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Finally, Gunning tipped his hat. “I’ll be seeing you.”

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the door open after him.

Ian looked at the space the thief-taker had just occupied for a long moment.

Why was the thief-taker suddenly interested in Ian? He had only been to Helen’s house twice in daylight, and both times he hadn’t even been welcomed inside. He just waited to escort Helen to the women’s shelter or for a ride in the park. Was it possible he had been followed to her house at night? Ian took all the precautions to not be followed.

More than that, what did the thief-taker care if Ian was having an affair with Helen? The connection to the murdered men seemed bizarre to Ian. Even if Ian was in danger, it would not reflect in any way on Helen. Unless, of course, the man knew more than he let on.

Or was he simply bluffing?

Either way, Davenport was right. Now Ian was eternally tied to the house of pain and pleasure and whatever was going on in that place. That wasn’t good.

His gaze fell to the visiting cards the thief-taker placed on the desk. He reached out and took them. Three murders, the man had said. How had Ian missed that? He hadn’t read anything in the papers.

The last time Ian checked, it was two murders.

He shuffled the visiting cards, reading the names, and froze as he came to the third card.

Hardgrove.

Damn! Another of his main leads had just died. What in the devil was going on? Who in the world had the gall to go around and kill all those powerful lords?

There was a person who could have possibly helped him get more answers. But Grace had barred him from her brothel, and he was afraid going back to the house of pain and pleasure would do more harm than good now that the thief-taker had taken an interest in him.

No. He was on his own. And if another person had died recently, Jarvis St. John had not been behind it. This, however, didn’t eliminate the possibility that it was someone else from the Shadows’ society.

But how would he find the rest of their group?

He’d become too relaxed in the arms of Mrs. Helen St. John. He’d almost forgotten his true goal. But forgetting was something he could not afford.

* * *

Ian appeared on Helen’s doorstep the next day with the sole intention of ending their liaison. It was clear that either the viscount’s “friend” the thief-taker was watching him or someone else in the house might be doing the deed.

Besides, he had scoured the entire house already. And aside from the secret room, which wasn’t enough proof of St. John’s involvement with the Shadows, he hadn’t found anything damning about the viscount.

He’d noted how many times a day and who exactly delivered their mail. He had looked through that mail and found no evidence of the Shadows’ correspondence. If he were to find out more, he needed to wait for the viscount’s return.

And until then, he had an idea of what other things he might spend his time doing.

Unfortunately, neither of those things included Mrs. St. John.

So he came to St. John’s house, in hopes of finding out the approximate date of the viscount’s return, and perhaps saying his goodbyes to the enticing widow.

To avoid servants’ gossip, he had asked to see the viscount, not Helen. And when the butler had politely but unsurprisingly told him that the viscount was out of town, he had asked to see his wife instead.

Lady Olivia St. John was a slightly peculiar woman, with a rather brash attitude, and imperfect social manners. That didn’t stop her from brilliantly running her husband’s household and being friends with powerful women.

To top it all off, her husband, the viscount, was completely and unabashedly in love with her. Their love was the kind that shone through all the societal niceties and could be seen from miles away.

She greeted him in the parlor with a wide smile on her face. “Have you come to see Helen?” she asked immediately, foregoing the greetings.

Ian smiled. “Not at all, my lady. I have come to see your husband. But since he is not here, I was hoping you could tell me when he is expected to arrive.”

“Oh.” Her brows knitted in a bow, and she seemed, dare he say it, disappointed. “I just received a letter from him.” That she did. Ian had just observed the Royal Mail postman bring the correspondence a few minutes ago. “He says that it will be at least another week or two. The lands have been terribly flooded, and Jarvis won’t leave until he is certain that everything is taken care of and all the tenants have stable roofs over their heads. Is your business urgent? I shall be sending a letter to him tonight. Perhaps I should include a note from you? I don’t know how fast it’ll get to him though. He might be well into his journey back by the time it reaches the destination. But if he is delayed…” She shrugged.

Ian shook his head. “No need. But thank you for your offer. I would rather he send me a note when he returns.”