Page 59 of The Notorious Lady

As for Grace…

She decided that it was time she called on a favor from a friend again. She was loath to ask for help, especially from him, but she had no other choice.

* * *

The violent knock at the door was what woke Ford up. And the annoying part was that the knocking would not subside. Who would dare?

He threw a banyan over his naked form, gripped a dagger in his hand, and padded down the stairs. The knocking continued to rattle his door as the wind howled outside.

“Who is it?” Ford barked, tightening his fingers around the handle of the dagger.

“Thomas,” came the gruff voice through the rain.

Ford frowned but unlocked the door and threw it open. Ford’s colleague stumbled inside, sloshing rainwater in his wake.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Ford barked. “Why aren’t you at your post at Grace’s house?”

“I failed, Chief,” he said, and for a moment, Ford felt the earth move from beneath him.

“What do you mean, failed?”

“The house was broken into today. Ransacked. Some documents were stolen, which frightened the devil out of Grace. All her money was stolen as well. The women collected their belongings and fled.”

A breath of relief exited his chest. Grace was alive. And so were the other women. “Fled? Fled where? And where were you when this was happening? Where was Jamison?”

Thomas uncovered his head, displaying a bandage wrapped around it. “I got a bump to show for my courage, although I do not remember what happened. Jamison was gone when I came to. And another woman, too. Harmony, I think her name was.”

Ford’s throat went dry. He remembered the frightened young woman with curly golden hair, her eyes wide and liquid as she pleaded with him to keep her safe. “Gone?”

“I assume abducted.” Thomas shrugged and swayed on his feet.

“Come inside,” Ford said gruffly. He led the man into his kitchen and poured them each a glass of whisky. “Tell me every detail.”

* * *

Grace knocked on the door to an unassuming little cottage on the outskirts of town. The voices behind the door hushed, and then footsteps followed until the door opened. William stepped out of the house, his golden hair gleaming in the moonlight, cheroot firmly clamped between his teeth.

He locked the door shut behind him, then looked around, before stepping away toward the trees nearby. In his unhurried manner, he lit the cheroot, his perceptive gaze studying Grace’s form. “How dare you come here again? Especially now that you have a price on your head?”

Grace tossed her head in defiance. “I need your help. Again.”

“I already sent you help.” He waved a dismissive hand.

“Well, he wasn’t enough. My house was ransacked, my friend is missing—”

“And this is my problem how?”

Grace curled her fingers into fists lest she was tempted to strangle the self-important boor. “It isn’t your problem. But you do possess a solution. I wouldn’t come to you otherwise.” He raised a questioning brow and she continued, “I want you to house two people in the women’s shelter you patronize.”

He considered her in silence for a moment. “If these two are your harlots then no.”

Grace gritted her teeth. “I know you have a low opinion about brothels—”

“Good. But it’s not about that.”

“What is it about then?” She was on her last smidgen of patience. But she knew that angrily shouting at William—or anyone, for that matter—would not help. Showing her desperation was quite often used against her. The fewer emotions she showed, the more she got out of life.

“You are notorious now,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Every hound in town is looking for you. Your house was already broken into and now you want to endanger a group of innocent women housed at my shelter?”