Page 25 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

“ L eila! Leila!”

Gideon’s desperate voice was the last thing she heard before awakening. Instead of the roar of fire and desperate screams, all she heard now was the sound of water gurgling over stones.

Warmth surrounded her—not the searing heat of flames, but the solid comfort of strong arms holding her close. Her cheek rested against something firm and steady, and she could hear the rapid beating of a heart beneath her ear.

“Your brother wasn’t there,” Gideon’s voice came from above her, rough with smoke—and something deeper. “I checked every room in the house. He wasn’t there. But I saved you.” His arms tightened around her. “I saved you,” he repeated, as if trying to convince himself.

“Where are we?” Leila asked, lifting her head slowly. She winced at the pain. What had happened to her? How did she get out?

They were beside a small river, far enough from the burning building that the smoke was just a distant haze against the evening sky.

Gideon’s face was streaked with soot, his hair disheveled, but his eyes… they were wild. Haunted.

“In the woods,” he answered. “Away from the burning house, but not far enough.” He looked down at her. “But it doesn’t matter. As long as I saved you.”

So, he hadn’t figured out that she was the one who’d set the fire. She silently thanked her lucky stars.

Perhaps finding her tied up on the stairwell landing had been enough to convince him they’d both been attacked—not just him.

And he’d saved her. He’d carried her out. He now held her gingerly in his arms, as though she were something precious.

She wasn’t.

But the look on his face wasn’t that of a man who’d just escaped death. It was the look of a man unraveling.

She put a trembling hand to his cheek, feeling the rough stubble beneath her palm.

“Are you feeling well?”

He shook his head slowly.

“No.” The answer was raw. Honest.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, her eyes searching him for any sign of wounds.

“Not physically, no.”

Leila moved to sit up, and he propped her against his arm, holding her close. “What happened?”

“I saved you,” he repeated, his voice breaking slightly. “But I wasn’t able to save them…”

Them? Who did he mean?

Was he not making sense, or was her mind hazy from the smoke?

“My brother? But you said he wasn’t there…”

And she knew he wasn’t.

“No, not him.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “My wife. Sarah. And my daughters.”

Leila shifted in his arms, her heart clenching at the raw pain in his voice.

“How did they die?” she asked, though part of her already knew.

He shook his head—not in response, but as if to shake off the memory.

“Tell me,” she said gently, her thumb brushing his cheek and lingering over the scar that marked his skin.

For a long moment, he said nothing, staring out at the spring. When he finally spoke, his voice was hollow, like he was reciting a story he’d told too many times.

“I wasn’t there. I was out of the house, like I was many nights… and days.”

He gave a bitter laugh, jostling Leila slightly in his arms.

“Doing important work, I thought. When I got home… my house was on fire.”

Leila’s chest tightened. A wave of guilt surged through her, so heavy it made her nauseous.

She did this. She made him relive it.

“I wanted to run inside,” he continued, his voice taut with strain.

“But it was too late. The house was engulfed in flames. Neighbors held me back—said it was suicide to go in. I still wish I’d gone.

If I hadn’t saved them, at least I could’ve died with them.

Either outcome would’ve been better than what came next. ”

“What came next?” she asked, but he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze remained fixed on the water ahead.

“Hours later, the fire was put out. They found the bodies of my wife and children still in their bedrooms.” His voice cracked. “They probably suffocated from the smoke before the fire reached them. Or at least… that’s what I was told. Maybe they just wanted me to feel better.”

“Gideon,” she whispered, but he continued as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I don’t know if there was anything worse for me to feel. But I dream about that night frequently. In the dream, I manage to go into the house. And my wife… my daughters, they are not asleep; they try to run, and I try to save them, but I fail every single time.”

Leila felt tears burning her eyes. The weight of what she had done—forcing him to relive this nightmare—was crushing.

“I have had this dream for years,” he said, his voice distant. “And I only hope it will stop once I avenge them—once I eliminate every member of the Brotherhood of the Crimson Fist.”

“They did this,” Leila whispered, not asking a question.

“Yes. They left a mark on my doorstep—a crimson fist. Taunting me. I won’t rest until I’ve burned down or soaked in blood every mark I find. They wanted their fists to be bloody, and it is my pleasure to oblige.”

His determination was palpable. Revenge had given him purpose, but Leila feared what would happen to him once it was over. “What if it doesn’t?” she asked.

“What if it doesn’t—what?”

“What if the nightmare doesn’t stop, even after you eliminate every member of the Brotherhood?”

“Then at least I’d know they won’t hurt anyone else.” His answer came without a moment’s hesitation, revealing he’d thought this through.

She studied his profile, noting the pain etched into every line of his face. He was broken, and she doubted revenge would fix him. Revenge really never did. “And is this what Sarah would want for you?”

He shifted slightly, his jaw tightening.

“No. Absolutely not. But I tried living the way Sarah would have wanted. I attempted to lead a peaceful life, but there was no peace in that for me at all. I was living like a ghost, alongside the ghosts of my family, until frustration drove me to become a soldier and later to work for the Crown.” He let out a breath.

“I tried to retire, to live in Sarah’s memory, but that didn’t last long either.

Once the late Wolverstone called me back to London to prepare to take over his titles—his mission, his purpose—something snapped within me.

I began seeing those men responsible for my family’s death on a weekly basis, enjoying their lives as if nothing had happened, and I could not let it stand any longer.

” He paused, his voice quieter now. “Sarah would be terrified of the man I have become. She would have hated me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Leila said gently, trying to soothe the storm inside him. But he just smiled, hollow and sad.

“I know my wife. The man I am now… she would never have loved me.”

“And you?” Leila couldn’t help but ask. “Would you still love her? Even after all these years? After everything you’ve gone through and how much you’ve changed?”

“Of course.” There was no hesitation there either.

“I still love her and I always will. If I could have her back, even if it meant killing two hundred men, I would do it. Even if it meant dying, I would do that, too. But if she returned and I still lived…” He exhaled slowly.

“I don’t think we’d find that happiness again.

I was a different man then. A perfect man for her.

And she was the perfect wife for me. Not anymore. ”

He shifted restlessly beside her.

Leila couldn’t help but wonder: did he think she was perfect for him now?

Of course not. Not after everything she’d done.

But then again, they’d both committed unforgivable acts. They were both broken.

Maybe that’s what made them a perfect fit.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

She blinked.

Was she?

She was wracked with guilt for making him relive his tragedy. She felt deep compassion for his loss and how it had nearly broken him.

She felt sick that it had almost driven him mad.

No, she was not feeling better.

But physically…

She attempted to move.

Her muscles were taut, there was an ache in her shoulder, but the sharp pain in the side of her head flared with every movement.

Still, she tried to rise slowly and carefully—and the pain eased a little. With Gideon’s help, she managed to stand.

She patted the side of her head and found a small bump where she’d been hit.

Then she checked the rest of her head and hands. She seemed otherwise unharmed.

Her clothes were dirty and bedraggled. Her hair was probably a mess, though her braids hadn’t come undone. Still, she must have looked a fright.

“Good,” Gideon crooned, holding her by the arms as if afraid she might collapse at any moment.

“It means we can attempt to move farther away from here. I carried you as far as I could, but I know it’s not far enough.

The Brotherhood will send their goons after us.

I had to leave the horse when I saw people moving in that direction.

I’m not sure if they were from the Brotherhood, but who else could they be? ”

Siktir. He was right. The weight of everything that had just happened began to crush her again.

She had miscalculated—gravely.

She had thought that once the guards left to fetch the Cardinal, she could help Gideon escape—if he hadn’t already escaped on his own. When the Cardinal arrived, she would tell him Wolverstone was dead, that she had watched him burn, and that it was time to free her and her brother.

But now she was certain: the Cardinal had never intended for her to live.

The guards had left them both for dead. Would that be enough for the Cardinal to believe his work was finished? Or would he send more men—“goons,” as Gideon had called them—to hunt them down and ensure their demise?

Either way, staying near the still-roaring inferno wasn’t wise. The thick column of black smoke rising above the treeline would draw attention from miles around.

“Yes, let’s go,” she agreed.

Gideon picked up his cloak from the ground and wrapped it around her shoulders.