Page 11 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

“Annalise!” the third woman exclaimed, turning to the golden-haired woman with such enthusiasm that her beautiful voice nearly carried across the entire ballroom.

“Could you perhaps organize a musical evening? You’re such a skilled pianist, and I’m certain other ladies would be willing to donate their talents as well.

I have none myself, so I won’t be able to participate—but I would be delighted to help organize.

” Her hands fluttered as she spoke, emphasizing each word.

“That’s not true, Livvie,” Elma chimed in, reaching out to still Livvie’s restless hands with her own.

Livvie was a fitting name for such a lively woman, one with too much life in her to stand still. That one, Leila thought, she might finally remember.

“You create the most wonderful perfumes,” Elma continued. “That is an exceptional talent.”

Livvie’s cheeks colored prettily as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I suppose I could create some custom scents for the auction, though I’m much better at personalizing fragrances for individuals.”

“What do you think?” Caroline turned to Leila, and all eyes followed.

Such lovely women, with such dedication to helping a complete stranger.

She could only pray that she would be able to complete her primary mission before these generous events came to pass—so she wouldn’t have to deceive these kind-hearted women any further.

Leila forced a wide grin to her face. “That is wonderful. Thank you for your generosity.”

“If we band together, we might be able to pull off such an event soon. Perhaps with an Ottoman theme. What is your home life like? I’m ashamed to admit I don’t know much about your country,” Caroline said.

Leila swallowed, the memories of her home flashing before her eyes—briefly, as they were distant and scarce.

“It is beautiful. I lived right by the sea—”

Mid-sentence, Leila noticed Caroline’s demeanor shift. The Duchess’s features tightened almost imperceptibly, her expression becoming more guarded as she focused on something beyond Leila’s shoulder.

Following Caroline’s gaze, Leila turned just in time to see Wolverstone approaching through the crowd of guests.

He moved with the grace of a predator, his dark evening wear making him stand out even among the elegantly dressed attendees. When he reached their group, he offered a perfectly proper bow to the assembled ladies.

“Caroline. Ladies,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. Then his eyes found Leila’s. “Lady Leila, might I have the honor of the next dance?”

Without thinking, she answered, “Yes.”

* * *

Gideon didn’t know what prompted him to ask Leila for a dance.

The moment he stepped into the ballroom, the first thing he noticed was her. Without thinking, he cut across the room, weaving between couples and clusters of gossiping matrons, and approached her.

Yes, Norfolk was there—standing in the middle of the room, flanked by his daughters like some reformed patriarch.

It wasn’t an odd sight now, but it would have been a peculiar one just six months ago.

Back then, Norfolk was never seen with his family.

He would have rather been caught dead than stand tall beside them.

He was most often found in brothels—and not the reputable ones—or at auctions that were even less reputable than those brothels.

And yes, Gideon’s initial plan for the night had been to stand and stare at Norfolk, documenting his every move and noting everyone who dared approach him.

Mostly, he watched Norfolk salivate over every debutante that passed by.

Tonight, he seemed particularly focused on Miss Charlotte Jones—a woman from a shelter that the Kensingtons patronized.

She was an aspiring opera singer whom the Duchess of Kensington invited to every event and solicited invites for to advance her career.

In other words, she was young and she was vulnerable, and that was enough for Norfolk to set his sights on her.

Disgusting. The man was absolutely revolting.

As exciting as it was to watch him embarrass himself in front of his daughters, Gideon realized that simply standing there and staring at him all night would invite too much unwanted attention.

He needed a diversion. He needed to do something to disguise his true intentions.

Of course, that wasn’t why he asked Leila to dance.

Something within him wanted to be close to her in spite of everything.

So I might as well dance.

“I may have been premature in accepting your offer,” Leila said, her fingers tightening on his sleeve as she slowed her step. He could feel the warmth of her touch even through the fabric of his jacket. “I actually don’t know English dances very well. I’m only confident enough to dance the minuet.”

Or perhaps not.

He nodded curtly. “We can wait for a minuet, if you wish. It is bound to play at some point.” Yet, he was reluctant to let her go. “In the meantime, would you like to take a breath of fresh air on the balcony?”

Her fingers relaxed on his sleeve, and a small smile adorned her face. “That would be lovely.”

Gideon glanced back at Norfolk. His rounded face was flushed red from too much wine, and his movements were becoming looser and less controlled. He was standing far too close to poor Miss Charlotte Jones.

Perhaps tonight would be the night Norfolk slipped up—left the ballroom for a moment alone—where Gideon could catch him and finally give him what he truly deserved.

Maybe Norfolk would be unable to resist his urge to seek out a tryst after all this time. Not that Miss Charlotte seemed to reciprocate his affection, but he had seen less probable things happen.

If Norfolk became careless, though, Gideon could catch him off guard. The man was bound to return to his previous debauched ways sooner or later.

Men like Norfolk weren’t known for their discipline. Gideon only hoped it would be sooner.

He would keep an eye on him, even though his attention was directed at another person now.

They reached the balcony doors, and Gideon realized he had been silent the entire way—too lost in thought and too distracted to recognize his rudeness.

He smiled apologetically, his hand reaching for the door handle. “Forgive my silence. I was preoccupied with my thoughts.”

“Not at all.” Her smile was warm, her eyes sincere.

As he opened the door, he found another couple already occupying the space—giddy and flirtatious, whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears.

Gideon fixed them with a gaze that needed no words, one brow arching in silent command.

The couple looked up and jumped aside like guilty adolescents. Their romantic bubble thoroughly burst, they hastily departed with curtsies and bows, yielding easily to Gideon’s authority.

Gideon had that effect on people. He could often get what he wanted with a single glance.

What did he want now that he was alone with Leila, having closed the door behind them and locked themselves away from the rest of the ballroom?

What were his intentions tonight?

His mind struggled to form coherent thoughts while his body seemed to lead the charge, drawing him closer to her.

“I apologize for the way we parted the last time we saw each other,” he said finally, his voice low and his throat dry.

“No need to apologize,” she replied softly, smoothing her hands over her skirts in a nervous gesture.

“Your housekeeper was most accommodating. Besides, you gave me a roof over my head for the night, took care of my coachman and footman, and provided me with a carriage in the morning—that’s more than I would have expected.

More than I would expect from any gentleman. ”

“Then perhaps you should expect more from men,” he said, his voice rough.

She looked at him with startled eyes, then cleared her throat delicately. “Perhaps you’re right. I don’t tend to expect much from men.” Her laugh was bitter and barely audible. “When I do, they tend to disappoint.”

“I will strive not to disappoint next time,” he said earnestly, taking a step closer.

“Next time?” she asked, her voice laced with a slight breathlessness.

“Next time we meet.”

“What about this time?” The question slipped from her lips like a challenge, and he felt his pulse thunder in response.

“I hope to surpass your expectations every time we meet,” he said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling in a way that made his mouth go dry—but she didn’t answer.

The silence stretched between them, charged with unspoken tension, before he finally asked, “Was your husband worried about your absence?”

“He wasn’t,” she replied, shrugging in a manner that felt too casual.

“Does he ever worry about you?” The question was sharp, colored by an emotion he didn’t want to examine too closely.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she turned to look out over the garden, her profile etched in moonlight.

“How long have you been married?” he pressed, though part of him dreaded the answer.

Why was he asking her these questions? To remind himself that she was married? That she was out of his reach? That what he was doing—what he was thinking—was wrong?

Or was he hoping to find an excuse to claim that his thoughts and actions weren’t wrong at all?

She cleared her throat, her knuckles white where she gripped the balcony railing. “Since I was fourteen.”

Well, he got his excuse…

He stared at her in shock, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

Not that he should have been surprised—arranged marriages for political or financial gain occurred in England too.

But he couldn’t imagine this vibrant, intelligent woman as a child, forced to wed a man she most likely didn’t even know.

The thought twisted something violently in his gut.

“And your parents allowed it?” His voice was rough with emotion, a surge of protective rage rising on behalf of her younger self.

“No, they didn’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper now. “They were dead.”

“Oh.”