Page 35 of The Notorious Lady

Ford borrowed a carriage and a set of horses from Blake to arrive at Porter’s house looking as though he belonged. Refusing to give him her address so he could collect her, Madame Tricheuse arrived at his doorstep wearing a gorgeous velvet black gown, a bit too revealing for polite society and possibly too modest for the place they were going. It did accentuate the beauty of her figure, hugging her curves at all the right places, cut low at her bosom with frills on her bodice teasing her perfect skin.

For a brief moment, Ford wondered if she had walked to his house looking like this. It couldn’t have been safe. Mayhap, she resided somewhere nearby. He looked down the dreary street. He wasn’t living among the criminal element, but that kind of element was never too far.

It was more likely that she had been dropped off by a hackney, or perhaps a set of her own horses and a lacquered carriage.

He didn’t know exactly how wealthy she was. Considering she still worked at a brothel, he’d guess not very. Judging from her exquisite gown… She was far from a pauper. He’d known no harlot who could afford such luxuries.

“This is a beautiful carriage,” she noted when he helped her inside.

“Yes, it is. It’s my friend’s.” He settled across from her and rapped the roof of the carriage. Then as his gaze continued scanning her form, he added, “That’s a beautiful gown.”

Madame Tricheuse briefly glanced down at her body before her lips curved in a smile. “Yes, it is. It’s mine.”

Ford smiled. “Well, it fits you perfectly.”

“It is custom made.”

“I can tell.” Then he added in a poor attempt at a compliment, “Must be quite expensive.”

His compliment wasn’t received as well as he’d hoped. She paused, her eyes slightly narrowed. “It’s made of materials of great quality, and it has taken a considerable amount of labor to make, so yes, it is priced accordingly. Are you surprised that a simple harlot can afford a gown like this?”

It was not his intention to insinuate such a thing. But since she’d brought it up… “Honestly? Yes. Even most madams and proprietresses of brothels cannot afford to dress in such an expensive way, much less a simple harlot.” He’d had a feeling she wasn’t a simple harlot from the start. But was she the illusive owner or simply one of his or her most loyal disciples? He wished to goad her into telling him the truth.

Perhaps she was the owner’s mistress… Somehow, that thought angered him.

“Then you’ll be surprised to know that The House of Pain and Pleasure is not at all like most brothels.”

Ford’s brow furrowed. “In what way, exactly? As far as I saw, it looked the same to me. Unless your clientele is not only more wealthy but also more generous…” He paused, a thought seeming to strike him. “Perhaps, a little more inebriated, as well.”

“Oh, absolutely,” she agreed easily. “The bar wenches at the main hall are masters at getting our patrons drunk before they send them to us. The more inebriated the men are, the less work it is for us.”

He let out a chuckle. He couldn’t fault the women for coming up with this system. His aim, however, was to goad her, to ruffle her into saying something she wouldn’t otherwise. To tell him the truth. He looked her up and down as salaciously as he could muster. “And how many clients does it take for someone to earn enough for a gown such as this?”

She lifted her chin. “Considerably less than you think if one is good at one’s job.”

Ford narrowed his eyes, an inkling of an idea scratching at the back of his mind. “And what job is that exactly? Satisfying your clients or stealing from them?”

She didn’t seem surprised or ruffled by his question. She folded her lips in an innocent pout and said, “Both.”

Ford couldn’t help the chuckle that left his chest. This woman was shameless. Quite arrogant and forward. He never thought he’d enjoy trading barbs with someone like this. “I should have known this brothel isn’t too different from others after all. The only difference, perhaps, is the caliber of your clientele.”

It was quite a testament to how stealing and whoring went hand in hand that she didn’t even deny it. Not even to a thief-taker. He couldn’t have cared less about that, though. The men who came to these brothels knew exactly what they were signing up for. “Should I be watching my pockets around you?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the annoyance evident on her face. “As far as I recall, it is you who stole from me.”

Ford leaned back and propped an ankle on his knee. “Touché.”

“Besides, you have nothing of value that I might crave, mon grand chou.” He raised his brows. Grand? “As you see, I can afford a place to live and as many beautiful gowns as I please. Can you say the same?”

“No,” he said dryly. “I do not own even a single gown.”

Her lips twitched in the beginnings of laughter. “Perhaps you should consider owning one.”

“I’ll have to content myself watching you wearing one instead,” he retorted with a grin.

“Believe me, I have a lot more than one.”

“All that from emptying toff’s pockets?” He tsked. “Their pockets must be deep indeed.”