Page 65 of The Notorious Lady

Something shifted within him as he said her alternate name. Dare she hope he was starting to care about her?

Grace gave him an easy smile. “Very well, then. Lead the way.” She pulled the cloak over her head, covering most of her face. She couldn’t see much aside from a patch of road in front of her, but that way she could not be identified when they exited the house.

“Come.” Ford walked quietly but confidently toward the back door. He peered out to make certain there was no ambush outside before letting Grace exit.

Then they silently made their way toward Jamison’s house.

“How far away does he live?” Grace asked after they’d walked for a few minutes in silence.

“Not far.” He was lost deep in thought. “It is probably a huge mistake for me to bring you along. If Jamison did indeed sell those documents already, there could be an all-out hunt for your head.”

“There probably is,” she agreed. The price on her head was set a long time ago. The difference was that now people actually knew the name attached to her head. If Harmony and Jamison provided the King’s men with her description, she was an easy target.

“You seem calm about that,” he noted.

Grace looked within herself for why she wasn’t more bothered about this. She’d gone through so many frightening things in her life and the one thing she realized early on is that panicking never solved anything. She needed to keep her head clear.

She also learned that she only had herself to rely on. If she decided to bury her head in the sand and wait until everything got resolved, she might as well wait forever. Hiding was not something she did. Not anymore.

“Jamison was once one of my most trusted friends,” Ford said after a brief silence. “He even asked for my sister’s hand in marriage, and I agreed.”

Grace turned to look at him in surprise. “Eloise was betrothed to him?”

Ford let out a chuckle. “Yes. I would never have imagined I’d be glad she selected a criminal instead.”

Grace bit her lip. “That ought to teach you not to judge a person based on their reputation and past activities.”

His laughter was hoarse and slightly bitter. “I suppose it should.” He paused and looked around the empty street.

“Is something—”

“Shush!” He raised a finger in the air, but after a moment, he shrugged, and they continued on their way.

He led her through obscure, tiny, winding streets, obviously concerned that someone might have been following them, but he said nothing.

His stomach rumbled, and he pressed a palm to it. “Damn empty stomach,” he muttered. “I can’t seem to remember to eat on time.”

Grace pursed her lips to avoid laughter threatening to erupt. With deft fingers, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a carefully folded handkerchief with a piece of bread and cheese inside. She offered it to him without another word as was her habit.

He reached for the offering easily, too.

Only when he paused, his hand still wrapped around hers, the deep furrows of his brow smoothing as understanding bloomed in his widening eyes, did she realize what she had done. For the briefest moment, she saw it—the dawning knowledge of just who and what she was.

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.