Chapter 11

Grace hopped onto the pavement with Mr. Gunning's help.

He offered his elbow and she took it, walking by his side. She hadn't attended a masquerade or a dance in quite a while. The speed with which her heart drummed against her chest told her she was excited to be back.

Once she defected from Hades, her life had become quite busy. Running a brothel all by herself instead of being an advisor and a proprietress of a small part of an established gaming hell was a lot different. She had a load of work she hadn't imagined was possible.

She enjoyed it very much and was looking forward to the daily grind. Yet, she was ecstatic at the idea of playing a part at a very debauched event.

She had a gorgeous gown on, but despite what she had told Mr. Gunning, she didn't have much opportunity to wear it. And she had a gorgeous man on whose arm to hang.

Mr. Gunning was looking quite dapper as well. She never imagined she would ever see him wearing a cravat of all things! His dark blue coat and black breeches also complemented Grace's gown perfectly. They wouldn't look more like a couple even if they tried.

"Remember," he said in a half-whisper, "this is the most debauched party of high society."

"Please." She waved a dismissive hand. "I work at a brothel."

"So act accordingly."

"Do not worry, Monsieur, I shall put on quite the charm."

"Speaking of…" He paused before the steps to the mansion and turned to face her. "Since we are to play the part of paramours, I think it best if you call me Ford."

She raised a brow. "Are we to play paramours?"

"Absolutely." The resolve and vehemence in his voice amused her. "Considering the debauchery we are about to witness, some of the people in there would be more than happy to exchange partners. It is better if they think of you as mine."

And the surprises kept on coming. She had to admit, it was quite pleasant to be referred to as his, which was also an odd realization as she abhorred being regarded as a property. She didn't belong to anyone. But for this one night, she would happily pretend.

"Then it is only fair if you call me Triss."

One side of his mouth kicked up in a smile. "Why did I expect you to give me your real name?"

"It is my real name," Grace said with a laugh, then added with a wink, "One of my real names, anyway."

"I meant your Christian name."

Grace looked him squarely in the eye. "And what makes you think I am a Christian?"

He frowned. "I suppose I shouldn't have assumed." Then he waved his hand toward the door, and they both made their way into the mansion.

They entered the house and were immediately consumed by the festive and rather odd atmosphere. Grace had worked in a brothel, yet she'd never seen debauchery of this level. People were kissing, touching, and some were even undressing right there in the main hall. A couple was half-seated on the stairs and the man's hand was climbing up her leg, dragging the skirt of her gown with it.

The air was thick with the scent of perfume and alcohol, mingling with the musk of sweat and bodies in motion. Cigarette smoke hung in the air, adding to the overwhelming mix of aromas.

For a moment, they stood there, just taking in the chaos.

What kind of debauched hell—or perhaps for these people it was heaven—did they walk into?

"I guess we are late," Ford whispered in Grace's ear.

Grace pursed her lips so as not to laugh. "Are we going to have to perform in front of the crowd as well?"

Ford shuddered next to her. "God, I hope not."

The heat of the room enveloped them as they walked farther inside, making their way through the crowd. Ford's arm around her waist was a strong, comforting presence amidst the chaos.

As they ascended the stairs, Ford's grip on her waist intensified, his fingers pressing firmly against her stays. Oddly, Grace found comfort in his unyielding hold. The hushed whispers and stifled moans echoing around them stirred her senses, sending a shiver of warmth through her impressionable body that pooled low in her abdomen. A tight hold on her body anchored her, keeping her focused.

"Do you know where we are going?" she asked close to his ear, noticing gooseflesh covering his neck. So, she wasn't the only one affected by the sensual atmosphere.

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "Yes, Blake provided me with the map to the house."

"Blake?"

He nodded, keeping his gaze firmly fixed ahead of him. "A friend. The study is on the first floor, but we need to find Porter first and ensure he is occupied before venturing forward with the break-in."

They reached the first-floor landing without incident. As they turned the corner, Grace tightened her hand on Ford's arm. "Look," she whispered, nodding toward the end of the corridor.

A thick velvet rope, deep crimson, stretched across the entrance to the east wing.

"That's exactly where the study is. I suppose that side of the house is off-limits. Which only makes it easier for us."

They continued on their way, looking for the host of the party.

Grace had to remind herself that she was the owner of a brothel. None of the imagery in the house should have surprised her. And yet it did. The doors wide open, people were engaging in debauchery of every kind. Men were licking women in all the places, people were tied to various objects in the house, men were engaging in relations with other men, some people were in a group together, and a woman was penetrating a man with a special article from behind.

Grace knew all about the acts taking place in this house, she just never expected to see them all in one day, out in the open, and not in a brothel setting.

"This is rather nauseating," Ford whispered close to her ear.

Grace let out a chuckle. "Do not show your true feelings."

"Is this what your brothel looks like?"

Grace darted a side glance toward him. "No, we are more sophisticated than that. We actually provide privacy to our clients and the harlots."

"Unless someone pays to watch them."

Her gaze flicked to him once more. "Exactly."

Grace and Ford moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridors, their eyes darting from one partially open door to the next. The hallway echoed with moans and screams, creating an unsettling atmosphere. Grace felt conflicted, her body responding to the sounds of pleasure while her mind recoiled at the sights around them.

She found herself caught between an unwanted spark of arousal and a deep sense of disgust. She wished she could make it through the party with her eyes closed.

But she couldn't afford to look away. They had a job to do, and it required her full attention. So, Grace pressed on, jaw clenched, trying to ignore her body's confusing signals.

As they rounded a corner, a portly gentleman with a ruddy complexion stumbled into their path. His shirt missing, and the coat wide open at the lapels, he proudly displayed his rounded stomach. His bleary eyes fixed on Grace, a lecherous grin spread across his face.

"Oh, yours is beautiful," he slurred, addressing Ford but leering at Grace. "Willing to share?" Without warning, he reached out, his meaty hand attempting to graze her cheek.

Ford's reaction was instantaneous. He stepped forward, his hand shooting out to intercept the man's arm.

"Touch her and die," Ford growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The man stumbled back a step in surprise, then let out a booming laugh. "Have never seen a man so possessive of his whore," he chortled. "We all share here."

Ford's jaw clenched, his free hand curling into a fist at his side. "I will happily share your teeth after I shatter them with my fist," he snarled, "but that's about all I am willing to share."

Grace stepped smoothly between the two men. She laid a calming hand on Ford's chest while favoring the stranger with a coy smile. "Don't pay attention, mon cherie," she purred. "He gets wild like a beast when he is not satisfied. I will find you in a bit." She punctuated her words with a saucy wink.

The man's eyes lit up with anticipation.

Grace grinned, pulling Ford away by the lapels of his coat. As soon as the portly man was out of earshot, Grace gripped Ford's arm tightly, steering him down the hallway. "What in the devil do you think you're doing?"

"What do you mean?" he barked.

"You are supposed to act as if you belong," she hissed through clenched teeth.

Ford's posture remained rigid, his eyes darting suspiciously to every passing figure. "You mean, watch you please other men?"

Grace rolled her eyes. "Have I done that so far? And yet I manage not to draw attention to us, unlike you."

"I don't share my women," Ford gritted out.

Grace threw him a sidelong glance, one eyebrow arched. "A good thing I am not one of your women, then."

Their bickering ceased as they approached another open door. Inside, they caught a glimpse of Porter, his back to them as a leather whip cracked against his skin.

"Here he is," Grace whispered.

Ford cleared his throat. "He seems busy enough."

"Yes. Perfect timing."

They turned on their heels in unison and ventured down the stairs to the first floor.

As they reached the first-floor landing, Ford halted, maneuvering Grace against the banister. His arms formed a cage around her, their bodies nearly touching. The abrupt intimacy sent a jolt through Grace's nerves. "What are you doing?" she whispered.

"I thought you said to act as though I belonged."

"Yes?" She attempted to look around, but the beast of a man was shielding her view. "There are people here up and down the stairs. We need an excuse to get to the corridor without seeming suspicious," Ford murmured, his breath warm against her cheek.

Grace's lips curved into a sly smile. "Leave it to me," she purred, making her voice low and sultry.

With deliberate slowness, she raised her hands to Ford's cravat. She had to admit, she'd been itching to do this from the moment she saw him wearing that abomination. As much as she loved that he looked like a gentleman, she considered the fact that the accessory covered the strong column of his neck unacceptable.

Her fingers worked nimbly, unfastening the silk with practiced ease. Ford's breath hitched as she leaned in, her lips hovering tantalizingly close to his neck. She wanted people to think they were in a lover's embrace. If anyone was passing by, they needed to appear engrossed with each other to fit in.

Though she didn't make contact, she was happy to notice that her proximity alone was enough to raise goosebumps on his skin.

"Follow me," she whispered.

In one fluid motion, Grace slipped from Ford's embrace. She twirled the cravat around his neck once before snatching it away, waving it in the air like a trophy. Her laughter echoed through the corridor as she darted away into the shadows.

Ford stood stunned for a moment before he seemed to awaken from a daze and gave chase, following her into the dark corridor.

Once they were safely hidden in the shadows, Ford caught up to Grace. "Good job," he said, slightly out of breath. His tone held a mixture of admiration and something deeper.

Grace turned to face him, a wide smile on her lips. She was truly enjoying herself. "I told you to leave it to me." She dangled his cravat between her fingers, and he snatched it away. "See? And no fighting was involved."

He snorted. "It's early still."

"Which door?" Grace whispered as he was hastily putting on his cravat.

"The third door to the left."

"I don't think you should bother with that." She tipped her chin toward his cravat.

He paused his efforts. "Why not?"

"You need to look as disheveled as you can," Grace whispered, her eyes darting down the dimly lit corridor. "I would leave it hanging from your coat pocket."

Ford quirked an eyebrow but complied easily, stuffing the cravat haphazardly into his pocket so that one end dangled out. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further, and widened the V of his shirt, exposing his strong chest covered with a sprinkling of dark hair. "Better?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Grace nodded approvingly, her gaze lingering for a moment on the enticing bit of exposed skin.

Ford turned back, counting under his breath. "One, two, there. Here it is," he murmured.

Grace's heart rate quickened as they approached their goal. Ford tried the door handle and to their surprise, the door swung open with a soft creak.

They hesitated for a moment on the threshold, both straining their ears for any sound of approach. Hearing nothing but the muffled noises from the floors above and below, they slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind them.

The study was awash in shadows, illuminated only by the faint moonlight filtering through heavy velvet curtains. The air was thick with the scent of leather-bound books and tobacco. Grace's eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, taking in the imposing desk, the walls lined with bookshelves, and the plush armchairs arranged before a cold fireplace.

"What are we looking for anyway?" Grace asked, standing still by the threshold.

"Anything. Everything." Ford moved toward the desk, his nimble fingers already sifting through the papers on top of it.

Grace frowned. "That doesn't narrow it down even a bit."

"This man is a part of the Brotherhood of the Crimson Fist," Ford said without raising his head, his concentration on the papers he was flipping through. "He is one of the people who is looking to capture you or one of your friends and torture you until you give up the owner of the brothel. So, if we find something incriminating about him, I'd call it a success. If we find any ties he has to the Brotherhood and their criminal dealings, I'd call it a success. But mainly, I would love to find something that points in the direction of him being the killer of the aristocrats so I can capture him and get my reward from the King."

Grace scrunched her nose. "It sounds like it'll take you a while. I think it would be best if I kept watch outside."

He raised his head. "I might need to use your talents."

"Such as?"

He shrugged. "To break into a safe, perhaps."

She narrowed her eyes. "You might be mistaking me with the master lock-picker. I am simply a harlot, and my talents lie elsewhere."

He waved a hand, his attention back to the papers in front of him. "Fine, go guard the door. If someone approaches, either run straight to warn me or if it's too late, stall them and yell as loudly as you can."

She curtsied mockingly. "As you wish, good sir." Then she exited the room and went to stand by the edge of the corridor, hiding in the shadows and watching for anyone who might want to approach this wing of the house.