Page 52 of The Notorious Lady

He needed to be certain that she was alive and well. Perhaps then his mind would rest easier.

Besides, he’d wanted to talk to the other harlots who had found shelter inside Grace’s house anyway. It would serve as a great excuse.

Donning his heavy wool coat, he ventured to Grace’s house. He rarely used his horse unless he was going out of town or to Mayfair. He enjoyed the walks, but it also helped him stay in touch with his surroundings. While trotting along the street, it was harder to notice if someone was lurking in the shadows, following his every move.

He didn’t notice anyone following him this time; still, he made a few circles around the buildings to make sure.

He reached Grace’s house a few minutes after three in the afternoon. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to appear on her doorstep in broad daylight. However, his impatience wasn’t to be bargained with.

He rapped on the door, and after a few moments, it creaked open to reveal a woman, wild black curls framing her face.

“Grace isn’t here,” she stated flatly.

Ford straightened his posture. “My name is Ford Gunning.” He looked around the street, double-checking that no one was watching him. “The thief-taker.”

She hesitated.

“I am the one working on solving the murder that happened at The House of Pain and Pleasure. May I come in? I would love to speak to you and the other occupants of the house.” At the woman’s prolonged silence, he added, “Grace told you who I am, yes?”

“Yes, she did,” the woman answered timidly. “And she said we have no reason to speak to you.”

Ford was taken aback. William was the one who’d asked for his help on Grace’s behalf, and now she didn’t want it? “I am trying to exonerate the owner of the brothel from the murders. I am trying to make certain that you get your…” he paused uncomfortably, “jobs back.”

“We know nothing.”

She was about to close the door, but Ford wedged his boot in. “I have a suspect. All I need to know is if you’ve seen him and if you can tell me more about him.”

She hesitated again, her hand still gripping the edge of the door. Ford watched as she glanced back inside the house, her eyes darting nervously as she worried her lower lip with her teeth.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the muffled sounds of the rustle of fabric and the creaking of floorboards coming from inside the house.

This woman wasn’t alone, then.

Grace was obviously the decision-maker of the house, which wasn’t surprising; it was her house. Without her presence, this woman—and likely the others—seemed adrift, uncertain how to handle unexpected situations.

The woman’s eyes flicked back to him. “You will only ask questions about this man you suspect?”

More or less. “Yes. That’s all I need to know.”

The woman opened the door wider, and Ford carefully schooled his expression, hiding the smile of relief that threatened to emerge. He followed her into the house as she led him through a narrow hallway.

They entered what Ford assumed was the kitchen. The room was smaller than he expected but surprisingly cozy. A large hearth dominated one wall, the dying embers of a fire casting a warm glow across the space. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the low ceiling, filling the air with a mix of savory and sweet aromas.

A sturdy wooden table occupied the center of the room, and the woman gestured toward one of the chairs surrounding it. “Please, sit.” Her hands continued to fidget nervously, twisting the fabric of her skirt as she watched Ford take a seat.

“Would you like something to drink?” the woman asked, already moving toward a row of earthenware jugs on a nearby shelf.

Ford nodded, realizing this offer was as much about giving her something to do with her nervousness as it was about hospitality. He watched her pour, noting the slight tremor in her hands. Clearly, she was out of sorts, and he felt a pang of guilt for putting her in this position.

The woman walked to the corner of the room, her back to Ford. The soft clink of dishes and the gentle hiss of steaming water filled the air.

A few moments later, she returned to the table, placing a cup before him. Ford’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the contents. The liquid had a deep greenish-yellow color, steam rising from its surface.

He eyed it suspiciously. “What is this?”

“It’s tea,” she replied, her smile innocent and disarming. Something in her expression made Ford even more cautious.

“What kind of tea?” he pressed, not reaching for the cup.