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“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.