Page 11 of The Notorious Lady

Grace licked her lips. Not her—not Grace.

Madame Tricheuse.

If she maintained the charade that Madame Tricheuse and Grace were two separate people, perhaps she could steer Gunning’s investigation in the right direction. She could shield the other workers from the thief-taker’s scrutiny, keeping them safe. And if he became convinced Madame was the murderer, Grace could simply wipe away her paint and discard her wigs—shedding her disguise. She would effectively disappear, her true identity forever obscured from persecution.

It was a risky plan. But Grace needn’t maintain the ruse indefinitely. Only long enough for the true killer to be unmasked. If the thief-taker was right about his suspicions—and she had a feeling he was—it meant the culprit was someone intimately familiar to her. A frequent patron of her establishment. Which meant that his name was no doubt chronicled in the brothel’s logbooks she safeguarded. And she had probably seen him more than once.

She could clear her name and save her brothel.

Except she couldn’t do it on her own. Not only did she need the thief-taker’s expertise, but also his protection and, eventually, his reputation in society as an upstanding officer of the law.

Damn him, William was right.

Her best hope was an uneasy partnership.

“I cannot promise Madame Tricheuse will agree to this deal,” she said.

“If she wants to ever return to work at her precious brothel, she will. It is a notorious place with a hefty pay, I assume. Besides, as of right now, she is the prime suspect. If she wants to clear her name, she will have to cooperate. Tell her to see me in St. Giles Roundhouse—”

Grace let out a derisive snort. “Any time a harlot goes into the roundhouse, the only way she exits is with a noose around her neck, whether guilty or innocent.”

“I’m hard-pressed for you to show me a single harlot who is completely innocent,” he countered bluntly.

Grace took a step toward him, her anger flaring. “So, you admit it, you’ve already decided a harlot is guilty.”

“Oh, do not pretend affront.” He looked rather annoyed, his frowning features exaggerated by the shadows cast by the single candle. “You are far from innocent. But I can exonerate you from this one crime.”

She paused, letting her anger simmer down. He wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t mean she liked it, or him, for that matter. “I will speak to Madame Tricheuse and will let you know her answer. But I will not ask her to go into the lion’s den. If she is to help you, she is not to be treated merely as a suspect.”

Mr. Gunning let out a bark of laughter that grated on Grace’s nerves. “Then how do you propose I treat her?”

Grace let a small smile play across her lips. “As a partner.”

He took a menacing step. “A partner! To a thief-taker?”

“Yes,” she replied, bolder now. “As you would treat any of your colleagues.”

“Utterly preposterous.” Gunning shook his head, lips curling in disdain.

“Then I wish you luck solving this alone.”

They stood rigid, faces mere inches apart, the tension crackling between them like a gathering storm.

“Fine!” Gunning ground out at last through gritted teeth and took a step back. “If that’s your wish, we shall convene at the House of Pain and Pleasure. The day after tomorrow. An hour before dawn.”

“That den is under watch by the King’s men,” Grace noted coolly. They lurked like vultures, awaiting any harlot’s return to make an arrest.

“I shall guarantee her safety as long as she is helpful.” His voice was low and husky as he collected his hat and cloak and stepped toward the door.

“And what assurance do I have that you won’t suddenly decide she isn’t helpful anymore?” Grace called after him.

Gunning paused at the door, throwing a look back over his shoulder. His voice was low, tinged with grim promise. “I suppose you’ll have to trust me.”

“Trust a thief-taker?” She sniffed. “Never.”

Something dangerous glinted in Gunning’s eyes as a slow, menacing smile spread across his full lips. “Do you have another choice?”

He was right, the damned blackguard, and they both knew it. Grace had already stooped low enough by seeking William’s aid. Now, she’d have to accept the alliance with her enemy.