Page 9 of To Heist and to Hold

The carpenters, as scheduled, were at Dionysus early the next morning, ready to begin building the boxing ring and seating for Mrs. Laney Finch’s upcoming match. As luck would have it, however, so was Mrs. Marlow.

Ethan stumbled to a halt just inside the event hall, eyeing the woman as she conversed with the head carpenter and feeling not a small dose of exasperation—as well as a disturbing amount of anticipation.

Why anticipation, he didn’t have a clue.

God knew she was already a thorn in his side, and he had not known her a full twenty-four hours.

They should, of course, be perfectly aligned in what they wanted from all this. They both were working to make certain the boxing match was successful, for Mrs. Finch’s and Dionysus’s benefit. They should be in complete accord.

Yet that was not what he sensed from her at all.

Mayhap because he suspected she was somehow involved in the looming devastation to the club’s reputation, it felt as if she was more his opponent than anything.

And if he was correct that she was up to something shady, he knew in his bones she would be a challenge.

And he had not had a good challenge in a long while.

Again that anticipation, though sharper now.

He narrowed his eyes, watching her as she inspected the planks of wood that ran the length of the room, her body moving with an easy grace as she maneuvered around the material.

Strange, that. He had thought her graceful the day before as well.

Why, then, had she tripped over apparently thin air and landed in his arms?

He recalled with a certain impressive clarity the exact feel of her pressed up against him.

Mrs. Marlow was not some soft society matron, that was certain.

Which he supposed was obvious, given she was working with Mrs. Finch.

Yet he couldn’t help but think that managing a famed pugilist was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg when it came to Mrs. Marlow.

She glanced up then and spied him. And would someone tell him why his stomach twisted in the most disconcerting way when she smiled at him?

“Mr. Sinclaire,” she called out over the general din of craftspeople filling the space. With a long-legged stride she made her way to him. “Good morning. I trust you slept well and are ready for the day’s work?”

He scowled. Truly, it was the only expression he could think to use considering how disoriented he felt as his skin shivered more with awareness and his heartbeat pounded louder in his ears the closer the woman came.

“I have not yet slept,” he responded, perhaps more curtly than was called for.

“Lest you forget, Dionysus is open through the night. My hours are not typical.”

“Oh! Of course, how silly of me.” She blinked.

Several times, in rapid succession. If he didn’t know better, he would think she was fluttering her eyelashes at him.

And then she did something wholly unexpected—or, rather, another thing wholly unexpected, although he was beginning to think that going against predictable behavior was a normal phenomenon with Mrs. Marlow—and took his arm, pressing herself up against him.

He reared back, startled, but she merely held on tighter, blinking rapidly in that myopic way, lips curled up in what he could only describe as a disturbing attempt at a smile.

“But you must be exhausted. How hard you must work. Do you live on the premises? Or if not, mayhap you wish to return to your lodgings. Do allow me to accompany you there, and we may talk on the way.”

He would later realize that it had taken him much too long to react to whatever the hell Mrs. Marlow thought she was doing.

But in the thick of it all, with the woman attached to his arm like a limpet and gazing up at him with an expression that was at once determined and uncertain and frighteningly focused, he could not comprehend how he should react.

And when the shock began to fade, he was dealt another jarring realization: that of just how wonderful her body felt pressed up against his side, most especially his arm, which was currently cradled in the valley of her breasts.

He swallowed hard, painfully aware of just how pert and firm and yet incredibly soft they were as they hugged his bicep.

Which led his attention farther down, to his forearm, where the faint curve of her belly was.

Which drew his attention even lower, to the part of her that was pressed up against the back of his hand…

The staccato clatter of a plank of wood hitting the floor echoed through the room then, blessedly jarring him back to his senses.

Pulling his arm forcefully from her grip, he took several healthy steps back from her.

“Ah, er, there’s no need for that,” he said, stumbling over the words much more than he liked.

Which, naturally, led him to scowl again.

Truly, this woman had the most frustrating effect on him. And he did not like it, not one bit.

“Like I said,” he continued, “my hours are not typical. I am ready to continue working. Which I must do if we are to complete the necessary preparation for the match. Now if you will excuse me.”

With that he quickly located the lead carpenter and headed his way. It was not until he had received the plans for the build from the man and was looking them over that he noticed he was not alone in his perusal. Over his left arm was Mrs. Marlow again.

Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes in a bid for patience before glancing her way. “Can I help you with something, madam?”

She smiled brightly. “Not at all. Please, pay no attention to me.”

Again he sighed. Though this time it came out a bit more aggressively than before, a sharp exhalation of breath, stirring the plans in his hands.

“There is no need for you to remain,” he managed through teeth he was quickly threatening to grind to dust for all he was pressing them together so tightly. “I have things well in hand.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Of course you do,” she replied in a breathy voice, her hand finding his arm again, fingers lingering on his sleeve. “I can tell you are quite adept at what you do. It is admirable, Mr. Sinclaire. Admirable indeed.”

What the absolute devil? Though he had not known her more than a day, he did not believe such fawning behavior was typical of her. Before he could make sense of it all—or pick his jaw up from his chest, where it had dropped—she continued.

“But I do believe I informed you yesterday during the tour of your facilities that I would be sticking close to you for the fortnight leading up to Mrs. Finch’s match.

It is imperative that it be a success. Which I’m certain it will be,” she hurried to say, her wide smile widening even further, something he had not thought possible considering how her cheeks had seemed to be nearly split in two.

“If someone as capable as you is in charge, it can only be successful. But it is my job to make certain everything that can be done is done. You understand, don’t you, Mr. Sinclaire? ”

Once more she fluttered those long lashes of hers, so rapidly it was a wonder they did not create a whirlwind to blow him away.

He narrowed his eyes, the back of his neck tingling, much like a dog sensing an approaching storm, no doubt.

Something was brewing, coming closer, looming over him and Dionysus and everything he had worked so hard to build, ready to rain down on them all.

And this woman could very well be part of it.

Oh, she might not be the center of the storm.

He had no doubt at all that someone who worked for Dionysus was there at the eye of the hurricane.

But the only way to ascertain how big a part Mrs. Marlow might play in it was to keep her as close to himself as possible.

He pressed his lips tight. Despite his wish to do otherwise.

A wish he would insist was real, no matter how much his heart thrummed whenever she was near.

Blessedly, it seemed she was doing her damnedest to make certain they were in close proximity. Well, far be it from him to disappoint her.

“I am in complete agreement, Mrs. Marlow,” he murmured, dipping his head in her direction.

That seemed to stall her. She blinked, her smile faltering. “You—you are?”

“Absolutely. But there is much to do. And there is no better time than the present. Shall we?”

Without waiting for her answer, he spun about, ignoring the flare of excitement in his gut as she scurried after him.

A short time later, however, he was ready to curse his former self for being so bloody clever.

Mrs. Marlow leaned forward in her seat across the carriage from him, the better to peer out the window as they pulled away from Dionysus.

The slight movement sent a waft of sweet violets his way, and he gritted his teeth tight against the sudden clenching of each and every muscle in his body.

It had perhaps not been the best idea to bring her along with him on today’s errand; the carriage, while spacious and easily able to accommodate all four partners, was somehow much too cramped just then.

He hooked a finger under his cravat, trying to ease the sudden tightness in his chest. Though she was slender, hardly taking up any physical room, the air fairly vibrated with her presence.

Or perhaps the sensation was confined to his body; it felt as if someone had taken a tuning fork and stuck it in the top of his head.

Mayhap things would be less tense if they were to talk. This charged silence was wreaking havoc on him in ways he could not have ever believed possible.

“I did not expect us to venture from Dionysus today,” she said now.