Page 23 of The Notorious Lady

“The Brotherhood members are terrible human beings, I agree. And if I find the killer, perhaps I should thank him instead of putting him in the gaol. But I will not because that will not earn me a commendation from the King.”

The snort that left Grace’s lips was involuntary. She was caught by surprise by the thief-taker’s obvious disregard for these men’s actions as long as he got praise.

“I know what you are thinking,” he said, moving toward her. “And you would be right. Yes, I am that selfish. I am one and thirty. I have lived this life chasing the bottom-dwelling scum no one else would care to chase in order to make a name for myself as a respected thief-taker.” He stopped only a foot away from her. “I worked hard to make this world a little safer. And I shall continue doing so. The Brotherhood is dangerous, and if I collect enough evidence to arrest them and dismantle this group, I shall do so. Until then, I shall continue doing my job and lock the criminals behind bars. But it is not often that the King himself shows interest in finding a murderer and offers money and valor for catching him. And I will be damned if I won’t be the one to do it. I want to have a family someday soon.”

Grace’s heart constricted at those words, her breath hitching.

“And being hailed as a hero in this case might help me wash off the sordid reputation my sister’s marriage put on me” He paused seeing the judgmental look in her eyes. “Yes, it is a selfish desire, but it doesn’t negate the fact that it is also my job and the right thing to do. And if you don’t want to help me anymore because you believe it is morally the right thing to do to stand by the killer, I might not be able to convince you otherwise. However, need I remind you that you were servicing these men you so despise regardless of how you felt about them? And now that they have threatened you personally, you suddenly decide to take a stand?”

“It is my job to—as you put it—service these men,” she answered, sparks igniting in her eyes. “It is not my job to help you catch their murderer.”

“No,” he agreed. “But you have your selfish motivations to do so as well. Despite their vile threats, finding the murderer would absolve you of the crime and will remove the target off your and your colleagues’ heads, would it not? It will stop you from cowering before them. And then you can be free to refuse their service or continue to sell their information to the Crown’s spies or whatever you did in the past. But do not pretend as if you have nothing to gain from helping me.”

Grace gritted her teeth. “Fine,” she said, after thinking over his words. He wasn’t wrong. She had no moral ground to refuse to help him. And even if she did, finding the murderer would solve a lot of problems for her. Those vile men were going to try to find her and kill her. Ironically, it was in her best interest to find a man bent on killing them all. “Come with me.”

Chapter 7

Madame Tricheuse crossed the room and patted the wall behind the desk. Another hidden door? He wouldn’t be surprised.

Ford moved toward her, walking past an overturned trunk with phallic-shaped items and other accessories spilling out from it. He wrinkled his nose in distaste but continued surveying the chaos.

Just as he came up behind Madame Tricheuse, the door disguised as part of the wall swung open, revealing a metal safe within.

“Hold this, please,” she said with the sweetest smile, her eyes glinting with mischief, and handed Ford a candle.

She pulled another key out of her chatelaine and fitted it into an intricate lock.

“Does every harlot have a key to this safe?” he asked curiously as she turned the key slowly this way and that.

“No.” Her brows were knitted, a frown of concentration on her face.

“Only you, then?” He watched her carefully as she maneuvered the key in the lock.

At first, Ford wondered why the owner had left valuables in a safe inside the abandoned brothel. But he quickly remembered that the place had been ransacked, and yet the intruders had never found the hidden safe.

Judging by the effort Madame Tricheuse applied to unlock it, even if the men had found the hidden enclosure, the probability that they’d get it open was low.

Wanting to better see how she was maneuvering the key in the lock, he stepped closer, only to trip over something and nearly crash to the floor. He caught himself quickly without major damage, except for a bit of his dignity. Hunching down, he picked up the item that had almost caused an embarrassing accident. It was a little cone-shaped stone attached to a metal handle. “What is this anyway?” he asked, rolling it in his palm.

Madame Tricheuse turned toward him, and her eyes immediately lit up with merriment. She swallowed a chuckle. “It’s a… stimulant. To insert into a man’s backside for pleasure.”

Ford dropped the item like a hot potato and stared at his palms in disgust. Madame Tricheuse laughed outright then. “Do not worry, it’s been washed,” she said and returned her attention to the safe.

“Washed?” Ford dusted his hands on his breeches. “It should be burnt.” He shuddered at the mere thought of where that item had been!

“As a rule,” Madame Tricheuse said with a smile in her voice, “do not touch anything in the brothel if you don’t know what it is.” She was obviously enjoying his misfortune, while Ford was stuck between amusement and terror.

“Could have warned me,” he growled, still wiping his hands on his breeches.

She just laughed in answer.

The safe gave an audible click as the final tumbler slid into place. Madame Tricheuse turned to him, a triumphant smile curving her brightly painted lips.

“Were you beginning to doubt me?”

“Not at all.” He cleared his throat. “And what exactly was worth all this trouble?”

She pulled out a thin stack of papers and threw them onto the table. “The logbook.”