Heloise froze.The comment was harmless enough, but an underlying current indicated there was something more to the words than met the eye.Then she realized: She had never told him she lived with Sylvia.
It was a warning, plain and simple: He was telling herthat he had looked into her background.She was, of course, not unduly worried that he would uncover anything damning about the Wimpole Street Widows Society.Sylvia was a master at making certain their tracks were covered, that they appeared for all intents and purposes an odd group of widowed women banding together for support and camaraderie.
Yet that didn’t ease the tension that pulled her every nerve tight as she considered Ethan.She had almost forgotten how dangerous the man was.But she would not forget it again.Just as she would not lose sight of why she was here in the first place.
He was watching her closely to see what her reaction to his revelation would be.But, after two years under Sylvia’s tutelage, she was no longer a novice.
“If you are looking to shock me with knowledge I never gave you,” she said, “you will have a long wait.”
His eyes narrowed, his lips kicking up in one corner.“Is that so?”
She nodded.“It would be strange, after all, for someone in your position to remain ignorant of those surrounding him.It makes perfect sense that you would wish to protect Dionysus.”
He tilted his head, taking her in from the top of her head to the tips of the slippers peeking out from under the hem of her borrowed sapphire silk gown.“I admit,” he finally said, “I did not expect such a calm answer.”
She gave a light laugh.“Did you expect me to fall into histrionics over something so mundane?It is no secret that I live in Lady Vastkern’s home.”She paused for effect.“Anything you wish to know you may ask, and I shall answer you truthfully.I have nothing to hide.”
It was an outright lie, of course.And if the sardonic liftof one of his eyebrows was any indication, he didn’t believe her.But he settled back in his chair, pursing his lips.“Anything, eh?”
“Yes.”Her eye caught the glint of the crystal brandy decanter, and a wholly inspired idea struck her, one that would not only hopefully quiet any suspicions he might still have about her, but would also provide her with the means to get access to the hidden parts of Dionysus.She grinned, reaching forward and grabbing the bottle, holding it up for his perusal.“But that kind of thing goes both ways, doesn’t it?Why not make a game out of it?We may ask one another anything we wish.If the other person refuses, they must pay a penalty.Namely, in the form of a drink.”She leaned forward, wagging the decanter back and forth so the amber liquid sloshed about.“You are a man who thrives on chance.What say you, Mr.Sinclaire?”
He grinned.She could tell he hadn’t wanted to.He seemed to be fighting it with everything in him.But in the end that wonderful smile won out, transforming his face in an instant.“Very well,” he replied.He downed his drink and took the bottle from her.“To see we’re on even footing,” he explained as he took both their glasses, making certain each had a fingerful of brandy before passing hers back.
“I’ll go first, shall I?”he asked.When she nodded, he shifted in his chair, leaning toward her.“How did you come to know Lady Vastkern to such a degree that she would invite you to live in her home?”
She was prepared for this type of thing.It had been part of her training when she had first joined the Widows, how to deal with questions that might arise when in the field.The general rule was to remain as close to the truth as possible.A relief, really, as she was not the most talented when forced to think on her toes.
Even so, it took her some seconds to gather her thoughts.Settling more comfortably in her chair, she adjusted her skirts, smoothing them over her legs.Which, apparently, had the added benefit of serving as a distraction for Ethan, if the way his suddenly hot gaze followed her hands was any indication.A smile tugged at her lips at the very thought that she could affect him in such a way.
But he had asked her a question.“How did I come to know her?”She gave a small sigh, remembering the despair, the darkness.And then Sylvia, there like an angel descended from the heavens.
“My husband had been dead some months,” she said softly, lost in the memory, “and I was failing horribly at keeping his fencing salon afloat.People were more than happy to learn from me when a man had been in charge of the place.But once I was the sole proprietor, they would not think of crossing the threshold.”She huffed a small, humorless laugh.“Sylvia had heard about it through the normal channels of information, the gossips no doubt finding delight in the downfall of a woman they saw as reaching much too far above herself.She came to the salon just as I was about to give up, introduced herself to me, and offered me a place to stay in nearly the same breath.”
She expected him to voice disbelief that she would attempt to continue the business after her husband passed—a typical response—or offer false murmurs of commiseration that held no more water than a sieve—even more typical than the first.
But he did neither, remaining silent as the seconds ticked on.She glanced up, curious, only to see an expression on his face she had never seen before, a softness she had never expected.The breath caught in her throat, not so much atthe shock of seeing it, but because it made her want to crawl into his embrace and never leave.
Flustered, she looked away.“But I did not answer your question, did I?”she continued.“You were asking why Sylvia invited me into her home.The viscountess is rather eccentric and likes to surround herself with things that are strange and unusual.As I am rather strange and unusual myself, I was the perfect fit for her little menagerie.”She gave a light laugh.
“So she has her own peculiar reasons for inviting you to live with her,” he said softly.“But why did you accept?”
The question gave her pause.Not because he’d asked it; it had been completely natural to do so, she supposed.
But the truth of the matter was, she had never really askedherselfwhy she had agreed to Sylvia’s offer.Yes, her life had been falling down about her ears, her future in a shambles.And yes, Sylvia had offered her a comfortable home where she could pursue her passions to her heart’s content.It made perfect sense through such a narrow lens.
But to live in the Wimpole Street house, she had been required to join the Widows in their work, an enterprise that had shocked her to her core when Sylvia had told her of it.And one that she had quickly learned could be dangerous, that took cunning and skill and all manner of talents that she was even now lacking.A thought that had her feeling much too raw and vulnerable.
“Who would not wish to live with a viscountess?”she replied lightly, noncommittally, before fixing him with a stern glare.“Ah, but that is a second question, isn’t it?”She wagged a finger at him.“Enough of that.It’s my turn now.”
He narrowed his eyes, looking as if he would argue with her.But in the end he dipped his head in acknowledgement and indicated with a sweep of his hand that she could proceed.
Hiding a smile, she pursed her lips and pretended to consider it.Not that she had much to consider.This little game was hers, after all.
“How did you meet your partners?”she asked now.
He smiled some.Just with the corner of his mouth, barely enough for it to be considered a smile.But there was something like ghosts in his eyes.The expression took her aback, for it was as if a deep, dull pain lurked beneath the surface, a presence that might rise up and swallow him whole if given a chance.
A dull throbbing started in her chest, and she fought the urge to rub at it.What was this emotion?Concern?Pity?Neither would be conducive to her plans.Shaking off the feeling as best she could, she tried for a light tone as she said, “Remember, if you choose not to answer, you must pay the penalty.”
