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“Pardon me!” Her voice was breathless as the collision took the wind right out of her. Her gown twisted slightly, and her mask was now askew.

“The fault is mine,” the man said in a low voice that sent shivers up Helen’s spine. She righted the mask, clutched her skirt in her fists, and ran out of the corridor.

Helen didn’t remember how she traversed the building and made it past the guards. She was able to take a deep breath only once she was already out on the street. She bent at the waist, taking gulps of air before the noise in her head subsided and the blur in her eyes turned into sharp pictures again.

What in the world was she thinking coming to a place like this? Whatever she wanted, she would never be able to find it here.

Taking another deep breath, she walked toward her carriage with a sedate pace, resolute to forget the entire ordeal.

* * *

Ian paused, watching the mysterious lady scuffle away. Well, not exactly mysterious. At least, not to him.

He’d recognized her the moment he saw her. Although the ladies all had similar gowns, high hairdos, and this one, in particular, wore a mask that concealed half of her face, her waist, shoulders, and gait easily differentiated her from others.

Not the least of the factors that gave her away was the fact that her mask was askew and showed a fair amount of her lovely face. And if that wasn’t enough, then there was always her scent. The scent that had embedded itself into Ian’s nostrils since the night of the Payne’s ball.

The lady rushing away from the office of the most notorious woman in London was none other than Mrs. Helen St. John.

Now, what a grieving widow and a proper lady could possibly be doing in the most scandalous den of London was a question worth asking.

Ian strode toward the office of the proprietress, but before he could reach for the door, it opened and the woman herself appeared on the threshold.

“No,” she said simply and succinctly before he had time to open his mouth.

“I am not here for the reasons you think,” Ian lied. It wasn’t a complete lie, though. He’d come here initially with those intentions, but he had already changed his mind.

“Whatever it is, no,” she said softly, yet her tone brooked no arguments. “And what are you doing loitering by my office? I thought we agreed that you would only approach me in the private chambers!”

“Yes, well. That was before I became a notorious patron of this place. Nobody will question my being here anymore.”

“Perhaps they won’t question you, but they will question me.”

Ian let out a frustrated breath. “You are the reason for my downfall. The least you could do is grant me a tiny favor.”

“I am the reason for your downfall?” She folded her arms over her chest. “I am the one risking everything, remember?”

“Come now, if your guards weren’t so incompetent—” Ian waved a hand.

“I was granting you a favor. You were the reason for your own downfall. And you don’t get any more favors from me.” She moved to leave, but Ian caught her by her arm.

“I don’t need the charade anymore. I don’t need the room. I just need you to answer one tiny question.”

She straightened her spine.

“Come, Grace.” Ian let go of her arm and placed his hand on her shoulder with a charming smile. “For old times’ sake.”

Grace shook off his hand. “One. Question.” She stepped back into her office and tipped her head, gesturing to him to proceed inside.

Ian entered the room and locked the door behind him.

“Well?” Grace didn’t step far enough away from him, shielding the view of the room and letting him know that he wasn’t welcome.

“Aren’t you even going to offer me a spot of tea?” Ian raised a brow.

Grace matched his expression. “Is that your question?”

Ian snorted. “Fine. If that’s the way you’re going to be…” He took a deep breath. “The lady who just left your office. What did she want?”