Chapter 18
Iknew it!
Well, Ford hadn’t known it exactly, but suspicions had been gathering at the back of his mind for days, maybe since the very beginning. The sophistication of her speech, her connections to The House of Pain and Pleasure, and the way she moved. It all pointed to Grace being Madame Tricheuse.
There were enough differences to keep him guessing. Madame Tricheuse was unapologetically flirtatious, her voice was lower, her faux French accent added a different cadence to her speech and the way she dressed was way too revealing. Contrasting that with a far reserved and always controlled Grace who preferred buttoned-up gowns and simple buns instead of elaborate wigs, the women seemed different on the surface.
He had to concede that she had done a good job with her paint, hiding all her features. She had a distinctive face, one he would recognize anywhere. Yet with a sleight of hand, a bit of coal and rouge, and a lot of powder, she looked completely different. Add to that extravagant wigs and gowns, a change in her accent, and she had transformed entirely.
But Ford had known. On some level, he had always known. He was drawn to both. While he wanted to possess Madame Tricheuse, he admired Grace. And he found both to be entertaining sparring partners, fiery in nature, witty and fierce. Except they were one single person.
Madame Tricheuse, his Triss, had been right in front of him all this time.
There was no time to contemplate the error of his ways. A sudden gust of wind carried with it an ominous sound—the rhythmic pounding of horse hooves against the earth. The forceful beats echoed like war drums in the distance. At this late hour, it could only mean one thing: someone was out on a hunt.
“Something is happening,” Ford whispered.
Grace glanced to the side where the sounds were coming from. It was impossible to see what was happening there because of the interweaving streets and the buildings blocking the view, but her eyes widened in horror. She clutched Ford’s forearm, her fingers digging into his sleeve. “We need to run.”
Ford seized her hand, gripping her tightly. He had just found his Triss again. He wasn’t letting her go.
They dashed to the right, away from the ominous sounds, their footsteps echoing off the narrow alleyways. Ford’s mind raced, calculating their best chance of escape. He wanted to be as out of the way of them as possible.
But as they changed direction, the marching sounds seemed to shift as if coming from all around them. Ford’s jaw clenched, a cold dread settling in his stomach. “Damn it,” he muttered, his voice low and tense. “We must have been spotted at your house. And now it seems as though we are surrounded.”
His eyes scanned their surroundings frantically, searching for any means of escape. Suddenly, he spotted a small alcove tucked away in the alley, partially obscured by hanging sheets left out to dry. A plan formed in his mind, desperate but perhaps their only option.
“Here’s the new plan,” Ford said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he pulled Grace—Triss, or whatever her true name was—toward the hidden spot. The urgency of the moment left no time to dwell on her multiple identities. “You will hide here. I will go and meet the mysterious horsemen and see what they want. Perhaps it’s not even you who they’re looking for.”
She let out a nervous laugh. “Are you jesting?”
“No.” His voice was firm, brooking no argument. He gripped her shoulders, his fingers digging into the fabric of her dress as he maneuvered her into the hidden nook, pressing her back against the stone wall. “Crouch down so I won’t see you behind these drying sheets.”
Grace’s eyes were wide with panic, darting between Ford’s face and the alley beyond. For a moment, he thought she might resist, but then she complied, sinking into a crouch. Ford took a step back, his gaze sweeping over the alcove.
The hanging sheets, grimy and worn, created a perfect curtain. Grace’s form disappeared entirely behind them, blending into the shadows. “I can’t see you,” he said. “Very well. I shall leave now—”
She stood. “And what if they are looking for me?”
“Then I shall tell them I saw you in the opposite direction.”
“This is foolish,” Grace hissed. “If they truly tracked us since my house then they know we are together.”
“I am a thief-taker. I can weasel my way out.”
Grace bit her lower lip. “And what if you can’t?”
The thundering of hooves grew louder with each passing second. They were running out of time to debate this plan. “Listen to me carefully,” he said as he stepped toward her, his voice low and intense. “Sit down, hide, and do not come out until I get you.”
* * *
Do not come out until I get you.
The words struck Grace like a lightning bolt, unleashing a torrent of memories. Her mother’s voice, saying those exact words, echoed in her mind. The images of what had followed flashed before her eyes, vivid and terrifying.
No! She would not be complacent anymore. Not again.
As Ford turned away, Grace surged to her feet, her hand shooting out to grab his arm. “No,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute. “I will not cower here and let you go out into danger all by yourself.”
Ford turned back, a deep frown etching lines across his forehead. “They are not after me. Stay. Here.”
“You don’t know that!” Grace hissed. “Jamison and Harmony know you’re associated with me. How do you know they are not after you as well?” Her voice softened, a hint of vulnerability creeping in. “I will not let you take the blame for me. I won’t have you killed and have that on my conscience.”
He gripped her forearm tightly, pushing her back to the little alcove. “Grace—” he began, but she twisted away from his grasp.
“It’s me they want,” Grace declared, her chin lifted in defiance. “I will distract them, and you can escape. This is a better plan.”
Ford muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like obstinate wench. Grace chose to ignore it.
“If one of us is to survive, you have the better chance,” she insisted, trying to appeal to his logic.
Ford’s eyes flashed dangerously, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You are mad if you think that I have any interest in surviving at your expense.”
Grace cocked her head. “Seriously?” she asked, incredulity clear in her tone. “And yet you think I am fine with surviving at yours?”
The air between them crackled with tension, and they stubbornly refused to back down. The sound of approaching hoofbeats grew ever louder, a constant reminder of the danger closing in around them.
Grace’s heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and something else—something warmer, more confusing—unfurled inside as she held Ford’s gaze. She saw the same stubborn determination in his eyes that she felt in her own heart.
Finally, he broke their stare and raised his eyes heavenward, then glanced toward the sounds of approaching people on horseback. Some shouts could be heard now, although the words were indecipherable. “Fine,” he growled, his jaw clenching. “If you’re not hiding, then we are both running.” Without waiting for her response, Ford’s calloused hand enveloped Grace’s delicate one, his grip firm but not painful. He tugged her along, moving swiftly in the opposite direction of the encroaching noise.
For a moment, it seemed fate might be kind—the thunderous hoofbeats appeared to be moving past them, perhaps a few streets away. Grace’s hope surged, her breath coming in quick gasps. Then, the cacophony of horses ceased. In the eerie silence that followed, a new sound emerged—the soft yet menacing pitter-patter of multiple footsteps. The noise seemed to come from all directions, closing in like a net.
Ford cursed under his breath, his fingers tightening around her hand.
Grace noticed a narrow alley a few feet to the right. If they could get there, they would be able to circle back toward the street leading back in the direction of her house. Perhaps this way they would be able to outsmart their pursuers and—
“In the name of the King, I urge you to stop!” The commanding voice rang out from the left, cutting through the tension-filled air. Grace whirled around, her heart pounding in her chest, to see three men wearing King’s Guard uniforms stand there, horseless, their swords unsheathed.
Ford pulled out his dagger in an instant, quickly shielding Grace with his body, putting himself between her and the armed men.
“Ford Gunning,” the man said. Grace glanced at Ford. Did he know the man? “We have no qualms with you. We are here for Grace Holland, also known as Madame Tricheuse and the owner of The House of Pain and Pleasure.”
A heavy silence fell. Ford glanced back, and she could swear she saw pain in his eyes. He’d learned that she and Madame Tricheuse were one and the same just a few moments ago. But now he had received the confirmation. And by the look of it, it hurt.
“Please, step away.” Grace attempted to push past him, but Ford gripped her waist and shoved her behind his wide back.
“What are the grounds for her detainment?” Ford’s voice was low and controlled, but Grace could hear the underlying tension.
“You are a thief-taker, Gunning,” the man said calmly. “You know that there were orders for her capture weeks ago for the murder of Lord Portsmouth.”
“Well, the order was wrong. She didn’t kill him. You know me, Lockley. I can prove—”
The man raised a staying hand and shook his head. Then, he proceeded to talk as if he hadn’t heard Ford speak. “We can overlook you not handing her in instantly and just assume you were on your way to collect your bounty. But we shall take it from here.”
“You won’t be taking anyone.” There was a primal, almost possessive tone in his voice.
“Step aside, and let us take her, or you will be considered an accomplice.”
Grace gripped his arm. “Ford. It’s done—”
“Don’t you dare,” he growled at her.
The man tsked. “You are trying our patience, Gunning. If you don’t step aside, we shall detain you both.”
“You are making a mistake.” Ford’s voice was still firm, loud, controlled.
“Step. Aside,” the officer warned.
“I will not.”
“Ford!” Grace cried just as he hurled his dagger at the man’s shoulder, successfully disarming him.
“Go!” Ford cried and pulled Grace into a sprint. Her mind racing as fast as her feet, Grace quickly steered them toward the narrow alley she’d spotted earlier. They squeezed through the tight passage, the rough brick walls scraping their arms as they emerged on the other side.
Her eyes widened at the sight before them: three horses stood unattended, clearly belonging to the King’s men who had dismounted to catch them unawares. Her quick glance backward confirmed their pursuers weren’t far behind.
He dashed toward the nearest horse and smoothly mounted the animal in one fluid motion. The shouts of the King’s men grew louder, their footsteps echoing off the cobblestones. Ford reached down, his strong arm extended toward Grace.
He hauled her up by her arm, tossing her in the air. Grace landed unceremoniously in his lap with a surprised “Umph!”
Her limbs flailed as she struggled to find her balance on the unfamiliar perch. Snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her firmly against his chest, Ford urged the horse into a gallop.
The king’s men were either so surprised at their swift escape or were too busy tending to their wounded colleague, but either way; they let a few key moments pass before, finally, the shot rang behind them.
The sound spurred their mount to greater speed, its frightened whinny mixing with the reverberating echoes of two more shots. Ford hunched lower, shielding Grace with his body as he skillfully navigated the horse through a maze of narrow streets.
Grace knew the streets very well, and perhaps Ford did, too, but she couldn’t leave that to chance.
“Turn left!” she shouted in his ear a few moments before the street appeared before them.
Ford easily complied, guiding their mount masterfully in the maze-like streets. He was like a devil in the saddle, leaving their pursuers in the dust. And with Grace’s instructions, they had managed to lose them completely.
As soon as they maneuvered their way onto a wider road, Ford gave another nudge, and they flew past the streets, gaining as much distance from their pursuers as they could. Ford’s grip on Grace remained firm, his breath warm against her ear.
It took them quite a long time before Ford finally stopped their mount. He led them into a forested area, then made certain to cross the stream before finally allowing their mount to rest. The poor animal was tired and thirsty, lunging at the water.
Grace didn’t recognize this area but she was thankful to have a moment of respite.
Ford helped her down from the horse, and she immediately stretched, her back aching from sitting in an uncomfortable position for so long. Ford tied the horse before turning toward her. “You!” he said in a dry, cold tone of voice.
Grace reared back. After their successful escape, somehow, she didn’t expect hostility from him.
“You made me into a fugitive!” he continued.
Grace furrowed her brow. “I did no such thing!”
“Oh, really?” Ford spread his arm and glanced at their surroundings. “Am I a free man, then?”
Grace pursed her lips. “I did not force you to help me escape.”
“And I ended up skewering a magistrate’s son!”
A magistrate’s son? “I certainly didn’t ask you to do that!”
He scoffed. “Did you expect me to give you up so you could hang?”
“I offered you a solution that would leave you a free man. Even the King’s men offered you the same deal. I didn’t ask for your help. I can take care of myself.”
“Well, pardon me for not being willing to test that theory when your life is on the line,” he said in a sarcastic tone of voice.
“Then don’t blame me for forcing you to do it.”
“You did force me!” He took a step toward her.
“How?” She stepped forward as well. She wouldn’t let him intimidate her.
“You should have stayed in the hidden spot like I told you to!” Another step.
“Yes?” She matched him step by step. “And if the pursuers were not the King’s men but the Brotherhood? They would not be as charitable toward you. They would have tortured you to get my location, and more likely than not, they’d find me anyway.”
“Your worry for me is touching,” he said, now close enough for Grace to see the speckles of light in his eyes. His eyes weren’t black, after all. They were the earthy color of mixed green and brown… Hazel. “But it wasn’t the Brotherhood, and instead of saving my life, you ruined my career.”
She craned her neck back so she could continue looking into his eyes. She would be damned if she were first to break eye contact. “How convenient to blame me for decisions you made. You could have left me.”
“And you should have told me who you were!” He paused, his breathing labored. His chest rose and fell with the strength of his breath, his shirt brushing against Grace’s bodice. He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head, taking a step back. “Why did you not tell me who you really were?”
“Oh, that I am the owner of the brothel, the person you’re trying to incarcerate?”
His gaze was sharp as he looked at her. “You think I am the kind of person who would turn you in after all this time?”
Absolutely! The answer was ready on Grace’s lips, but that answer was a lie. She didn’t think he would. She hadn’t thought that for a while. Rather, she was afraid of his reaction—this exact reaction—to the truth. And then she was afraid that he would not care about her origins. Not when it came to saving her life, anyway. He would still want to help her but would look at her differently. The way he was looking at her now—judgment evident on his face.
“Don’t answer that,” he said hoarsely. “But now, thanks to you, we are both on the run. Is that better?”
She raised a brow. “Than me being hung by the neck? Oh, yes, it is better. Besides, now you have double the motivation to exonerate me.”
“Exonerate you?” He snorted and kicked at an innocent stone that happened to lie in his way. “I am a damned fugitive! I can’t show my face anywhere in London until this mess is resolved. And I don’t know who in the world is going to resolve it now. If you told me earlier, when I was still a reputable thief-taker, then I could have helped you!”
“You say that I should’ve trusted you to protect me when you were the thief-taker! Yet, for all I knew, you could have given me up just like your other precious thief-taker, Jamison, did.”
“Do not forget that your precious harlot Harmony gave him all he needed,” he pointed out.
Grace flinched. “Yes, thank you for the reminder. My friends stabbing me in the back inspires confidence to trust a stranger.”
“I wasn’t a stranger,” he growled. He paused, realization brightening his face. “That’s what the documents stated, wasn’t it? It said you were the owner of the brothel, your real name and aliases all spelled out.” He shook his head and huffed a breath. “I understand not telling me right away, but after the—” He paused and had to collect himself. “After the dinner party, you simply disappeared. You could’ve told me the truth then.”
Grace’s heart raced inside her chest at the memory of that night. She had to lick her lips, for her mouth had gone dry. “Nothing changed between us for me to start trusting you after that night.”
“Something changed enough for you to run off and hide,” he noted bitterly.
“Yes!” she cried. “I started to have feelings for you. You are big and strong and protective. Everything I have always craved in life. Of course, I started to have feelings for you, it was inevitable. But I couldn’t trust you. You despise everything I stand for, everything I represent. I could never truly trust you.”
He looked at her, startled. “You have feelings for me?”
That was not the part she thought he’d concentrate on. She fidgeted with her sleeves. “A slight infatuation. It was inevitable considering the time we spent together. And the intimate relations between us only complicated things, so yes, I fled.”
A snort. “You decided to hide on behalf of your feelings even if it meant hanging?”
“I was protecting myself. Besides, what would you have done if you’d known the truth then?”
“I would have kept you safe! Hidden.” He let out a sigh. “At the very least, I wouldn’t have taken you with me to Jamison’s house or anywhere for that matter.”
“You think you would have been able to stop me?”
“Absolutely.” At her look, he threaded his fingers through his hair. “Even if it meant tying you up to my bed.”
Grace let out a scoff. “You’d have to pay extra for that.”
His glance was softer, and laughter wrinkled his eyes. Grace pursed her lips in an attempt not to laugh, too.
The tension was broken and as if to celebrate that fact, thunder rumbled in the sky. A drop of rain fell onto Grace’s nose, and she glanced up at the gray sky. She’d been so engrossed in the argument with Ford that she hadn’t even noticed the clouds gathering above them. They were in the middle of nowhere, and the sky was about to erupt in heavy showers. Perfect.
“We have to go before it pours,” he grumbled.
“And where are we going to go exactly?” Grace dusted her skirts violently, getting her frustrations out on the innocent garment.
“I don’t know,” he bit out. “But we can’t stay here. The King’s men will catch up to us eventually. And in this weather, we will get soaked before they do.”
As the pause lengthened between them, he shrugged his shoulders and walked toward the horse. If they wanted to outrun the King’s men, they needed to go far. All the safe places Grace knew were in London, but returning there would be asking for trouble.
A flicker of thought entered her mind. There was a place they could use as a shelter outside of London.
Grace followed Ford. “I know of a place.”
He turned to her and lifted a brow. “Oh?”
“On the outskirts of Dover.”
Rain intensified then, and Ford looked up before climbing onto a horse. He extended his arm toward her. “Dover is good two day’s travel away even if we manage to swap horses a few times. More opportunities for us to get caught.”
Grace gripped his hand, and he hauled her up. She plopped across his lap and straightened her spine. “Do you have any other ideas?”
He bit his lip, looking pensively into the distance. “Dover it is,” he finally said. Then he reached around her to take the reins and after a moment they cleared the forested area and were soaring through the plains once again.