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The bath screeched across the wooden floor, and the water sloshed violently from the edges in rhythm with his thrusts and his passion-filled grunts. The rickety floors creaked, the handle turned—

The handle?

Ford’s eyes flew open just as the door to his bath opened, and Madame Tricheuse, in the flesh, appeared on the threshold.

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.