Page 43 of To Heist and to Hold

The echo of the front door closing had not faded before Heloise crumpled to the ground. Ah God, what had she done?

She had expected Ethan’s coldness, his anger. She had been so certain their first confrontation alone would be filled with yelling and recriminations and bitter words wielded like swords to wound in the most brutal way possible. It was what she deserved, after all.

Instead he had been kind, and generous, and understanding to a fault. And she had felt the devastating pain of it more than she would any freshly honed blade.

Wrapping her arms about her middle, she bent her head, fighting to control her breathing, trying to keep the sobs at bay.

But they came anyway, inevitable like the tide, tearing from her throat, dragging high keening noises from her chest. She would never, for the rest of her life, forget the grief in his eyes.

That had been the greatest source of pain to her.

There should have been hate, distrust, fury present in their dark depths, turning them cold, as frigid as the ground in winter.

Instead he had seemed to be quietly begging her to tell him that her seduction of him had not been starkly relegated to her plans for his club.

What could she have said to that? That she had begun to develop feelings for him?

That she had nearly abandoned her promise to keep Julia safe and her duties to the other Widows in her growing affection for him?

And why not? The question swirled in her grief-stricken mind, taunting her, stealing the breath from her lungs. Why not? Because there was no future for them. Because you could not build a relationship on lies. Because…

Her tears fell in earnest now, dripping down her nose, darkening her gray skirts.

Because she loved him, so very much. And she did not deserve his affection, whatever that might be, after hurting him like this.

That heartbreaking realization only drew more sobs from her, so violent she felt her bones shudder, seemingly unending.

Until a pair of soft arms came about her, and she was drawn into a gentle embrace.

“My God, Heloise,” Euphemia cried. “What has happened?”

“She was to meet Miss Marlow and Mr. Sinclaire,” Sylvia said somewhere above her. “Something must have occurred.”

“Did he harm her?” This from Laney, whose voice was tight with anger. “If he did, I swear by all that’s holy I shall put an end to him myself.”

“I’m certain he did not harm her,” Iris fretted. “At least not physically.”

Heloise attempted to gain control of herself, to speak.

She never allowed herself to lose control of her emotions around anyone lest they think her weak, lest they believe she could not do her job and be of use to them.

Yet her sobs only grew harder as she heard how they worried for her.

She had thought her relationship with these women was purely business, had spent the past two years making certain the line was not crossed into something more personal.

Hadn’t she been told since she was small that her only worth lay in what she could do for others, that without that she was not needed?

Yet here were these women, worrying for her, giving her comfort.

And demolishing every barrier she had put up against them.

Ethan’s words came back to her then, from the day she had confided in him about her treatment by her uncle and aunt and their family: “No one should have to earn their place in anyone’s life.

” She saw now the truth in those words, how these women had welcomed her in, loving her unconditionally, from the very first day.

She collapsed against Euphemia then, melting into her embrace, letting emotions that she had not known she possessed wash over her like a cleansing balm.

Euphemia pulled her in closer, one hand caressing her back as she murmured quiet words of comfort that were unintelligible to Heloise’s ears but nonetheless soothed her.

Soon her sobs quieted, her tears stopped flowing, and she lay in an exhausted heap in her friend’s arms.

Yes, her friend. No mere business partner would do what Euphemia, and indeed all of the Widows, was doing for her.

Sylvia dropped to her knees before her, pressing a handkerchief into her hands with a gentle smile. “Better?”

Heloise nodded, dabbing at her swollen eyes, blowing her running nose. “I’m sorry about that,” she said, voice hoarse.

“There is no need for an apology,” Sylvia proclaimed, patting her arm, before giving a small chuckle. “But let us move this party to the sofa. My knees are not what they used to be.”

Heloise nodded, and at once hands came beneath her arms, helping her to stand, guiding her to the circle of seats she had just vacated with Julia and Ethan.

At the sight of his untouched teacup, the tears threatened anew.

But the collective strength of the women around her bolstered her spirits, helping her to feel she was not so alone in all this.

“Did he harm you?” Laney asked from beside Sylvia, the tight control she was exercising over her voice evident.

“No,” Heloise croaked before trying again. “No, he did not harm me. I swear it.”

Euphemia, still close to her side, leaned into her, her warmth a comfort Heloise had not known she would need so very much. “Do you wish to talk about what happened?”

A week before, a day before, hell, even an hour before, and Heloise would have stated emphatically that no, she did not wish to talk about it. She did not do that sort of thing, after all, did not share her troubles with anyone. To do so, she had been led to believe, was to make herself a burden.

Now, however, looking about the circle of faces that showed unwavering affection and care and worry, she wished, for the first time in her life, to lean on another.

And the words spilled forth then, like a dam being torn down and a river finding its proper path through a rugged and unforgiving terrain.

“I’ve hurt Ethan horribly,” she began, closing her eyes as she recalled his stark face.

“He was innocent in everything, and I betrayed him. It’s stupid, I know, to regret my actions.

It was my decision, after all, to seduce him in order to gain access to the club.

And no matter how often I think about it, I have never been able to come up with a different way to accomplish that.

” She drew in a shaky breath. “But I do regret it, so very much.”

Sylvia leaned forward, placing a hand over Heloise’s. “Because you care for him,” she said quietly.

Heloise looked up in shock to find Sylvia’s steady gaze on her. The other woman smiled faintly.

“I daresay you did not know yourself until today. Else why would you have reacted so violently to giving him pain?”

Heloise shook her head in confusion. “You knew I was falling for him?”

“Not until yesterday, when I saw you together in Hyde Park, and then after, when we brought Mr. Sinclaire here.”

“Ah, God.” Groaning, Heloise dropped her head in her hands. “I’m such a fool. I put everything at risk.”

“You are most certainly not a fool,” Euphemia declared.

“You were willing to do so much, to give up so much, for love of your sister-in-law, as well as to protect us and make certain we succeed. Those are not the actions of a fool. Rather, those are the actions of someone exceptionally brave.” She rubbed Heloise’s back in soothing circles.

“And besides,” she continued gently, “I do not think you would have fallen for the man if you had not sensed he was good.”

“It seems your heart knew who he truly was before your head did,” Iris piped up.

“Well said, Iris dear,” Sylvia murmured. “And it worked out for the better, now that we have his assistance in recovering the jewels.” She gave Heloise a long look. “What happens between you and Mr. Sinclaire when this is over is anyone’s guess.”

Why did her heart leap at that? It was obvious things were over between them, that he would never be able to forgive her for what she had done. And that she would never be able to forgive herself.

“There will be nothing between us then,” she said. “I assure you.”

Sylvia’s lips kicked up at one corner, as if to say, “We shall see.” Before Heloise could respond, Sylvia leaned forward.

“But we have a mere three days until the masquerade. If Mr. Sinclaire cannot recover the jewels by that time, we shall have to put our plan into motion to flush out the villain who has taken them. That will be our last chance to save Julia. And so, though Mr. Sinclaire may come through for us before then, there is still a very high chance we shall have to trigger our plans for that night.”

Julia. Of course. Once more Heloise had lost sight of what this whole endeavor was about.

Though this time it had been due to the faintest hope of a future for her and Ethan.

A hope that, now that it had broken through the hard outer shell of self-disgust that had contained it, seemed to be growing strong roots that attached to her heart and would not let go.

“Yes, our plans,” she said in an attempt to control her quickly spiraling thoughts.

But as she and the other Widows went over in meticulous detail everything that must happen the night of the masquerade, there was a part of Heloise that was thinking of the days after, and that hoped-for, yet hopeless, future with Ethan.

Ethan’s footsteps were heavy as he ascended the stairs to Gavin’s apartment, a place he’d certainly had no intention of visiting.

After his devastating visit with Heloise, however, his feet had brought him here through no clear will of his own.

His heart pounded in his chest as he climbed the familiar treads.

The rooms, in a fashionable neighborhood in Mayfair, the place his extravagant brother had been infinitely proud of, should have been given up upon his death.

There was no reason, really, to pay the exorbitant rent when no one lived in the place.