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“Please,” Grace muttered through gritted teeth, “make yourself at home.”

Gunning turned toward her and narrowed his eyes. “Are you Grace?”

She blinked a couple of times, something in his piercing gaze making her stomach flutter uncomfortably. Not in a good way—or at least, she didn’t know any other way to interpret the feeling. She didn’t trust it.

A flicker of recognition lit his eyes, which should not have been surprising since they’d met before. Yet it held the promise of something dangerous. Could he have recognized her as the elusive Madame Tricheuse? Was he here to arrest her?

“Yes,” Grace said calmly, forcing her features to remain impassive. “I believe we’ve met before.”

He raised a brow, silently appraising her form. Grace fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. Her heart drummed violently against her chest.

Ominous. Arrogant. Devilish.

This man was to be avoided at all costs. She needed to escort him out and barricade the door.

But a part of her, a reckless, impudent part of her, was glad to see the thief-taker again.

For the past few weeks, her mind kept wandering back to the night of their confrontation at the brothel. Something about him, a certain darkness in his soul, called out to her. When he looked at her, it was as though he saw beyond her facade as a harlot.

A fanciful thought.

A dangerous thought.

Perhaps what called out to her was his desire to arrest her.

And when he looked at her, he didn’t see a harlot but a murderer.

Grace squared her shoulders, bringing her mind to the matter at hand.

“At Hades’ house,” she elaborated when his expression remained blank. “After your sister drowned.”

“Almost drowned,” he corrected her.

Grace raised her brows in a silent shrug.

“Ah, yes.” His voice was a low rumble. “You’re one of Hades’ whores.”

Grace’s spine straightened, her chin lifting in defiance. “I am not his anything.”

He raised a mocking brow before turning to peek into the parlor adjacent to the corridor where they stood.

“I would have invited you inside,” Grace said tightly, “but you’ve already so generously decorated my entire floor with mud. I’d love to avoid the same fate striking my other rooms.”

“And here I thought you weren’t inviting me in because you’re harboring more fugitives from that brothel,” he countered smoothly. “The House of Pain and Pleasure.”

Grace tensed. What had William told him about her? Surely not that she was the proprietress of the brothel. She deliberately worked on rumors that the owner was a man. She should have been more careful. But how was she supposed to know she would get entangled in a murder?

She should have known. Should have taken into account every possibility. She’d grown too complacent living under Hades’ protection in the last few years.

She was on her own now. And her carelessness had already led to her alter ego, Madame Tricheuse, being under suspicion of murder. More than that, she had escaped the thief-taker’s grasp, mocking his authority. Men like him did not forgive that easily. They didn’t like being outsmarted. Especially by women, let alone by harlots.

“I might be helping a few friends who have nowhere to go, yes,” she said evenly. “I don’t see anything wrong with that. And I would like to avoid conflict between them and a thief-taker. The last time we met, I recall you didn’t look too favorably on harlots.”

“I have nothing against harlots themselves,” he said with a shrug. “I take issue with the wealthy brothel owners who prey on the less fortunate, recruiting them into a life of depravity. People like Hades and the proprietor of the House of Pain and Pleasure.” He placed an undue emphasis on the word proprietor, drawing out every syllable carefully. Did he know the proprietor was female? Did he know that it was her? “But in this case, every worker from the House of Pain and Pleasure is a suspect and a fugitive since they fled the premises by means of deception.”

Grace pursed her lips. “And you’re wondering why I’m not inviting you in.”

“I am not, actually,” he murmured, stepping closer to her once again, so close that Grace could make out the golden candle flame dancing in his eyes. “I know exactly why.”