Page 2 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

His eyes landed on Norfolk, his wife on his arm, flanked by his two unmarried daughters. Lately, he had not been seen in public without them. Many whispered about his sudden, unusually family-oriented behavior, but Gideon knew better. He was using them as a shield.

Hiding in plain sight.

Hiding from Gideon, even if he didn’t realize it.

Gideon looked away. He didn’t want to be caught glaring daggers at the man.

Lord Payne stood unusually close to his wife—unusual for anyone else, but not for them, he recently realized. They were known for having a rather intimate marriage.

Gideon couldn’t help but feel a pang of… jealousy? Some bitter emotion that reminded him of what had been and what could never be again.

Just then, Vivienne appeared in the ballroom, dressed in a deep violet gown with matching flowers tucked into her towering white wig.

Her eyes darted around the room until they landed on a circle of her female friends—no doubt eager to regale them with her scandalous tale, embellishing every detail.

She began her slow, deliberate approach, stopping to exchange pleasantries with various guests along the way.

Gideon resumed his idle perusal of the ballroom. A few more minutes, and he could take his leave.

His gaze skimmed lazily over the sea of powdered faces.

The Duke of Kensington was dancing with his wife; Miss Charlotte Jones, an aspiring opera singer, was speaking animatedly with Lady Payne; and Mr. Townsend was in the act of slipping away from the ballroom with Miss Nicolette Burke, no doubt for a midnight tryst. How had he managed to snag a popular actress whose former protector was one of the most powerful dukes?

Gideon didn’t know. Perhaps this was a short liaison rather than a long-term arrangement.

Miss Burke had high aspirations and hadn’t had a steady affair since losing Kensington to his wife.

Then his gaze landed on a face he didn’t recognize.

A woman.

A stranger. Someone he was certain he’d never seen before.

She glided across the room on Lord Hexley’s arm, and he wondered how he hadn’t noticed her sooner, for she stood out like an emerald among pearls.

Her attire was unlike anything the other women wore—a long-sleeved, coat-like garment in a striking shade of green, embroidered with gold, draped over a beige ball gown.

Stranger still was her headwear: not the towering wigs favored by English ladies, but a simple cloth trimmed with delicate gold coins that shimmered with her every step.

But it wasn’t the clothing that held Gideon’s attention.

It was something else.

Her beauty?

He wouldn’t call her conventionally attractive—though he wouldn’t call her plain either. Her features were not delicate but bold. Arresting.

Her brows were thick and expressive, more brushstroke than pencil line. Her dark eyes glinted like diamonds beneath long, raven lashes. Her full, bow-shaped lips held the rich color of ripe plum. Her face, golden with sun and striking, defied simple description.

And yet, her demeanor was the opposite of striking. She was poised. Measured. Almost meek.

What struck Gideon most was not her ostentation but her contradiction. She blended into the crowd, and yet, unmistakably, she stood apart. He couldn’t explain it, and he couldn’t look away.

She moved with grace, pausing beside Hexley to offer polite smiles and demure nods as they wove through the crowd.

Something warm unfurled in Gideon’s chest.

A tug. A pull toward her. A strange, almost inexplicable urge to approach her. To speak to her. As if they were not strangers at all—but long-lost friends.

He did not recognize her; of that, he was certain. But perhaps his soul did.

What a silly thought.

A ridiculous and poetic thought.

He scoffed under his breath.

He was no romantic. His instincts weren’t trained to recognize romantic potential—they were honed to detect danger.

And perhaps that’s what this was: a sense that something was off, out of place.

A warning.

Danger.

Then she turned, as if she’d felt the weight of his gaze, and their eyes met.

She looked directly at him, with no indication of surprise on her face, as if she had been expecting to find him staring at her.

And she stared back.

A long, unhurried, curious gaze.

Then, slowly, her lashes dipped. Eyes lowered. Modest. Demure.

Practiced.

Yes, that was it. That’s what unsettled him. Her every movement was deliberate. Precise. Calculated.

Or was he imagining it? Searching for reasons to explain the odd prickle at the back of his neck?

Gideon tore his gaze away.

He exhaled sharply, only now realizing he’d been holding his breath. His cheeks warmed, and his pulse pounded.

What was this strange feeling that assailed him?

It felt oddly like panic.

He whirled around, preparing to leave, but his legs felt shaky.

He never panicked.

Not during his time as a member of a dangerous secret society, not as a soldier during a war, not as a hand of the Crown.

What unsettled him so?

He didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.

He drew out his pocket watch and stared at it, the numbers briefly blurring before they made sense.

It was past time for him to leave.

He took a step to do just that when a hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

“Wolverstone!” boomed Lord Hexley’s voice from behind.

Gideon tamped down his instinct to remove the man’s hand from him, to counter-attack… except this wasn’t an attack. So he clenched his jaw and turned to face the intruder.

“Just the man I was hoping to see,” Hexley said, beaming, the mysterious woman still on his arm.

Gideon forced a polite nod. “Hexley.”

“I’ve someone fascinating for you to meet: Lady Leila of Smyrna. Her husband is a Pasha, a diplomat from the Ottoman Empire, currently in London on political business, though unwell, poor fellow. I’ve taken it upon myself to introduce her to the right people.”

Gideon inclined his head. “Lady Leila of Smyrna.”

She raised her head to meet his gaze, her lips curving into a soft smile.

“And this is the Duke of Wolverstone,” Hexley introduced.

“Your Grace,” she said, her voice low and melodic, touched with an accent that caressed each word. “A pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Gideon replied smoothly.

“Hexley!” came Lord Norfolk’s loud, unpleasant voice. “I meant to speak with you all this time. Come…”

Hexley offered an apologetic shrug before the two men drifted away, leaving Gideon alone with Lady Leila.

Gideon’s gaze followed Norfolk as he led Hexley a few feet away. Did the two men have business dealings? Was Hexley one of the members of Norfolk’s loathsome society?

He couldn’t afford to get caught up in following them tonight.

Tonight, he had done his duty, and all he needed was to spend a few more minutes in the ballroom, visible to the guests, before leaving silently.

“What a beautiful ballroom, wouldn’t you say?” Lady Leila pulled him back from his thoughts. “The hostess clearly has wonderful taste. No doubt her other rooms are just as elegant.”

He found himself thinking that the bedroom was more cozy than elegant—not a place where he’d want to spend his nights.

“How are you finding London?” Gideon swiftly changed the subject.

“It is… fascinating,” she answered, her smile turning genuine and warm. “Very different from my home. Colder, yes, but there’s something romantic about the mist and shadows. But it’s also… less wild?” She chuckled lightly. “I don’t know the right word for this; apologies…”

“Tamed?” he offered.

“Yes!” Excitement sparkled in her dark eyes, making them shine like stars in the night. “Exactly. There is nature here, but it is tamed into these little squares. Smyrna is different. Chaotic. Wild.”

Gideon found himself leaning closer, drawn in by the husky richness of her voice. It was smooth as velvet—something he could wrap himself in, lean into, and lose himself within. “And which do you prefer? The wild or the tamed?”

She laughed airily. “Oh, I think there’s beauty in both. Sometimes we need wildness to feel truly alive, but…” Her dark eyes met his. “I believe restrained civility should not be ignored. There is passion behind it, I am certain. And given time, I like to strip it bare.”

Were they still talking about the cities? Gideon cleared his suddenly dry throat. “You must miss the sun here.”

“That I do,” she sighed, her expression momentarily wistful.

“The sun there touches everything. And the sea… Although beautiful, the tame rivers and lakes cannot compare to the wilderness of the sea. The waves, the creatures within, the vibrant blue color—I miss it the most.” She paused, her glittering gaze regaining focus, a smile returning to her face. “And my salvar.”

“Pardon me?” He tilted his head, curiosity piqued.

She laughed, waving a hand as if to dismiss the topic. Her rings caught the candlelight as she gestured—thick bands set with jewels that seemed to glow from within. “My traditional clothes. Much more comfortable than these English gowns. But I am told English ladies must suffer for fashion.”

“We all suffer,” he murmured, “though some more than others.”

Gideon frowned inwardly. This was the longest conversation he’d had all evening, and he didn’t feel the urge to run.

Odd.

In fact, a strange weight overtook his limbs, as if forcing him to stay in place—to inch closer and closer to the mysterious lady before him. He inhaled, the sweet scent of jasmine and something more elusive filling his senses.

“I have to admit that you look beautiful in English garb,” he found himself saying.

Her cheeks flushed, and she performed a slight curtsy. “Thank you, Your Grace. Though I confess, I sometimes feel like I’m playing a part here, and this attire is just a costume. People know I don’t belong. So many rules to remember. So many I am certain I am breaking with every step.”

“I assure you, you are doing quite remarkably,” he felt the need to reassure her, wanting to shield her from wandering gazes and disapproving stares.