Chapter 16

Ihope you know that I can keep you safe.

Safe. Right.

That sounded laughable now as Grace stood among the wreckage formerly known as her bedchamber.

It had taken a little over a week from the thief-taker's visit until someone had tracked them down and turned her house upside down.

She should have trusted her instincts. She shouldn't have trusted him.

It had been a good week, however.

Grace and her harlot friends had enjoyed having the thief-takers on their premises. Grace had mistrusted them as she did nearly everyone. But the women in her house had livened up. Songs and dances returned to their household as they dined together in the evenings. The thief-takers took turns watching the house from the outside while the other was inside the house either resting, eating, or making merry with the women.

Thomas was quite handy, fixing the little things around the house and oiling the hinges. Jamison was very charming. He always had a story or two to entertain the women.

They had become friends.

But in all this merriment, someone had made a mistake. A mistake that had resulted in the current state of Grace's bedchamber.

It was in complete disarray—although disarray might have been a weak word to describe it. The furniture was overturned, her clothing was thrown out of her trunk and scattered about the floor, but most importantly, the floorboards that held her secrets were ripped out, and as for her secrets… They were all gone.

Gone was the logbook and all her money. Gone was every other document that used to be there, including the one proclaiming her the owner of The House of Pain and Pleasure.

Her secret compartment was completely and utterly empty.

She was doomed!

How did this happen?

It had taken her a while to realize that something was amiss. She had gone out with Megs and Colette to get food for the week ahead. It was their practice to go to the market together so they could carry as much as they could manage and not go out for a long time afterward. It also helped them stay vigilant in case they felt they were being followed.

This time, however, it was different.

Harmony had not been feeling well all morning and had stayed behind, claiming a headache. Usually, they'd split up, and Colette or Megs would stay with her. However, this time they had strength in numbers. Harmony was under the safe watch of two thief-takers, or so they thought.

Once Grace had entered the house after the market, she noticed the eerie atmosphere immediately. It was too dark, too cold. Shivers ran up Grace's spine.

Megs and Colette were happily chatting away, but Grace shushed them and quietly made her way upstairs to Harmony's room only to find her missing. And then she entered her own room and the horror of the entire situation finally dawned on her.

They'd found her.

Whoever they were and whatever they wanted—it was no longer safe to remain home.

Then Thomas stumbled inside, swaying on his feet, blood gushing from a wound in his head.

His mind still hazy, he couldn't recall anything that had happened before.

He didn't see the hit coming. He didn't know how long he had been groggily lying on the ground. But it seemed he had missed everything.

He hadn't seen anyone enter the house. He had neither seen nor heard Harmony being pulled out of the house. He didn't know what had happened to Jamison, although he feared the worst. And he blamed himself for everything.

Grace had no strength to reassure him as she was blaming herself, as well.

Poor, poor Harmony. She was the youngest of them all. She was the newest harlot in the brothel and the most naive and kind-hearted girl.

She had also been frightened out of her wits that something like this would happen to her. What were the chances?

She had been terrified since the night she'd found the aristocrat drowning in his own blood, lying on the stone-cold floor of the private chamber. She still had nightmares.

Grace cursed under her breath.

She shouldn't have left Harmony alone. She shouldn't have harbored any of them in her own house with the price on her head.

Nobody knew that Grace was the owner of the brothel save for a few trusted friends, including her closest workers in the brothel.

She'd thought she was safe. Obviously, she had been wrong.

A sinking feeling settled in her stomach as she realized they had likely been watched all along. Perhaps she had drawn attention to herself when the thief-takers showed up to guard the unassuming house. Maybe someone had followed Ford when he'd come to their house unannounced in the middle of the day and then proceeded to watch them, biding their time for the perfect opportunity to snatch one of the women.

The theft itself puzzled her. How had they known to look under her floorboards? The fact that they'd found her money and the crucial documents sent a chill down her spine.

If these criminals could read, they would easily figure out the importance of the papers they'd stolen. The papers could fetch a pretty penny from both the King and the Brotherhood—with Grace's fate hanging in the balance.

Why take Harmony?

Grace knew that the Brotherhood had put a price on all the women working in the brothel. If they were the ones who abducted her, she was in serious danger.

It was all Grace's fault. She scrubbed her face nervously.

"What are we to do?" Megs asked from behind her.

Grace grimaced before turning toward her friend. She had more people who relied on her, people she was responsible for, people who sought safety under her roof.

Well, her roof wasn't as safe anymore.

"Pack your bags," she said roughly. "We are leaving."

"Where?" Colette asked in a defeated tone.

I don't know. "Now."

The women hurried toward their rooms without another word.

Feeling defeat and frustration, Grace spent her last moments at her home tending to the poor thief-taker's wounds as she recounted the events from the moment she'd stepped into the house. The gash wasn't bleeding anymore, so she cleaned it and bandaged his head.

"It would be best if you don't sleep tonight," she whispered when she was done. She didn't know why she was whispering, somehow talking seemed wrong.

She'd seen quite a few head wounds and remembered people saying something of the sort to ensure the injured man wouldn't slip into eternal sleep.

"Perhaps it'd be best if Colette and Megs kept you company for the night if you don't mind."

He shrugged. "I don't mind at all, although my quarters are rather tiny."

"I don't expect them to complain."

She walked away to collect a couple of gowns and her most valuable possessions. She needed to leave this house, too. No one was safe here anymore, and she wondered if they were being watched right now.

Was she putting Thomas in danger? She'd make sure to tell him to take the most obscure routes and take precautions so they were not followed. As if the poor man could function properly.

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?"

"No." Grace squared her shoulders. "I want to save two women just as innocent as them."

William turned away, worrying a cheroot between his teeth. "Once your subordinates are safe, what are you going to do?"

"I am going to do what is necessary to keep my friends and myself from the gallows."

He scoffed. "You are not planning on telling me what that is, are you?"

Grace raised a brow. "Would you?"

He threw the cheroot to the ground. "Touché."

"Does this mean you are going to help me?"

William shrugged. "Your friends will be safe. You have my word."

"Thank you." Grace paused in the act of turning away from him. "How are things with your wife?"

The laugh that came from him was hollow and bitter. "As well as expected."

Grace nodded. "She doesn't trust you. It is not truly surprising, is it?"

He scoffed. "Why is that?"

"Because you haven't told her the full truth."

"She doesn't need to know my past to have hope for the future."

"No, but I believe one's past does inform the future." Grace found herself repeating Ford's words. She tipped her chin toward the cottage behind him. "Does she even know about your present?"

William glanced back at the house, then lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. "No. But that has nothing to do with her."

"Perhaps not," she conceded. "But you can't expect her to love you when she doesn't know the real you. You can't expect her to forgive you for lying when you continue feeding her the lies. She loved you enough to marry you at some point. The only way for her to fully love you is for her to learn the entire truth."

"What do you know about any of it?" he asked gruffly.

Grace thought about it deep within herself, trying to understand why she sought to give him advice on his love life when her own was nonexistent.

What do I know about any of it?

"Nothing," she answered honestly.

She was in the same quandary. For the first time in a long time, she felt a glimpse of love—or rather infatuation, passion—however fleeting. And the man she felt those feelings for would never accept her for who she was. She had no choice but to lie to him and avoid him.

William's situation was not much different. He had lied to the woman he loved, omitting the fact that he was a bastard and a criminal before tricking her into marriage. The moment she found out the truth, she had run off.

The only difference was… William's wife actually loved him.

And if Grace couldn't have happiness in her own life, she would love to see her friend achieve it even if he would never call her a friend.

* * *

Ford and Thomas shared quite a few glasses of whisky in a short amount of time, but the poor man seemed defeated.

Thomas had told Ford every detail he could remember. How he awakened on the wet, cold ground, how he ran into the house only to find the three women in a panic. How Grace asked him to take her friends into his house while she left to look for solutions. And finally how she came back an hour ago and took the women away, thanking him profusely and leaving him a few coins for his troubles.

The moment the women left, Thomas dashed to Ford to tell him everything.

Ford started pacing the floor. "How long ago did this happen?"

Thomas squinted at the clock on the mantelpiece. "About eight hours ago."

"Eight hours?" he roared. He forced himself to calm down before saying in a more measured tone, "You should have come right away."

"I did! I came as soon as I could. I couldn't very well have left the women unprotected at my own home. There was no guarantee they weren't being watched."

Ford scrubbed the stubble on his chin, feeling irritable. "I have to go back there. There might be some clues left. The footprints…"

"I checked that," Thomas said, straightening his shoulders. "While the women were packing their things. I circled the house once but didn't see any suspicious footsteps. One pair leading to my location and then away, another leading out of the house. That's it."

Two pairs? Ford paused his pacing and frowned at Thomas. "A man's and a woman's?"

"I assume." Thomas shrugged.

So, either the intruders were extremely careful or… "Where was Jamison at this point?"

Thomas grimaced. There was something he was hesitating to tell Ford.

"Answer me," Ford said with a firm but deceptively calm tone of voice.

"He was inside the house as far as I knew."

That wasn't abnormal. They had a system—one was resting, eating, or sleeping on the inside, while the other was guarding the perimeter. Then they switched. This allowed the women to be guarded from both vantage points but also guaranteed that the guards were rested.

"And what was he doing?"

Thomas hesitated once more. "It was his turn to stand guard outside. But when I came inside to tell him, he was… Well, he was busy with Harmony."

Ford's brows rose so high, he was afraid to lose them in his hairline. Jamison had been cavorting with the harlot! That, on its own, shouldn't have been surprising either. When working with harlots, the temptation to slake one's lust was often present. Not for Ford—at least, not until recently—but for many men he'd worked with.

The vision of Triss with his cock between her lips appeared unbidden. He shoved the memory away.

Jamison wasn't an exception. He was a charming man and loved to get attention from women.

Considering what had happened in this case, however, this turn of events was unfortunate at best, and suspect at worst.

If what Thomas said was true, and if his observations were correct, then it implicated Jamison. Had the harlot found the money and the documents and sweet-talked Jamison into fleeing with her? Had he been blackmailed into procuring a harlot from The House of Pain and Pleasure and seduced her before betraying her? Had he found valuable documents and decided to flee by himself, taking his new lover with him? Was this all about the money and perhaps the documents were just collateral damage?

Harmony was too naive to be the mastermind of the entire thing. Jamison, however, was cunning, experienced, and greedy enough to do this. All these qualities were what made him a great thief-taker.

Ford didn't want to think of Jamison as a traitor. He'd known the man since they were young. He was prepared to marry off his sister to him before she fell for the most depraved criminal in the land. It would be ironic if Hades turned out to be a better, more scrupulous of the two. But he was willing to give Jamison the benefit of the doubt.

There were far more believable explanations as to why he'd disappeared along with the harlot. Perhaps the culprits were able to sneak up on Thomas but did not notice or anticipate Jamison being there as well. He could have ambushed them as they were dragging out the harlot and been forced to cooperate for her benefit at gunpoint.

Perhaps he chased after them and was injured in pursuit—or worse, killed. He didn't want to think about that possibility either.

And the footprints? Thomas could have been mistaken or confused. The man had a huge gash in his head, after all. He was lucky to be alive. And if Ford believed that Jamison fled with the harlot of his own volition, it also stood to reason that he'd endangered Thomas's life. And that Ford was not willing to accept.

He needed more information to draw his own conclusions.

He needed to see the ransacked house for himself. He needed to find out what sort of documents were stolen from Grace. He needed to figure out for what purpose the harlot could have been taken. Was Triss in danger, too?

He needed to find Grace. She was the only one with all the answers.

"Did Grace tell you where she was going?"

Thomas shook his head. "She said she had to find a safe place for the women when she left. When she returned to collect the women, I assumed she'd managed to do just that. That's when I was free to come to you."