Page 39 of To Heist and to Hold

Ethan had heard from Keely of the house on Wimpole Street that Heloise shared with these ladies, a place of refuge for widows.

But he’d never thought he would set foot within its walls.

It had been just some vague structure, this place where Heloise lived.

Mayhap if his life had not taken the path it had, if he had lived a life of respectability that had made him at all worthy of courting someone like Heloise, he might have visited here on occasion, calling on her, bringing flowers.

His lips twisted. But no, his true origins would never have allowed that.

In truth, if not for this whole mess with Dionysus, he would never have met her in the first place.

He would have been like manure beneath her shoe, not worthy to approach the black lacquered door with its fan-shaped window above, much less to set foot within.

As he was doing now, following the three women into the front hall, boots clicking on the polished inlaid wooden floor.

He cast a look her way, recalling the hard expression on her face when she had pulled the knife on Keely, the shock and dismay, quickly wiped away to be replaced with cold indifference, when she had caught sight of him stepping from his hiding place in the bushes.

But then, he told himself grimly, she was not the same woman he had believed her to be, the same woman he had come to love.

In fact, the woman he had come to love didn’t exist at all. That Heloise was a mirage.

A squat, hard-faced woman stormed toward them from the bowels of the house before he could so much as get his bearings, her face like granite as she scowled at them.

“A visitor?” she barked in a rough Scottish accent. “At this hour of the morning? Are ye daft?”

“Hello, Strachan,” Lady Vastkern replied with impressive poise, considering she was being scolded by a servant, handing over their voluminous capes to her.

“This is Mr. Ethan Sinclaire of Dionysus. Would you be so kind as to bring a fresh pot of coffee to the drawing room? Although,” she continued, raising one steely gray brow as she considered him, “mayhap you would like something a bit stronger? I know it is fully morning now. But you do not keep the same hours as most.”

Said by anyone else, it would have been a scold. But, for some reason, it did not come across as such said by Lady Vastkern. If they had met in a different time or place, he might have liked the woman.

Now, however, he just felt numb, thoroughly overwhelmed as he was by Heloise’s dark presence not five feet from him. “Coffee is fine,” he replied stiffly.

The viscountess nodded before returning her gaze to the woman. “Coffee then. And a plate of biscuits. I find myself famished.”

The servant snorted. “That’s because ye rose before the skreigh o’ dawn. Would serve ye right if I were to let ye starve.”

With that she spun about with all the finesse of a general in battle and strode off, stout boots clomping like horse hooves across the floor.

Lady Vastkern gave him a cool smile. “Please, pay no mind to Strachan. She is abrasive at the best of times, but she is indispensable to us all. We would be lost without her.”

Mrs. Finch, who had kept close to the viscountess’s elbow the entire morning, scowled at him before sending a hooded glance Heloise’s way. “Do you truly think it wise to bring him here?”

“Actually,” the woman murmured thoughtfully, “I do. Mr. Sinclaire, if you would be so good as to follow us to the drawing room?”

Without waiting for his acquiescence, she made for the stairs, skirts snapping about her ankles as she ascended to the first floor. Mrs. Finch, shooting him one last dark look, hurried after her. Leaving him and Heloise alone in the front hall.

He balled his hands into fists, refusing to look her way yet painfully aware of her presence, the air so thick with the tension between them he could have fairly cut it with that bloody knife of hers.

Say something , his heart begged against his will.

Tell me this is all a misunderstanding, that you haven’t been playing me for a fool all this time.

But his silent plea went unanswered. Without a word she started after Lady Vastkern, and he was left to follow, his steps as heavy as if millstones were attached to his ankles.

The drawing room was as eclectic as the women themselves, all manner of luxurious yet mismatched furniture crowding the space. The women were already seated as he entered, their eyes intent on him. All except for Heloise, who was determinedly looking out the window to the bright morning sky.

“Please, have a seat,” Lady Vastkern said, as pleasantly as if he were an acquaintance arriving for a friendly visit.

Yet he could hear the faint thread of steel in the command.

This woman would be a worthy opponent, that he could sense readily enough.

Though how truthful she would be in the next minutes was anyone’s guess.

But he was adept at playing such games, wasn’t he?

He had made a living off of reading bluffs and anticipating moves.

Setting his jaw, he made for the sturdy leather armchair in the small circle of seats, the one the furthest from and directly across from Heloise.

He could not stand to be near her just then for how desperately he wanted to reach for her and beg her for answers.

Yet he needed to see her face, to gauge her reaction, to see if there was something, anything of the woman he had believed himself in love with still there.

He spoke first, wanting to claim the upper hand in this macabre dance of hidden motives and camouflaged intent. “My man told me you claim to be a victim of the house cheating at Dionysus.”

Was that a look of grudging admiration in her steely eyes? If it was, it was gone as quickly as it had come. “Oh, we are not the victim. However,” Lady Vastkern continued, settling back in her seat in an easy manner, “we do represent someone who is.”

He narrowed his eyes. So it had not been a complete lie. “You know of someone. Who?”

Her lips curled ever so slightly. “That, I fear, is information we cannot divulge. At least, not just yet. Not until you tell us why you are searching for victims in the first place.”

A valid request. He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “You have heard of my reputation, I assume? That I expect honesty and fair play at my club?”

“We have,” Lady Vastkern replied.

“Those are not mere words, my lady. I expect everything to be aboveboard when it comes to Dionysus. And, indeed, everything in my life.” His gaze darted to Heloise, anger simmering in his blood as the realization began to sink in of just how deeply she had fooled him.

He expected her to keep her eyes firmly on that blasted window she seemed to be enamored of at that moment.

But for a split second her mask broke, and she looked his way.

And the pain in her eyes nearly stole his breath.

Pain? She was the one who had fooled him; she had no right to feel pain…

or to dredge up this strange, misplaced guilt in his gut because she did.

Just as she had no right to feel pain, he had no reason to feel guilty. No, that lay squarely on her shoulders.

Which only served to make his anger swell until it was a barely banked fury. Pulling himself together by sheer will, he returned his attention to Lady Vastkern, who was watching him much too closely for his comfort.

“I have heard whispers that something… unsavory is going on at my club,” he continued. “I wished to locate someone who could help me flush out the infection.”

Lady Vastkern pursed her lips. “That is prettily said, Mr. Sinclaire.”

His vision began to go red at the edges at her obvious mockery. “They are not mere pretty words, my lady,” he growled, shifting forward.

Mrs. Finch, who was positioned between him and the viscountess, moved at once, placing her body more directly in front of the other woman’s. He scowled at her, very nearly snapping that he would not do anything to hurt Lady Vastkern, that he was not so despicable as that.

At the last moment, however, he reined in his tongue, holding up his hands as a sign that he was not a threat.

He was an overlarge brute, yes. But he had a feeling their caution had less to do with his appearance and more to do with the fact that he was simply a man.

And for that he could not blame them, not at all.

“My livelihood and the livelihood of everyone within Dionysus depends on my reputation for honesty,” he continued in a more even voice.

“I am determined to oust the cause of the rumors, be it someone spreading malicious gossip or a person within Dionysus causing harm to others. And to do that, I wish to locate those who have been harmed, not only to find the answers I need but to right the wrongs that have been done to them.”

All three women looked at him then with wide eyes. Even Heloise, from her seat across the circle, had turned her gaze on him. But he couldn’t look at her if he was to keep his head.

“Do you mean to say,” Lady Vastkern said slowly, “that you would punish one of your own people if you learn they are cheating your patrons?”

“Yes.” Gavin’s face flashed in his mind, bringing with it the stab of pain that always accompanied it.

Though wasn’t it worse now than it had been in the past weeks?

He’d had the cushion of Heloise’s kindness dulling it.

It had begun to feel manageable, with the muted ache of a healing scar, like the ones that crisscrossed his back.

But now, her betrayal like a freshly whetted blade, she had sliced that old wound open again, even deeper this time, nearly to the bone.

And it hurt so much worse than before. Heloise had known how cruel lies had shaped his life, that he abhorred deception of any kind. And still she had done this to him.