

It never failed to take Heloise by surprise, the change in tone making Sylvia seem like an entirely different person.

“I have an interested party who’s looking to make things right,” the man replied. “But to do that, he needs to interview the wronged parties.”

“Is he not a ‘wronged party’ himself?” Laney asked. “That was the impression we received when we learned there was a search for victims.”

His lips curved at the corners ever so slightly. “Yes, he’s definitely a wronged party. But he’s of a position to correct things as well.”

A statement that caused the hair at the nape of Heloise’s neck to stand on end.

Something was definitely off here. This was no mere cheated person looking for others.

A thought reared up in her mind, a beast with bared teeth: What if this person worked for someone within Dionysus itself? It could very well be a trap.

Inching closer to Sylvia, she eyed the man with even more caution than before. “I think it would be best if we leave,” she said, voice low and tense.

Sylvia glanced at her sharply, eyes glittering in the shadows of her hood. The air turned heavy and electric as the other woman considered her. Heloise thought she would refuse. She had gone through much to find someone who might have been affected as Julia had, after all.

In the end, however, Sylvia nodded once, then turned to face the man. “We’ll be taking our leave now.” Then, taking hold of Laney’s arm, she turned and started back down the path.

Heloise, relief making her nearly sag, nevertheless could not let her guard down just yet. Keeping the stranger in her peripheral vision, she moved off after Sylvia. Which allowed her to see just when the man realized his plans had gone awry. He took a step toward them, hand outstretched. “Wait—”

Before the word was fully out of his mouth, Heloise pulled the blade from her sleeve once more, swinging to face him, arm raised.

Fortunately, the man was not stupid; he stumbled to a stop, eyes fixing wide with alarm on the knife as it caught the early-morning light.

Unfortunately, her swift, fluid movement caused her hood to fall back.

The world seemed to freeze on their tense tableau, the very breath stalling in her lungs as she grappled not only with the possibility of violence and what she could do to protect Sylvia and Laney, but also with the knowledge that her identity was now fully revealed.

Which could be a problem if this man worked for Dionysus.

Blessedly there was not a hint of recognition in the man, not even the slightest start to indicate he knew who she was, and she believed herself to be safe.

Until a strangled gasp echoed through the crisp air.

But it was not from the lips of anyone she could see.

No, it came from off to the side of the path, within the shadows of the shrubbery.

Before Heloise could right her hood and conceal her face again, there was the rustling of leaves.

And then a hulking figure stepped from the bushes and onto the path—and began striding right for her.

Laney’s and Sylvia’s cries rang out in the air, setting up a cacophony of sound in the quiet stillness of the early morning, sending the fowl on the water’s edge into a flutter of agitated feathers.

But Heloise hardly heard it for the clatter of her blade falling from her numb fingers to the ground and the ringing in her ears.

This man was certainly no stranger to her.

Those dark eyes were the same ones she had gazed into while in the throes of passion, those full lips the same ones she had kissed.

Though weren’t those eyes on fire now, those lips an unforgiving line?

And then he reached her and spoke, proving what her eyes could hardly believe.

“Heloise,” Ethan rasped. “What the hell are you doing here?”

It couldn’t be she. He refused to believe it.

Yet as he stared down at that same face he had come to care so deeply about in the past weeks, there could be no doubt that it was. Here was that stubborn jaw, there those pale blue eyes. Though wasn’t her jaw slack now, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and something close to fear?

His heart squeezed, and he ached to rub his hand hard over it to relieve the pain there, to reach for her and pull her against him and beg her to tell him this was all a dream and they were in fact back in his bed at Dionysus.

Instead, he kept those traitorous appendages at his sides, balling his hands into tight fists.

“Ethan,” she whispered through suddenly colorless lips, looking close to keeling over on the spot. As if to give proof of it, she swayed ever so slightly. He instinctively stepped forward, reaching for her, but froze when she took a step back, hands raised as if to ward him off.

Which only served to spark his anger from a small, flickering flame into a burning blaze. “I repeat, madam,” he said, taking another step toward her. “What are you doing here?”

The two women she was with made small sounds of alarm in their throats. Not Heloise, however. Instead of retreating, she held her ground, drawing herself taller, eyes turning hard and cold as chips of ice.

“I could ask the same of you,” she countered, raising her chin. Of course she would not be cowed, not his Heloise.

No , a voice roared inside him, she was not his anything .

Instead of answering her, he looked to the two women just off the path.

They clung to each other, their shock evident though their faces were still obscured.

The moment his gaze found them, the taller of the two stepped in front of the other, feet planted wide, shoulders rounded, and arms raised in a traditional pugilist stance.

Which was exactly when the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

“Mrs. Laney Finch,” he said, eyes narrowing on her. “You are part of this as well, are you?” He glanced at the woman standing just behind her. “And I assume your partner is Lady Vastkern, judging from our previous interactions.”

Mrs. Finch, to her credit, did not so much as flinch. Nor did she relax her posture, her fists coming up even higher in front of her. “Mr. Sinclaire,” she said, voice flat and hard. “If you don’t mind, we’ll take our leave now. It’s so very early, you know.”

Lady Vastkern, however, was not about to be ushered away, it seemed.

Stepping in front of Mrs. Finch, she drew back her hood, revealing the mass of steel-gray curls atop her head and her ageless, striking face.

“Actually, Laney, my love,” she said, giving Ethan a considering glance from the top of his head to the tips of his boots, “I find I would like to speak to Mr. Sinclaire. I believe there is ever so much we can learn from one another. If you’re not opposed, that is, Mr. Sinclaire. ”

She raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow, and he had the impression he was being weighed and measured. He very nearly laughed, though it would have been full of all the bitterness of having been made a fool of all this time.

Against his will, his gaze sought out Heloise. She stood as straight as if a post had been driven into her spine, her face expressionless. It was like looking at a stranger, a sad echo of the warm woman he had come to know. Which served only to drive the blade of betrayal deeper into his chest.

Setting his jaw, he returned his gaze to Lady Vastkern. “I think, madam, that would be a wise course of action considering these very… questionable circumstances.”

She nodded regally, then turned and strolled down the path as if it were the middle of the afternoon during the height of the Season.

Ethan was impressed despite himself at her complete confidence—until a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned to see Heloise bending to pick up her blade from the ground and concealing it in some hidden place within her sleeve.

He watched her soberly, waiting for her to look his way, to show even a small bit of emotion beside the cold indifference she had shown since her initial shock.

But she did not, instead looking straight ahead as she followed Lady Vastkern and Mrs. Finch. It should not have hurt as much as it did. After all, hadn’t he just received confirmation that his initial suspicions regarding Heloise’s intentions had been valid? And yet…

He took a deep breath with effort, dragging the cool morning mist into his lungs by sheer will.

But his chest remained tight, as if some cruel god had taken hold of him in his fist and was relentlessly squeezing.

He felt as if something inside him had shattered and could never be put back together again.

Giving Keely a quick, hooded glance, he strode after the retreating women.

He would get answers soon, no matter what it took.

The only question was: How much would those answers destroy him?