Page 13 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

G ideon’s head throbbed sharply, causing him to flinch. The sound of Leila’s voice was both soothing and grating at the same time.

She was the reason he found himself in this dank, dark dungeon.

But why was she here?

Was this yet another trick? Another betrayal?

In the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she had ruined everything.

The spells she wove entangled him until he was shackled and beaten, lying on the cold stone floor. And he hadn’t even tried to resist.

No. It wasn’t her…

He had done this to himself.

She needed only to crook her finger, and he might as well have tied himself up and thrown himself into this oubliette.

What in the devil had he been thinking?

That was just it, wasn’t it?

The moment Leila appeared in Lady Hardgrove’s ballroom, he ceased thinking altogether. This young slip of a woman wrapped him around her finger, and all his training and caution flew out the window.

It was too late now, but he would not make the same mistake again.

He was getting out of this place. Alive.

And she?

Well, she was free to rot.

* * *

Thirteen days earlier…

The tremors began sometime after midnight.

Gideon had returned home from the ball burdened by restless unease, his mind replaying every moment on the balcony—the taste of Leila’s lips, the way she’d gasped against his mouth, the bewildered look in her eyes before she fled.

He paced his study for what felt like hours, nursing a brandy that did nothing to calm the fire in his blood, before finally retiring to his chamber.

But sleep never came.

Violent shakes rattled his body, cold sweats soaked through his nightshirt, and a fever seemed to burn him from the inside out while simultaneously leaving him chilled to the bone.

By six in the morning, he was retching into the basin beside his bed, though there was precious little in his stomach to expel.

Mrs. Hill, upon finding him in such an undignified state, immediately called for a physician despite Gideon’s protests.

By the time Dr. Morrison arrived—a thin, scholarly man with wire-rimmed spectacles and the perpetually worried expression of someone who had seen too much human suffering—Gideon was feeling better.

“Pulse rapid, skin clammy, no sign of fever now though Mrs. Hill insists you were burning up earlier…” the doctor muttered, more to himself than to his patient.

His frown deepened as he stepped back, clearly puzzled.

“Have you eaten anything peculiar recently? Been exposed to any illness? Or perhaps… suffered any shock to the nerves?”

Shock to the nerves? Gideon nearly laughed. If kissing a beautiful woman until his entire world shifted on its axis counted as a shock to the nerves, then yes, he’d suffered quite the shock indeed.

And that was what he suspected was the cause of his ailment.

Not the shock, but the guilt.

He was feeling something toward this woman that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in fifteen years.

He felt alive.

Perhaps, too alive.

And that, indeed, was truly a shock to the nerves.

***

Leila sat in her sitting room, sipping tea, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned the pages of the newspaper one by one. The black ink blurred before her eyes as she scanned each column, searching for any mention of Gideon’s name.

Surely if he had died, it would be front-page news, she thought. A man of his standing… they would report it immediately, wouldn’t they?

But page after page yielded nothing. No obituary, no mention of illness, nothing.

Leila pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to ease the dull throb that had plagued her the entire night. She could still taste the bitter residue of wolfsbane on her tongue.

It wasn’t just wolfsbane; she had carefully crafted an exquisite mixture of transparent, paste-like poison and applied it to her lips before kissing him. It should have been enough to kill him. If only she’d done it right.

She set the newspaper down with shaking hands and took a deep breath.

She had applied a barrier to her lips before smearing on the poison and kissed him immediately to transfer it.

What she hadn’t expected was her own reaction to his kiss.

She had become so lost in the warmth of his hands on her body, his lips on hers, the heat of his skin. She had let him take control when she should have maintained it, and in doing so, she had inadvertently ingested some of the poison herself.

Yes, she had come dangerously close to poisoning herself in her attempt to poison him. How ironic.

As it was, she suffered the consequences for half the night.

Gideon was bound to feel worse than she did. How much worse? She couldn’t anticipate.

But the third failed attempt at his assassination would not be taken lightly.

She shoved the newspaper away from her, cursing under her breath.

She needed to devise another plan, and fast.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. One of the footmen entered, bowing stiffly.

“Miss Leila, you have a guest.”

Leila’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Who would come to visit her? She had barely given her card to anyone…

Of course, Gideon knew her address; his coachman had driven her home after the night she’d spent in his house.

Oh no, had he figured out that she’d attempted to poison him? Was that why he was here?

“Her Grace, the Duchess of Kensington,” the footman announced, and Leila released her breath.

Caroline. Of course. Not the authorities, not Gideon—just Caroline.

Caroline entered the room with a warm smile on her face, dressed in a simple gown, her red hair gathered in a bun atop her head.

“I hope you don’t mind my calling so early,” Caroline said as she walked into the room.

“Oh no, I welcome your company. I was just having tea anyway. Please, join me.”

Caroline settled across from Leila just as the maid rushed in with a spare tea set and some biscuits.

“I wanted to speak with you about the charity work you’re involved in,” Caroline said after taking a sip of her tea.

“Oh.” Leila forced a smile. How unfortunate. “What did you want to discuss?”

Caroline’s hands fidgeted with the lace trim of her gloves. “I’ve been thinking about it since the ball, and Annalise and I are already in the midst of organizing the musicale.”

That was quick.

She pulled out an envelope from her pocket. “Here’s the invitation. You will be an honorary guest.”

Leila took the envelope carefully and held it in her hand.

“You don’t need to open it now. It just has the details, the time and date. I just hope we can collect enough for you to come home a hero.”

“Thank you. I hope so too,” Leila said, trying to keep her smile natural. “It is very kind of you, and I appreciate your help.”

“That’s not all,” Caroline added, fidgeting slightly with the sleeves of her dress, which seemed an unnatural gesture for a poised woman like her. “I also brought this.” She pulled out a bank draft and handed it to Leila. “I wanted to contribute personally to your cause.”

“Oh, but you’re already doing so much.” Leila wished she could refuse the money and tell Caroline to spend it on something more worthy. Instead, she feigned excitement. “That’s very generous of you.”

“I am trying to do as much good as I can,” Caroline continued, her gaze fixed on some point on the table. “To repent.”

Leila frowned. Caroline seemed very troubled. “You have things you want to repent for? Pardon me if it’s too personal.”

Caroline swallowed hard, her throat working visibly.

“Not for me. For my uncle. He—” She paused, collecting herself.

“I have never been a religious person, but in his latter years, my uncle was.” She paused again, seeming to gather courage.

“Do you believe in heaven, Lady Leila? I am sorry, I do not know much about your religion.”

The weight of the question landed heavily on Leila’s shoulders.

“Yes, I do,” Leila admitted quietly. “I don’t follow the doctrine of my religion completely”—that was quite an understatement—“but yes, I believe in heaven.”

Caroline shifted in her seat, leaning forward slightly.

“Do you think…” She hesitated, then pressed on.

“Do you think if a person has done heinous acts and committed reprehensible things without being able to repent while on earth… Do you think their loved ones can wash away their sins? Do you think I can repent for my uncle?”

Leila licked her lips, tasting again the bitter residue of wolfsbane, guilt washing over her. I truly hope so.

“I think intent is what matters,” she finally said. “We won’t know until our time comes.”

Her words didn’t seem to ease Caroline’s mind at all. Soon after, the conversation shifted to other topics, until finally, Caroline excused herself and left.

Minutes later, Leila sat alone in the sitting room, staring at the bank draft that represented Caroline’s desperate hope for her uncle’s redemption.

The amount was substantial—more money than Leila had seen in months.

Caroline’s uncle must have done something truly heinous if that amount was necessary to wash away his sins.

Leila would need a fortune to wash away hers.

But Caroline’s trust in her, her willingness—no, her excitement—to help, made Leila’s insides burn.

She truly hoped that intent was what mattered. She didn’t want to see Caroline’s face once she found out where her money really went.

Contrary to Caroline’s uncle, Leila used to be a religious person. She grew up in a devout Muslim household. But she had distanced herself from all of that as she grew older, first by necessity, later from despair.

The further she traveled from the innocence of her youth, the harder it became to believe in divine mercy.

There was one thing she was certain of, though, sitting there with Caroline’s money in her hands and the taste of poison still lingering on her tongue.

If there was a heaven, it was likely she wouldn’t see even the outline of its gates.