Chapter 20

Grace climbed inside the blanket with a slight hesitation. But his cold limbs quickly turned her hesitation into worry. She needed him healthy. The rest of the journey to Dover wasn't long. If they left on the morrow in the early morning, they would possibly reach it by nightfall. But she'd rather they got there faster.

She would feel safer there. She would feel at home.

She embraced him from behind and curled herself around him, holding him close. She laid her hand over his arm and rubbed.

He placed his cold hand over hers and squeezed.

"You are incredibly cold," she tsked. "Here, turn toward me and warm your hands against my belly. Let me warm you up a little." She turned away and waited for him to turn toward her and embrace her from behind. His cold but strong arms wrapped around her waist, pressing her solidly to his chest.

She covered his hands with hers and held them close to her midsection. That part of her body was always one of the warmest.

His breath on her ear, he now lay incredibly close to her—their legs were entwined, his arms were steel bands holding her pressed up against him. It had been a long time since anyone embraced her like this. It was rather comforting, until he said, "I know of a way that will warm both of us up really quickly."

His low, playful voice whispered lightly against her ears.

Grace didn't answer. She knew what he meant, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't interested. She wanted him. She missed him. After traveling for hours with her bottom pressed between his thighs, with his arms around her, that want had only intensified.

Something within her rebelled against the idea, though. He wanted her only because she was there. Easily attainable. A harlot—ready for the taking, to be used for his pleasure and warmth. Nothing more.

And while it shouldn't have mattered—he wanted her, she wanted him, they could enjoy themselves to their hearts' content—it did. Somehow it did.

He didn't want her. He just wanted her body.

And as for her…

She hadn't wanted a man this much in a while. Not in all the years of watching numerous men's naked bodies in her brothel.

She hadn't been with a man, truly been with a man, in a long time. And she'd promised herself that the next time would be worth it. The next time it would be about feelings.

"Hmm…" A low rumble reverberated through his chest and against her back. He tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer so that her derriere touched his thighs. His hands were warmer now, and an undeniable bulge grew inside his trousers, pressing against her.

Her heart raced and a shiver spread inside her belly.

"How did you come up with your name, anyway?" he asked.

"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?"

She shook her head.

"How about the future then?"

She heaved a sigh. "What about my future?"

"What are your dreams, hopes, aspirations?"

Her hands absently ran up and down his arms. "Why do you want to know?"

His chest rose with the strength of his inhale. "Perhaps, I want to know more about you. Perhaps, you intrigue me…" A pause. "Or perhaps I just like the sound of your voice and I would like to fall asleep to it."

"I thought you wanted my help in getting warmed up," she teased.

He chuckled low. "Oh, I am already warmed up, believe me. The mere scent of your skin, your voice, and your closeness already does that to me just fine. I am not saying I wouldn't like more, because, of course, I would. I think you can feel it. But I don't think you are as enthusiastic just yet."

"Oh… So, you are distracting me?"

He chuckled again—a pleasant sound that sent butterflies fluttering in her belly. "Perhaps it's another one of my motives."

Maybe he was just trying to ease her mind before pressing for more. But that's more than most—no, all—men ever did before bedding her.

"I think I reached all my dreams and aspirations," she said. "Being a fugitive with a thief-taker is absolutely the height of my dreams."

He let out a laugh.

"For a girl who started by being forced to work in a brothel, I think I achieved all of my goals. I broke free. I built my own little empire. I help some people escape terrible situations, I help others to explore their desires." She shrugged. "I am quite happy with my achievements."

"What about a family?" he asked.

"I have my family. Hades, Colette, even William, though he'd never admit to it."

"What about children?"

Grace thought for a moment, not quite certain how to answer that question. "I have never wanted children. When you're born into the world that I was, it is unfathomable to think of bringing children into it."

"Even now that you've achieved all your goals?"

She licked her lips. "Now it might be a little too late. It is rather rare for a harlot to not have multiple children by my age."

He cocked his head. "What do you mean by that?"

"I have always taken very serious precautions against becoming with child. I just always thought that if it happened, it was meant to be. I suppose it wasn't." She paused. "What about you? What are your greatest aspirations?"

He let out a chuckle. "Getting a commendation from the King."

They both laughed at that.

"Now that that is impossible, I suppose I will need to find a new dream." The way he said that tugged at the strings of her heart.

She turned toward him, her legs brushing against his, sending shivers up her spine.

"What kind of dream do you have in mind?"

He brushed a loose tendril out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.

"At the moment, I have only one dream," he whispered. And then he kissed her.