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“Without anyone noticing.”

“Yes.”

Perfect. It was a perfect opportunity for Ford to not only learn more about the secret passageway but to also spy on the men who were now so boldly prowling about the brothel. Who were they, and what did they want?

But if they got caught, he risked getting Madame Tricheuse killed or worse… His nose wrinkled, and his heart constricted at the unpleasant thought.

No, he needed to get her out of there and to check on the constables. They could be bleeding out right there on the street!

“Right,” he whispered. “Get us out of here.”

Madame Tricheuse hesitated. “You want to leave?”

“Yes, I want us to get out of here. Safely.”

“No.” Her whisper was confident. Defiant.

The most stubborn creature he had ever had the misfortune of meeting.

“Yes. We are leaving. These men are dangerous.”

“And they are obviously looking for us!”

Ford covered her mouth with his hand. “Shh! Whisper softly!”

She bit his finger, and Ford wrenched his hand away. “I am whispering. Do not be a coward.”

“I am not worrying about myself. You know that you will suffer a worse fate than me if we are caught.”

“Do not underestimate what some men can do to other men,” she said evenly, then took his hand in hers. “Now come. And be as quiet as you can.”

Ford had no choice but to follow the obstinate woman. He held her hand tightly as he walked sideways along the narrow corridor, making certain not to brush the wall with his shoulders.

He could see nothing in the complete darkness, only occasionally he would catch a glimpse of her flaming red wig. They seemed to follow the sounds of voices, but Ford could not imagine where they were located in the brothel exactly. “Where does this path lead, anyway?”

“Do you not trust me, Monsieur?” She answered with a question, a smile in her voice.

He made a strangled noise. “Not even a little.”

Yet, he continued following her, holding her hand tightly, the drumming of her pulse reverberating through his skin.

She slowed her steps as the voices grew louder, walking slowly but carefully, not making a single sound.

“Nothing valuable is in these books,” the aristocratic voice said. “They probably took all the valuables with them.”

Madame Tricheuse paused and raised her hand, silently commanding Ford not to move. She leaned forward then and pressed her fingers to the wall in front of her.

Ford widened his eyes as if asking, “What in the hell are you doing?” Not that she was looking at him. He reached up and grabbed her wrist.

Madame Tricheuse paused only for a moment, then without shaking off his hand, determinedly slid her fingers over the wall until a small circle of light filtered inside their hideaway spot.

Ah, a peephole.

Her features illuminated slightly. Ford could see her self-satisfied smirk before she squinted into the peephole.

Ford tried to turn so he could observe the goings-on in the room as well. Instead, he hit his shoulder against the wall, resulting in a dull thud.

Madame Tricheuse frowned at him, annoyed, and all he could do was shrug apologetically, but the damage was done.