Page 7 of To Heist and to Hold

And here is the space we’ll utilize for the match.”

Ethan stepped aside as the other partners guided Mrs. Finch into the large room, Mrs. Heloise Marlow trailing in the rear.

It was a good space, large enough for a boxing ring and rows of seating, with a vaulted ceiling and generous lighting and a balcony that ran the entire circumference of the room to provide an unimpeded view of the fight.

Ethan, however, didn’t so much as glance about.

Yes, he was as familiar with the room as he was with the back of his hand.

But that was not the reason for his inattentiveness to his surroundings. That was solely due to Mrs. Marlow.

He watched her closely as she moved around the perimeter of the room, separate from the others in their busily chattering group, trying and failing to understand what it was about this woman that set him on edge.

He had not trusted her from the moment she’d set foot inside Dionysus, that was certain.

No, it had started before that, with the letter from Mrs. Marlow and the coincidences surrounding its timing.

It had all been suspiciously fortuitous.

But his reaction to her was so much more than simple distrust. He frowned, his eyes roving over her as she sidestepped a chair.

There was something powerful and yet graceful about her that had captivated him from the start.

It was as if each movement, even while doing something as innocuous as taking a sip of her tea, was carefully calculated, as if she did not do anything without thought.

That same trait was in her eyes as well, those peculiar pale blue eyes that were strikingly offset by her sable hair.

There was a watchfulness in them that had set his hackles up, as if she was planning and plotting something.

A watchfulness as well as an uncertainty, a peculiar emotion indeed considering how very capable and sure of herself she appeared.

Like right now, as she refrained from joining the others in the group, who were just then climbing the stairs to the top level, instead returning to Ethan with determined steps and a small smile on her face.

She seemed confident in herself and her position as manager to one of the world’s most famous women pugilists.

But he, who had made his living in games of chance, who had learned to read tells in others to survive, saw what she no doubt had no wish for him to see.

Such as the tightening at the corners of her eyes, the way her fingers nervously brushed a nonexistent lock of hair from her cheek, how she could not seem to look directly at him.

And when she did manage to look at him, her cheeks immediately darkened.

He was not so vain that he believed it had anything at all to do with his looks.

He knew he was a rough, homely bastard, that women pursued him only for his power and wealth, as well as the novelty of fucking someone who had crawled from the literal gutter.

Yet this woman was blushing as if she were a debutante and he were her beau.

Something was definitely suspicious about Mrs. Marlow.

“I do believe this space will do nicely,” she said with a nod, taking another glance about the room—though he had the distinct feeling that she did it more to avoid his gaze than to take in her surroundings.

He studied her profile, his gaze tracing along the delicate slope of her forehead, down her straight nose, over her plump coral-pink lips, around her surprisingly strong jawline.

It was as he studied the long arch of her neck that he realized with a start he had ceased looking for proof of her nerves—of which there was an abundance—and was now merely appreciating the alluring contrast of power and fragility her features exuded.

Giving himself a sharp mental shake—this was no time to be distracted by a pretty face—he cleared his throat and took a step away from her, more to steady himself than anything.

“We will be building a raised platform for the ring,” he explained, sweeping a hand out to indicate its positioning, making certain he didn’t so much as brush up against Mrs. Marlow, who was still much too close to him for his comfort.

“There will also be benches along all four sides, and seating along the balcony above. As you can see, no seat will have a disadvantage, each providing an exemplary view.”

“It sounds wonderful, exactly the kind of venue we were hoping for, and that we were certain we could find in Dionysus. Though,” she continued, turning a small frown his way, “are you certain it will be ready by the required date? Between the building of the ring and seating, as well as advertising the event, it seems a fortnight will not be enough time for all that needs to be done.”

He should be able to answer without hesitation. As the lead on this particular project, he had already gone over the schedule with meticulous care and was certain that everything would go off without a hitch.

But when her pale eyes met his, he lost the power of speech. How was it that there was a shade of blue in all the world like her eyes? And why in God’s name did it feel as though he were tumbling headfirst into a fathomless pool?

Blessedly, he was able to quickly gain control of himself and his errant and wholly unwelcome musings.

Angry as he was at himself for his wandering thoughts—he was never anything but in control, yet here he was spouting mental nonsense about Mrs. Marlow’s eyes, of all things—his response to her was much more curt than he had intended.

“Of course everything shall be ready by the required date,” he snapped. “We are not novices, Mrs. Marlow.”

The young widow blinked and took a step back. He didn’t blame her; he was acting like a petulant child. A large and dangerous petulant child, if the alarm in her expression was anything to go by. Silently cursing himself, he took a steadying breath and tried again.

“We will have the room readied in time,” he continued in a calmer tone. “You’ve no need to worry on that score.”

Her cheeks once more brilliant pink, she nodded jerkily.

“Very good. That is, I’m relieved.” In the next moment she set her chin—that peculiarly stubborn-looking chin—and said in a much firmer voice, “I, of course, will be beside you every step of the way. The schedule shall be quite tight; I shall need to make certain nothing occurs to derail our plans for Mrs. Finch’s return to the ring. We have much riding on this.”

Why the hell did the idea of her shadowing him give him such a thrill? Anticipation burned in his chest at the thought of her beside him, spending her time with him, sharing her thoughts with him. He scowled, feeling like an inexperienced green boy.

But while he would love to refuse her suggestion, he could not deny that the arrangement would be of benefit to him. Having Mrs. Marlow close at hand so he might watch her every move was an ideal situation.

“Of course,” he finally answered. “I would expect no less.”

She nodded, apparently satisfied. “I’m glad that is settled, then.

And, of course, we shall expect you to work with the Pugilistic Club to keep everything aboveboard.

Mrs. Finch treasures her reputation of fair play and will not have any doubt put on the outcome of this match.

” She paused. “It is something I’m sure you can understand.

From what I hear, you are a stickler for fair play and honesty yourself. ”

He stilled, narrowing his eyes on the young widow. Was that a note of challenge in her tone? And why? Surely she could not know about the whispers swirling in the miasma that was London. Even his partners did not know about them.

No matter what had prompted it, however, it only solidified his certainty that his suspicions regarding Mrs. Marlow were correct. The woman was up to something.

“I understand very well,” he replied. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. I can assure you, madam, I will do everything in my power to see that nothing unscrupulous occurs under my roof.”

It had been a threat, plain and simple. Only a person acting dishonestly would have heard it. And Mrs. Marlow understood it, if the way her eyes widened for a split second in alarm was any indication.

In the next moment her expression transformed, like a mask falling into place, a too-bright smile fairly splitting her face.

“I’m happy to hear it,” she said in a cheerful chirp.

“But I should fetch Laney. She had best begin her training in earnest if she’s to be ready in a fortnight.

” With that she dipped her head in farewell and turned toward the stairs.

In her haste, however, she stumbled, one foot tripping over the other.

Her pale eyes widened in alarm, her arms flailing as she toppled over.

He reached out blindly, his arms coming about her as she careened toward the hardwood floor.

His scars pulled uncomfortably, but he hardly registered it as he dragged her body against his.

And there they stayed, frozen, staring at one another in mutual disbelief.

A disbelief that quickly transformed to something hot and altogether consuming as he became aware of the utterly alluring combination of soft curves and firm muscles beneath his suddenly sensitive fingers.

He had not been wrong; she was unusually strong.

It was in her arms as she clung to him, in her fingers as they gripped his shoulders tight.

In the balcony above the others spoke, oblivious to the peculiar scene unfolding beneath their feet, their cheerful voices and laughter echoing about the room.

But he hardly heard it over the sound of Mrs. Marlow’s ragged breath in his ear, a perfect accompaniment to his own.

The air he dragged into his lungs brought with it the scent of violets, surprisingly delicate given how capable and strong she appeared.

He swallowed hard, his fingers unconsciously clenching in the dark blue of her gown even as he felt as if he were the one tipping head over arse, falling once more into the clear pools of her eyes.

It was her voice, faint and breathless, that finally broke the spell. “I-I think I can manage now.”

Ah, God, had he just been standing there holding her? He hastily straightened, righting her. She cleared her throat, patting her hair, back to looking at anything but his face. That faint flush on her cheeks was back as well, like the stain of crushed summer strawberries on her skin.

He frowned. And apparently his inner poet was back as well. Truly, what the devil was wrong with him? He felt a stranger to himself where she was concerned. It must be his suspicions of her. He didn’t trust her, and it was affecting him in a very visceral way. Yes, that had to be the reason.

Something he would think on later, once he managed to get himself under control.

“But you were about to fetch Mrs. Finch,” he said. “I shall take myself off, then.”

Before she could respond, he hurried from the room. All the while telling himself he was not fleeing her presence. Certainly not.