Chapter 9

Grace couldn't believe the sly weasel of a thief-taker was the one to outsmart her! He'd stolen the page of the logbook, and she hadn't even noticed. Not until it was too late, anyway. Once she found out, he was already gone—disappeared from the brothel.

It took her all morning—longer than she would have thought—even to find out where the weasel lived. So, she paid a few coins to a couple of boys to monitor the thief-taker's house and let her know when he was definitely in his residence so she could go and confront him.

The best couple of shillings she'd ever spent.

Before the day was over, she got word that he was back at his residence. Excited for an opportunity to confront him, she put on her disguise and made her way to his house.

Grace could have knocked on the door and confronted him properly, surely.

But who was to say he would even open the door to her after what he'd done? Who was to say the weasel wouldn't run out of the back door? No! She wouldn't let him get away again.

Grace wasn't a stranger to breaking into the others' homes, although she hadn't done it in ages. The old skill was easy to dust off. With the help of her trusty dagger, she unlocked the window on his ground floor and climbed inside.

She paused, taking a moment to get used to the dark interior. The entire house was silent except for the slight creaking sounds from upstairs.

Making as little noise as possible, Grace traversed the ground floor and then climbed the stairs. The entire house was engulfed in darkness save for the single streak of light that came from under the door of the room to her right. The creaking noises grew louder, more pronounced in the complete silence. And was that sloshing she heard behind those doors? Grace shrugged away the random nature of the sounds. For all she knew, the thief-taker was cleaning. And for a moment, the thought of catching him on his knees on the floor with a wash rag made her amused.

Perhaps it was the maid who was inside. But by all indications, the house was empty save for that single room. And the boys were clear that the thief-taker was still inside.

Determined not to let him get away again or to give him a moment to react to her presence, Grace quietly reached the door, then violently yanked it open and—

Froze on the threshold.

The thought should have entered her mind earlier. The creaking sounds were rhythmic and sensual. And the sloshing had finally made sense, too.

He wasn't cleaning the floor. He was in his bath. Entertaining… ahem… himself.

For a split second, his head was thrown back, his glistening chest covered with dark-wet hair and corded in muscles, rose on a deep breath. But Grace couldn't help the downward trajectory of her gaze that quickly paused at the sight of his huge, raw, and angry red cock he held tightly in his fist.

"Tricheuse?" Gunning quickly let go of his prized possession, leaving it open to her gaze, and gripped the edges of the bath as he came to a sitting position. The veiny, tall, and rather magnificent cock jolted as if greeting her for a short moment. Then, as if realizing what he'd done, Gunning quickly covered his crotch with his hands.

A pity.

"What the devil are you doing here?" he growled.

Heat covered every inch of Grace's body. Having been hidden with this man inside the wall of her brothel, she'd felt his strength—the raw power that emanated from him was undeniable. She had placed a hand on his chest, and she felt the hardness of it, the power. She had had a feeling he was beautifully sculpted. But to see him completely naked and vulnerable was something else entirely.

Who was he imagining in his arms as he stroked himself?

She had to shake off the wayward thought.

Grace slowly raised her eyes to meet his gaze. Good thing she was covered with makeup, and he couldn't see her blush. An experienced harlot like Madame Tricheuse wasn't supposed to blush at the glimpse of a bit of skin. She was supposed to be worldly, and she was! She'd seen many a man naked. Some were even almost as magnificently built as the thief-taker, although the vast majority were not.

Not a lot of things could make Grace blush. She used to think that nothing could. But the fire in the thief-taker's gaze after the intimate deed she'd witnessed was what did it.

"Have you gone deaf?" The thief-taker's harsh, rude voice was like a bucket of ice water to her face. Good.

Grace curved her lips in a deliberate, sly smile. "No, Mr. Gunning. But for a moment, I wish I'd gone blind."

He blinked, obviously trying to figure out if she'd just insulted him. "I am willing to bet you've seen worse," he finally muttered.

Grace let out an airy laughter. "I most certainly have."

Another dumbfounded pause. Grace took that moment to study the thief-taker in depth. His wet, dark hair was slicked away from his face. His frown was more pronounced than usual, his lips were set in a grim line. Nothing was pleasant about the expression on his face, but below the neck—even the strong column of his neck itself—was a magnificent wonder.

His shoulders were wide, powerful, and corded in muscles. His skin glistened in the candlelight that covered him in a golden glow. Scars marred his perfect skin but somehow made him look more appealing. The dusting of hair on his arms and chest, and the line below the navel made her mouth dry.

Grace felt a familiar tingle low in her belly. She hadn't felt it often. She couldn't even remember when she'd felt it last while looking at an actual male. More often than not it was her thoughts, her fantasies that kept her excited.

"What in the devil are you doing here?" The thief-taker let out another low growl.

What was she doing there? For a moment, Grace had lost every coherent thought.

Ah, right! She came here to confront the thief. "I think you know." Grace crossed her arms over her chest. "I believe you stole something of mine."

Gunning shuffled in his bath, the water sloshing around his muscled thighs. "How did you even get in here?"

Grace raised her gaze from the part of his body that beckoned her and shrugged. "Unlatched your downstairs window. It was very easy. You should invest in an extra lock."

"Usually, criminals are not brazen enough to break into my house." He gritted his teeth. "Believe it or not, usually, their goal is usually to break out." Then he looked away for a moment before shrugging his enormous shoulders. "Although I cannot say this is the first time this has happened."

Grace kept her eyes fixed on his. It was exhausting the amount of power it took her to keep her eyes from wandering as they were wont to do. She could not fault him for confidently sitting there without a bit of modesty, completely naked.

She was a harlot. It was rare that men felt modesty in front of her.

Most of all, this man had nothing to be ashamed about.

She'd indeed seen a few beautifully built bodies in her lifetime. Usually attached to the worst of men. That was why it was surprising that the sight of the thief-taker's body didn't repulse her. On the contrary.

She hadn't felt the tingling like that in a long while. Or perhaps not ever. That was the reason she was so good at her job. She could act flirtatious and seductive without feeling a single thing.

What was it about the thief-taker that kept her so intrigued? She didn't quite know the answer to this question.

"I just need you to give me the paper you stole," she said. "And then you can go to Hades for all I care… And just to be sure, I do not mean your brother-in-law."

He let out a chuckle. "I do not doubt it. However… I do not have the paper with me anymore."

"You didn't…" Grace took a warning step forward, all her fluster turning to anger.

"I did. I went to my aristocratic friend, and I left the paper with him. Before you kill me—" he said hastily with a sort of arrogant smile as if he was placating a spoiled child "—I did what I had to in order to find the murderer—something that will help you get your brothel back into good graces with society."

Grace's fingers curled into fists. "You stole from me. You lied to me. Why would I ever believe that anything you do is for my benefit?"

He cleared his throat. "I wouldn't. At least, not directly. But you can believe that we have a common goal."

Grace bit her lip and looked away, leashing her temper. In her periphery, the thief-taker shifted uncomfortably in his bath. Taking a deep breath, Grace faced him again. "So? What did your friend tell you about it? And most importantly, when will I get it back?"

Gunning's eyes were oddly hooded, but he blinked and shook the haze away. "You will get it back when he is done comparing the penmanship of your suspicious patron to his aristocratic friends."

She couldn't hold the bitter laughter that left her lips. "That's all? And you gave him my paper that contains a confidential list of names of our patrons to some aristocrat over that paltry promise?"

"I trust him," he gritted out.

"And I don't even know him!"

"What's done is done," the infuriating man said calmly, which just fanned the flame of her anger even more.

"What you mean is, what you've done is done, and I should not complain about it!"

"I did what I had to!" the thief-taker barked and stood in his bath, towering over her and baring his entire naked self to her eyes. If she wasn't so angry, she'd take full advantage of this opportunity. As it was, she blinked and kept her eyes above his chest, which was rising and falling frantically with his labored breath. "And I found a solution that can help us both! I didn't use your preferred method, but this is not about you. And you must just put your ego aside and stop being so difficult."

"Difficult?" Grace fisted her hands. "I trusted you and you broke that trust. I am being reasonable. And trust me, you won't like it when I am being difficult."

"Are you threatening me?" His eyes narrowed as he leaned toward her.

Grace leaned back but didn't retreat. "What if I am?"

"I would not advise doing so."

"Then I would advise not crossing me."

"Is that another threat?" His voice lowered even more.

"No." Grace paused. "It is still the same threat."

His breathing calmed, and his gaze dropped to his length. Did he just realize he was naked? He calmly lowered himself back to the bath. "Fine," he gritted out. "I don't need more enemies. But you have to realize that I can help you. More than I already have."

She let out a peal of laughter before her gaze dropped mockingly to his crotch. "What can you possibly offer me aside from fifteen seconds of pleasure?"

He pursed his lips. "First of all, I can promise you a lot longer than that."

Heat crept up Grace's cheeks. Thank God for her makeup. "I highly doubt that."

His face was impassive. "And second of all, I can offer you a glimpse into the man who is the second suspect on our list. Lord Porter."

"You've found out something about him?"

He shrugged. "I got us an invitation into his home."

"Us?" She raised a brow.

"Us."

"You and me?"

"Correct."

She cocked her head. "What's the catch?"

"It's an um… a rather… extravagant type of event. A party including rakes, rogues, and scoundrels. And um…"

"Whores," she supplied.

"Exactly."

"Fine." She let out a breath. "I shall let you get dressed, the bath must have… grown tepid. And you can tell me all the details properly dressed."

"Tepid?" His gaze fell to his crotch, and Grace swallowed a laugh.

"I have to say, I didn't expect you to be so unashamed of your nudity, not that you have anything to be ashamed about. I've seen a lot of naked men in my life, and I can honestly say that your body is… um… adequate." With that, Grace turned on her heel and walked away. More for her benefit than Mr. Gunning's. For if he was completely unashamed and unbothered by his own nudity, Grace was getting quite heated being in the same room as him.

* * *

Ford sat in the bath, feeling embarrassed and a little confused. He was rather warm despite the fact that the water around him had indeed gone cold. And his cock, well, it was confused as well.

The anger, the fury with which Tricheuse had approached him stirred a fire within him. She was magnificent, even more so in real life than in his fantasies. He let out a deep breath, trying to calm his rioting thoughts, but all he could think about was the way she had looked at him. He could not mistake that look for anything. It was an undeniable look of hunger.

His cock twitched and grew once more, and Ford fisted it with a groan. He might as well finish what he had started.