Page 8 of To Heist and to Hold

It had been a successful meeting. Heloise was certain of it.

They had gained access to Dionysus through the planned match, Laney had begun to work her magic on the club’s partners with her undeniable charm, and they were all one step closer to their goal of locating Lady Ayersley’s jewels and saving Julia.

She should be feeling confident, hopeful about the outcome, ready to start the hard work to see to their plan’s success.

Why, then, did she want nothing more than to stay safe in her bed the following morning and never emerge?

She sighed as she rose and began her preparations for the day—much earlier than she was used to, as most of the work for the boxing match would be done just after Dionysus closed at dawn.

But no matter that she had gone over her blunders with Mr. Ethan Sinclaire a hundred times in her head, no matter that she could still feel his arms about her when she had been so foolish as to trip over her own feet, she would not let those things petrify her and keep her from moving forward.

Besides, this was her plan, her scheme. She would go through hell itself to see it succeed.

She set her back teeth tight together as she thought of Mr. Sinclaire and his hard, suspicious eyes.

Even if that meant sleeping with the devil himself.

Unfortunately, being determined to sleep with said devil was quite different from actually doing so, a stark fact that Heloise finally admitted to herself a half hour later as she discarded yet another gown on her bed.

It seemed everything she owned was too staid, too plain, chosen for comfort and ease of movement and not for the vague possibility of having to seduce a worldly gaming hell owner who was much too ruggedly handsome for his own good.

Stupid, naive past Heloise.

But it was not just her lack of appropriate gowns, was it?

No, the truth of the matter was, she had no idea how to go about seducing anyone, much less someone as alluring, magnetic, and most of all experienced as Mr. Sinclaire.

A fact that had her body fairly thrumming with anxiety, as well as some foreign emotion that was much like…

what? Excitement? Eagerness? No, surely not.

She was planning to seduce him because it would further their chances for success, after all, not because she desired him.

No matter how attractive the man was with his broad shoulders and piercing dark eyes and too-full lips…

She hastily halted those thoughts in their tracks, the very idea that she could become lost in his appearance causing her anger toward herself and her own ineptitude to grow.

So much that when a knock sounded at her bedroom door just as she yanked the last gown from the armoire, she called out, “Come in,” with far more aggravation than was warranted.

It was Iris who entered. “Strachan ordered me to tell you the carriage is ready,” she said, pushing a stray blond curl from her cheek.

She stopped then and blinked myopically as she took in Heloise’s state of undress and the pile of gowns strewn haphazardly across the unmade bed. “But you are not ready to leave.”

“No, I’m not,” Heloise groaned, tossing the last gown into the mound of cottons and calicos and muslins, sinking down into a nearby chair and dropping her head into her hands.

“I suppose I could always just go in what I’m wearing now,” she muttered through her fingers.

“Seduction would be much easier, I’m thinking, in nothing but my chemise. ”

There was a beat of silence, then the sound of Iris’s light steps as she came closer. “It’s the seduction aspect you’re worried about, then?” the other woman queried, sinking into the chair beside Heloise.

In a calmer frame of mind, Heloise would have been able to recall that Iris was not one who understood sarcasm. Agitated as she was, however, she found herself blurting with far more bite than the question warranted, “What else could I possibly be worried about?”

“Well, there is infiltrating a gaming hell,” Iris replied without a bit of guile, “as well as feigning to be a pugilist’s manager, attempting to locate valuable jewelry, the danger to your sister-in-law’s very life—”

“Yes, thank you,” Heloise choked out, holding up a hand to stop Iris from adding to the veritable mountain of anxieties she was buried under. “There’s plenty to worry over. But in this moment, my most pressing concern is seducing Mr. Sinclaire.”

Saying it out loud unfortunately led to an increase in her agitation—if that was at all possible.

But Iris was looking at her with her brows drawn in that way that proclaimed louder than words that she did not comprehend what was going through a person’s head.

Heloise sighed. “I have never had cause to seduce anyone before,” she explained lamely.

“If you’re so anxious about it and not certain how to go about it, why did you volunteer?”

Which was a completely valid question. And one she had asked herself hourly since she had declared her plans. Truly, what had she been thinking, to volunteer for such a task, and at absolutely no one’s suggestion?

What answer could she give, then, but the truth? “Because we require intimate access to the club that cannot be had with me posing as a mere pugilist’s manager, and by seducing him I will give us our greatest probability of succeeding.”

“Ahh.” Iris’s gaze tripped about the room, indicating she was deep in thought. And then she said the thing Heloise least expected. “Why don’t I assist you?”

“You?” Heloise blurted with more than the necessary shock. Truly, anyone else would have been affronted at the amount of disbelief coloring her words.

Not Iris, however. She nodded firmly. “Certainly. I am nothing if not an observer of human habits.” Here she paused, her expression slipping into a look of vague frustration before she shook her head and continued.

“I have studied the courting rituals of young women and men in society, and I do believe that, though I have not had cause to utilize them myself, I can give a good overview of what must be done to attract the attentions of a man.”

Which made perfect sense to Heloise in that moment, sitting as she was in nothing but her underthings, the time to seduce Mr. Sinclaire looming closer, while she had not a clue how to do so.

She turned toward Iris. “I would very much appreciate hearing your theories.”

A soft flush of pleasure colored Iris’s typically pale cheeks before she cleared her throat and clasped her hands in her lap. “I will endeavor to assist you in any way I can. Now, first and foremost, we must ascertain the male mind.”

Heloise certainly hadn’t expected that. She blinked. “The male mind?”

“Yes.” Digging into the pocket in her skirt, she extracted her ever-present notepad and pencil, quickly flipping past sketches of plants and pages of small, close writing until she came to a blank sheet.

With nimble fingers she quickly made a rough sketch of a human form—with much more detail than Heloise had expected.

“Oh,” she said faintly, face suddenly hot as Iris made a particular portion of the male anatomy even clearer.

Iris, blessedly, was completely oblivious to her discomfort.

“Now,” she said, all business, “we of course know that the human male tends to be driven by a healthy sexual desire. These portions of his anatomy are especially sensitive to such urges.”

Here, to Heloise’s further mortification, Iris began circling areas of the figure. Circle after circle appeared, with Heloise unable to take her eyes from the sketch. That area? And that, as well? She swallowed hard. Goodness.

“But while direct contact with these areas may garner the response you seek, it is prone to be short-lived. I assume you require the affair to continue at least until the jewelry is recovered, do you not?” Here she turned wide, curious eyes Heloise’s way.

“Er, yes,” she choked out.

With a nod, Iris turned back to the sketch. “Therefore, we must eschew these areas for the time being and focus on this particular portion of the anatomy.” Here she made a large circle around the entire head.

“I’m… not sure I understand,” Heloise said.

“His mind,” Iris replied, tapping the tip of her pencil against the head, leaving several dots of graphite there, giving the appearance of beady eyes watching her.

Which made the whole situation even more unsettling.

“You shall need to feed his ego. That is the one thing I observed during my short time in society that seemed to work to the best effect, the constant stroking of male egos. They appear to quite enjoy that, and it seemed the young women who were most successful at it found their mates the quickest.” She turned to gaze at Heloise with a smile.

“Appeal to this base nature. Many men like to be made to feel superior. Flirt with him, feign helplessness, play to his ideal that he is of the stronger sex—though you and I know much better—and I am certain you shall find success.”

As Iris took her leave to convey to Strachan that the carriage should wait a while longer, Heloise bit her lip and returned to the pile of gowns.

Flirt? Play to his ego? She’d never had cause to practice those things—she had gone from her uncle’s house to her husband’s house without so much as smiling coquettishly, her skills with sabre and foil seemingly much more important than anything else.

But was she to bat her eyelashes and simper and giggle , for God’s sake?

Her hands stilled on a forest-green gown as she blanched.

Quickly recovering herself, she worked at pulling the gown over her head.

She would do all that and more if it meant the difference between failure and success.

Even if it killed her pride. Which, she thought wryly as she considered her reflection in the looking glass and tugged her bodice down as far as it would go, it just might.