Page 27

Grace crossed her arms over her chest. “Please, I dare you to try.”

He let out a laugh, then, with sure hands, whirled her around and held her waist, pressing her back to his chest. He easily plucked the papers out of her fingers and let go of her, making her stumble.

For a short moment, Grace entertained the thought of taking out her dagger and stabbing the obstinate man to prove her point. She didn’t.

Instead, she turned to him slowly and held out her hand. “Give the papers back to me.”

He raised them over his head. “No.”

“I beg your pardon?” Grace reached for them again, swatting at the air. He just held them farther away.

“If you insist upon acting this childishly, so can I.” Grace blew a thin strand of hair, which had crept up from under her wig, away from her face. “If you take this book out of the brothel, do not expect my further assistance.”

A smirk graced his lips. “If I have this book, I won’t need your further assistance.”

She scoffed.

“Tell me I am wrong,” he taunted. “What more can you offer me, aside from perhaps a few minutes of pleasure?”

She gasped, momentarily robbed of the power of speech. When her wits returned to her, she calmly let her eyes roam down his body. “I have no doubt you’re overestimating your abilities, Monsieur Gunning. I am willing to bet you won’t last more than a few seconds.”

He blinked, not comprehending the insult for a moment, and then she watched his face change from shock to outrage until his lips curved just a little with a glimpse of humor. Finally, he pursed his lips so as not to laugh and returned her earlier regard by looking her up and down, slowly. “I dare you to try.”

Chapter 8

Ford didn’t know what prompted him to flirt and exchange barbs with the harlot. The only thing he knew was that he was quite enjoying himself. She was clever, this harlot of his. And rather impressive, he had to admit.

Most harlots Ford had the misfortune to come across didn’t even know how to read. Clearly, it was not an issue for Madame Tricheuse. Her French accent wasn’t real, but beneath it, she was well-spoken.

She was trusted with very confidential things, like keys to the brothel, the secret passage, and the valuable safe. She remembered the men’s aliases, and he would wager all his fortune on the fact that she knew many of those men’s secrets.

Simple whores robbed their clients while they were too randy to notice. But Madame Tricheuse collected something far more valuable—information.

It was one thing to admire a harlot for her charm and seductiveness and another to admit she was resourceful and clever. A wayward thought briefly entered his mind… She would make a perfect thief-taker.

She seemed to study him just as intently, her kohl-rimmed eyes glittering with some indecipherable emotion in the dim light.

“I am not giving you the book,” she finally said, ignoring his dare. “You can read it, reread it, write down all the irregularities of the signature if you want to compare it to anything, but you are not going to take it from here. It stays with me.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “Unless…”

“Unless?”

“I come with you.”

Ford let out a bark of laughter.

“You find that idea laughable?”

“Obviously, I do. I mean no offense, but if I come to an aristocratic home with a harlot on my arm, I won’t be let inside.”

She opened her coat and stuffed the papers inside, securing them to her bodice. “Either I come with you, or you don’t get to go at all.”

He watched her deft fingers cover the papers with her chatelaine, hiding them from view. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that she was steering this investigation where she wanted it to go. More than likely, she had ulterior motives for doing everything she did. And even if she didn’t, trusting a harlot would be a grave mistake.

But she was a tenacious one. So, he decided to let her think she won. “Fine. We go together.”

She placed the leather book back in the safe, locking it securely before turning to him, a triumphant smile on her lips. “When are we going then?”

“I will let you know tomorrow. But you will have to use less paint to cover your face… No, don’t cover it at all. And no ridiculous wigs, please.”