Page 4 of To Heist and to Hold
He was certain that what he was doing was right. So why did he feel so damned guilty keeping it from them?
Maybe it was Keely’s revelation that the calm waters they were sailing in had something dark and dangerous lurking beneath the surface. Who was responsible for it this time around? Who had turned their back on Dionysus and all it stood for? And could it be any of the men before him?
But Isaac’s question still hung heavy in the air.
And his brother was not the only one waiting for an answer.
All three men’s faces revealed a suspicious alertness that grew more pronounced the longer he remained silent.
Making certain his features didn’t betray even a modicum of his internal disquiet, Ethan replied, “I’ve decided to refuse Lady Weyland’s advances. I sent the boy off with my reply.”
There was a pause, no longer than a breath, that exposed the fact that the men didn’t fully trust that he was telling them the truth.
Well, the feeling was mutual.
“Poor Lady Weyland.” Teagan arched one brow. “I can’t deny I’m surprised. She’s quite the beauty and known for her… generosity in the bedroom. I thought for certain you would agree to her proposal.”
“I find I grow tired of such affairs.” Which was the truth. While at first he’d enjoyed the attentions of the highborn women who pursued him, he’d quickly realized he was no more than a novelty for them, a means of flirting with the taboo.
He made a great show of retrieving his pocket watch and checking the time. “But what brings you all here at such an hour? I know it’s not just to see my handsome face.”
“Handsome,” Isaac snorted, raising a dark eyebrow, the carefree look back in place. Though there was still a lingering something left in his eyes, like the dirt left at the bottom of a tub after it was drained.
Parsons, however, was not about to disparage anyone’s looks. He was sensitive enough about his own, though he would pretend otherwise.
“We need to plan another event,” he said. He shifted in the leather seat, which creaked under his weight. Parsons was always shifting in discomfort in some way, appearing as if he would rather be anywhere but where he was, even when in the comfort of his own home.
“We’ve got the masquerade in just over a fortnight, haven’t we?
” Ethan said, frowning as he reached for his calendar.
They had been hosting their quarterly masquerades for years.
They were among Dionysus’s largest draws, providing a way for people of all genders and from all walks of life to join in the festivities and indulgences in complete anonymity.
“Actually,” Teagan said, plucking a heavy glass paperweight from Ethan’s desk and turning it over in his hands, “we’re thinking perhaps something in addition to the masquerade.
” When Ethan gave him a quizzical look, he hooked a thumb in Parsons’s direction.
“It was his idea. He’s been spending time with Beecher from Brimstone, you know. ”
Which caused Ethan’s one raised brow to rise even higher up his forehead.
Augustus Beecher was part owner of Brimstone, the only other gaming hell in London to hold a candle to Dionysus.
Well, he supposed Beecher was the sole owner, since his previous partner, the Duke of Buckley, had sold him his portion and sailed off in domestic bliss with his new bride.
It was no secret that Beecher was looking for a new partner, someone to rule Brimstone alongside him.
That Parsons had been spending time with the man had alarm bells pealing in Ethan’s brain.
Could it be a coincidence that Parsons had befriended the owner of their rival hell just as whispers had begun about Dionysus having crooked tables?
Add to that Parsons glaring at Teagan before giving Ethan a defiant glower, and it did not look good. Not at all.
“What has Beecher said to make you think we need something new here at Dionysus?” he asked the man.
“Brimstone will be hosting a boxing match soon. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
“I have,” Ethan replied, steepling his fingers, filing away the fact that Parsons had not answered his question but had instead merely repeated a truth that half of London already knew. “And we have held boxing matches in the past, lest you forget.”
“I’m not a simpleton,” Parsons snapped, brows lowering dangerously over stormy eyes. “But we have not hosted one in some time. And with Brimstone inching ahead of us in popularity, we need to counter their moves. If our patrons leave us for them, their money goes with them.”
He leaned forward and tossed a missive on the desk. Ethan unfolded it, and a small card fell out and into his lap. But he hardly gave it a glance before his attention was snagged by the bold writing in his hands and one very familiar name.
“Mrs. Finch?” he asked, glancing at the other men before returning his attention to the letter. “Mrs. Laney Finch, the famed pugilist? She wishes to fight at Dionysus?”
“So it seems,” Isaac joined in. “It appears to be a gift from the heavens, doesn’t it? Most of London would clamor to see Mrs. Finch come out of retirement to box again.”
“Indeed,” Ethan mused. Yet another coincidence.
And if there was anything Ethan did not trust, it was coincidences.
As the other men discussed the possibility of such an event taking place at Dionysus, Ethan studied the small card that had fallen into his lap.
Was it all connected, the whispers of cheating and Parsons falling in with Beecher and the sudden—and suspiciously well-timed—gift of Mrs. Laney Finch wishing to box at Dionysus?
Could this all possibly be a ploy on Parsons’s part to join Brimstone as a partner, and was he hell-bent on destroying Dionysus from the inside out before that happened?
A sourness settled in Ethan’s stomach. As Teagan recounted how he had seen Mrs. Finch box when he was a lad and how this could be just the thing to elevate Dionysus above even Brimstone, Ethan glanced at Parsons and fought to keep himself from rubbing at the ache in his chest. Despite the walls he had built about himself when Gavin had betrayed them, he had too much history with these men—and, indeed, shared blood—to completely shut them out of his trust. The very idea that one of them was capable of intentionally hurting him and all they had worked for was much more painful than he would ever willingly admit.
Especially after what he had been through in the past. He had known better. And still he had been duped.
Well, no more.
“As we are all in agreement that this would be the best thing for Dionysus,” he said when Teagan finally shut up, “I’ll call Mrs. Finch and her manager here to talk over the details.”
“Splendid,” Teagan exclaimed, rising and going to the sideboard to pour glasses of whisky to toast with.
As Ethan tapped his glass with the others’ and downed his drink, he thought that there was no better way to protect Dionysus than to keep his enemies close.
His gaze drifted to the small calling card he had left on his desk.
And he would start by meeting with Mrs. Finch’s manager, Mrs. Heloise Marlow.