Page 26 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

Whatever happened to the cloak I was wearing? The thought floated through her exhausted mind, but she was too weak to voice it. It didn’t matter now. Nothing did, except that they were both still alive.

For now.

When he wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her forward, she leaned into his strength gratefully. Her legs felt like water, and every step required conscious effort just to stay upright.

They followed the stream, hopping from stone to stone to avoid leaving any tracks behind. But it wasn’t easy. Every jolt of movement made her head pound, the pain flaring sharply behind her eyes.

Her feet wouldn’t cooperate either, but she held on to Gideon tightly and didn’t complain.

They needed to get as far from the fire as possible. Complaining wouldn’t change that truth.

And this wasn’t the first time she had fled through pain. It wouldn’t be the last.

Especially now that she knew the Cardinal wanted her dead.

She needed to find Emir.

She prayed he wasn’t hurt.

What had they told him? Did the Cardinal say she was dead?

Would they want to kill Emir too, or was he still useful to them—for now?

She hoped it was the latter.

They walked upstream for what felt like forever—stopping now and then to splash water on their faces, to drink, to rest briefly—until her strength finally gave out.

Her foot slipped on a moss-covered rock, and she would have fallen face-first into the stream if not for Gideon’s quick reflexes.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, clutching his arm for support. “I just need… a moment…”

He studied her in the dappled moonlight filtering through the trees. She saw the instant he realized how pale she was and how badly she trembled.

“No,” he said firmly. “You need rest. Real rest.”

Without waiting for her to protest, he swept her up into his arms, carrying her as if she weighed nothing. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tightly.

When was the last time someone carried me? When was the last time someone cared whether I was tired… or hurt… or afraid?

She couldn’t recall. Perhaps not since she was a child.

“You can’t carry me all night, Gideon,” she said.

“You’re right. I can’t,” he agreed, “and I don’t need to. Just until I find a safe enough spot for us to rest.”

He carried her away from the stream, deeper into the forest where the undergrowth was thick enough to provide concealment. After a few more minutes, he found a small clearing partially hidden by a fallen log and a tangle of berry bushes. He set her down carefully on a bed of moss and fallen leaves.

“We’ll spend the night here,” he decided, though she could see the tension in every line of his body. He wasn’t happy they had to stop, but they had no choice unless he planned to carry her the rest of the way.

Although the relentless pulsing in her head had eased, her lungs burned, and her muscles ached.

She was in no condition to walk any farther.

“I don’t want to risk starting a fire,” he said, taking the cloak off her shoulders and spreading it out on the ground again. “I don’t want anyone to spot our location.”

Leila nodded.

“Sit here and rest.”

Leila sank onto the cloak and wrapped her arms around her knees, curling into a ball.

She was cold, and she was tired. She wanted to lean against Gideon and draw strength from the heat of his body.

But he walked away. A few moments later, he returned with a flask of water and then went foraging for berries.

He brought them to Leila, and she examined them with a practiced eye.

She had once been a healer—now a poisoner. She knew which berries were safe to eat and which weren’t.

Nearby, she spotted plants that were effective for soothing aching joints, while others were useful for treating burns.

Neither of them had been badly burned in the fire, but small patches of skin here and there had taken the brunt of the heat.

After they had eaten and prepared for the night, Gideon lay down beside her and drew her close. She pressed her forehead to his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling her to sleep.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled the cloak over them both.

Leila was warm. She was comfortable. And she was safe.

This is what safety feels like, she realized with surprise. She hadn’t felt that way in over a decade.

Now, in the arms of the man she was supposed to kill, she found peace.

They lay there in what should have been companionable silence, but she could sense the tension in his body. His head turned with every sound—every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, and every distant birdcall.

She was grateful he remained vigilant, but he needed sleep, too.

If he didn’t rest, he wouldn’t be able to walk far tomorrow. He wouldn’t be able to protect them.

She decided to distract him, giving his mind something else to focus on besides the dangers that might be lurking in the woods. If she was being honest with herself, she also wanted to know more about him.

“What are you going to do when it’s over?” she asked softly.

He shrugged, the movement shifting her slightly against his chest. “Disappear.”

“How can a duke disappear?” she asked, genuine curiosity in her voice. She had spent her life in the shadows, while he lived under the brightest spotlight English society could offer. Every move he made was noted, commented on, and dissected by gossips.

“To be completely honest with you,” he said after a long pause, “I’ve never looked that far ahead. Until recently, I didn’t think I had a future.”

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “What made you change your mind?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles on her arm through the fabric of her shirt.

“There was a time not so long ago when I thought I could never feel anything again,” he said finally, his voice so low she had to strain to hear it.

“That I couldn’t feel attraction. Passion.

Need for another woman.” He paused, and when he continued, there was something raw and vulnerable in his tone. “But if I can feel… maybe I can live.”

“And you feel that now?”

“I feel the pull toward you,” he admitted, his voice low and intense, making her pulse quicken. “And I know that it is unwise to pursue it right now.”

“Why not?” The words slipped out more boldly than she’d intended, and she shifted in his arms until she could see his face clearly, until she could read the conflict in his silver eyes.

He paused, searching her face as if trying to uncover some secret, some hidden truth that would make this decision easier.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips—a nervous gesture that was so unlike him.

The duke she’d known didn’t make nervous gestures.

He was always poised, composed, and controlled.

She liked seeing different parts of him.

“Because of the circumstances we are in now,” he said finally.

“What circumstances?”

“We’re hunted like animals, driven into hiding. We could be dead tomorrow.” His jaw tightened with frustration. “This isn’t the right time to act on our desires.”

Leila couldn’t argue with the first part of his statement—their situation was indeed dire. Men with weapons and orders to kill them could emerge from the forest at any moment.

But she had lived her entire life this way. Every moment of her existence had been shadowed by the possibility of sudden, violent death. Every mission had carried the risk that she wouldn’t return. Every night, she had gone to sleep uncertain whether she would wake to see another dawn.

Nevertheless, she had not truly lived until now. And she wanted to experience this life as much as she could. Now, sitting close to the man who made her skin grow hot and her blood ignite in her veins, she wanted to be reckless.

“Perhaps,” she said, her voice carrying only the slightest hesitation before growing stronger with conviction, “it’s the best time to pursue it. If you don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, isn’t now the best time to act on your desires?”

His eyes flickered with surprise. She hurried to continue before he could voice any objection forming in his mind.

“Happiness is fleeting,” she pressed on, her hand resting against his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. “If we die tomorrow, why not experience what little of it we can?”

He looked down at her then, his silver eyes searching her face. She saw her own longing reflected in his gaze and noticed the moment his careful control began to crack under the weight of desire.

The space between them seemed to shrink without either of them moving, the air thickening with a tension that had nothing to do with their dire circumstances—and everything to do with the magnetic pull that had existed between them from the very beginning.

Leila became acutely aware of everything—the warmth radiating from his body, the way his breathing shifted from steady and controlled to something deeper and more uneven, and the way his gaze darkened with passion.

“Gideon,” she whispered his name like a prayer, a plea, and a promise all wrapped into one.

And then his mouth was on hers.