Page 73 of The Notorious Lady

She let out a contented sigh.

How was Ford faring, she wondered.

He had been completely soaked by the rain, spending hours on horseback in a single shirt. He’d shielded her body from most of the rain and supplied her with his coat, leaving himself to freeze. And he’d looked mighty miserable when they had finally reached the inn. She hoped he wouldn’t catch some ailment from their adventures.

They needed to continue on their way to Dover. She wouldn’t feel safe until they reached the house. And she definitely wouldn’t feel safe if Ford fell ill.

He was still angry with her, she knew it. Angry that she’d lied, angry that she put herself in danger, angry that she didn’t trust him to take care of her. Yet, despite the anger simmering beneath the surface, his priority remained to keep her warm and protected.

Even amidst his fury toward her actions, Grace had to admit she enjoyed being wrapped in the comforting embrace of his arms as they rode, bundled against the cold in his coat. The scent of him was calming and reassuring, allowing her to relax and lean against the solid warmth of his body. That feeling of being cherished, even when he was still livid with her, was priceless.

She hadn’t known Ford for long. But something about him felt innately familiar, as if their souls recognized each other’s presence. How else could their banter flow so fluidly, their ease around one another come so naturally despite her every reason to mistrust him?

Grace wasn’t religious but believed in the concept of souls intertwined across lifetimes. It was the only explanation that made sense for the connection she felt, a bond that transcended circumstance and social class.

Perhaps she should have put more faith in him earlier. She should have told him the truth about who she was and what she was and not waste time hiding from him.

Her life of solitary struggles had taught her not to trust easily. And if anyone could understand that, she was certain Ford would.

Still, she needed to apologize. Not for trying to keep herself safe, but for hurting his feelings.

Her mind made up, she set aside the plates of food, swiftly collected her hair in a simple braid, and walked over to Ford’s room.

She knocked on the door timidly at first, then more forcefully as no answer was forthcoming.

“Enter,” his hoarse voice called from inside the door.

Grace frowned. His voice was raw… it sounded sickly. She entered and slowly approached him as he sat on a tiny rug by the hearth.

“Are you unwell?” she asked, seeing his grim expression. He wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back and forth, looking like a little lost child. Grace had seen quite a few of those in her lifetime.

“No. I just can’t seem to warm up.” His voice was scratchy. “Even a glass of whisky didn’t do the trick. I’d ask for more, but I don’t want to get sauced tonight. I think we both need a clear mind for this journey.”

Grace looked around the tiny room. The curtains on the windows moved gently, disturbed by a draft that seemed to seep in from every crack and crevice. To add to that, this room was a corner room with two windows, and corner rooms were typically more susceptible to drafts. She rubbed her arms, trying to generate some warmth, hugging herself tightly to fend off the chill.

The best beds in the inn, the innkeeper had said. She scoffed. Right.

This room felt colder than hers, which would have been fine except that Ford had been freezing before stepping foot into this dwelling. And she couldn’t afford to let him fall ill.

“You need to warm up,” she stated.

He sniffed. “Any suggestions?”

She tapped her fingers against her lips. “Actually, yes.”

She walked toward the bed and collected the blanket, then turned toward Ford, who was looking at her with amusement shining in his eyes.

“Come,” she said and tipped her head toward the door. “My room is warmer than yours.”

He raised his brows. “I’ve heard this excuse before.”

Grace pursed her lips. It was a good sign that he could still joke even though he looked quite miserable.

“Let’s go.” She led him to her room, laid one blanket on the floor by the hearth, and commanded him to lie down.

“On the floor?” His tone of voice was incredulous. Still, he lay down without awaiting her answer.

Lifting the blanket off her bed, Grace covered him with it and sat by his side, curling her legs under her skirt. “You shouldn’t have given me your coat.” She placed her hand gently on his chest.