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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.