Page 75 of The Notorious Lady

“Pardon?” Grace was taken aback by the sudden change in the subject.

“Madame Tricheuse,” he clarified.

She shrugged, her shoulder caressing against his stubbled jaw. “It means a trick in French. I found that a fitting name, don’t you think?”

A huff of air hit her cheek. “Quite clever. I have to admit, although your accent isn’t quite convincing, I enjoyed listening to it.”

Grace swatted at his arm. “Bête.”

He chuckled. “You know, I don’t know much French.”

She scoffed. “I called you a beast.”

“Hmm…” He hummed pleasantly in her ear. “A fitting name, I suppose.” He paused. “Where did you learn French?”

Grace licked her lips. She didn’t know how much of her past she wanted to divulge. She kept her life before The House of Pain and Pleasure as private as she could.

I believe one’s past informs the future.

She let out a breath. “I had tutors as a child.”

The stiffening of his muscles communicated his surprise. “You did?”

“Yes, quite a few, actually. They taught me to read and speak in a few languages. I don’t remember a lot of those, but a few French phrases and the pronunciation stuck with me enough to feign the accent… unconvincingly, as it seems.”

He let out a huff of air. “Turns out it’s you who comes from a privileged background between the two of us.”

She shrugged. “Up to a point.”

“How in the world did you end up associating with Hades?”

She smiled. “It’s a long story.”

He grunted. “I don’t think I will be rushing away from you any time soon. We have quite a bit of time to spend together.” The scratchiness of his voice was subsiding, his hands warming up as he caressed her belly. It was a pleasant feeling, one she didn’t want to ruin with the musings of her painful past. Still, she felt she wanted him to know.

“I was stolen,” she said simply. “My mother was murdered. My father—or the man who fathered me—was not in the house. He was rarely there as it was. I don’t know what happened to him or if he is even alive. Perhaps he died that night, too.”

She could feel him thinking. He was probably frowning, too. She was used to his grim features, and she wished she could run her finger against his furrowed brow and smooth it. “Were you born in London, then?”

Grace heaved a sigh. She was used to this question or the ones similar to it. Where are you from? Where have you come from? Where were you born? She could thank her exotic features for questions like this. With her beautiful foxlike eyes, wide cheekbones, and darker hue of skin if she spent a day in the sun, she always stood out.

She had learned to blend in, though. Her very life depended on it.

When she had just entered the world of brothels, she was either revered or despised for her looks. She was either the highest paid or the lowest depending on the place she was held in. In time, she had found a way to leverage her looks until she was able to forge her way in life, but the truth was, with her striking features, she was easily singled out.

And often, it was a detriment to her. If she was targeted for possessing money, for being a harlot, or just because, she was easy to spot. But with a bit of paint and a certain kind of skill, she was difficult to distinguish from her fellow harlots.

“As far as I know.”

“You don’t seem to know a lot about your past.”

She shrugged once more. “Not many of the harlots know our past. And the ones who do, work really hard to forget.”

His arms tightened around her. “Tell me.”

“What would you like to know?”

“What kind of past are you trying to forget?”