Page 32 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

T he screech of rusted hinges pierced the suffocating darkness as the door to their cell swung open. Gideon’s head snapped up from where he’d been slumped against the damp stone wall, his neck protesting the sudden movement.

Every muscle in his body ached from the beating he’d received, and the iron shackles around his wrists had begun to chafe his skin raw.

A burly man stepped into the narrow doorway, his massive frame blocking what little light filtered in from the corridor beyond.

He carried two crude wooden bowls in his meaty hands, the kind used to feed dogs scraps.

His boots squelched against the wet stone floor as he approached, each step echoing in the confined space.

The guard threw the bowls onto the filthy floor before each of them.

Even in the dim light, Gideon could see the contents: a thin, gray porridge that looked more like gruel, and beside it, a stale piece of bread that appeared sturdy enough to be used as a weapon.

A dull wooden spoon floated listlessly in the watery mess of each bowl.

The porridge splattered, some of it seeping between the cracks in the stone. Gideon watched a piece of bread bounce once before landing in the dirt.

The man disappeared into the corridor but returned moments later with two wooden cups. Water seeped steadily from beneath them, creating little puddles as he walked. He dropped them carelessly, the liquid immediately pooling around their bases.

Gideon lifted his head and fixed the man with a stare that had once made hardened soldiers quake.

“Who the hell are you? What do you want?” His voice came out rough and scratchy, his throat parched and raw.

“Do you know who I am?” he continued when the guard refused to answer.

“I am the Duke of Wolverstone. People will be looking for me, and when they find me, there will be hell to pay. Abducting a lord is a killing offense.”

The guard’s only response was a sneer, revealing several missing teeth. He looked at both prisoners with undisguised disgust, as if they were something he’d scraped off his boot.

Without warning, he drew back his leg and kicked Gideon’s chain. The metal links screeched from the impact, and the sudden jolt sent fire shooting through Gideon’s already battered ribs. He couldn’t suppress a grunt of pain as he was yanked forward, the shackles biting deeper into his wrists.

Leila’s chains rattled too, and she let out a pitiful cry. Had the guard hurt her, too?

Rage began to build inside Gideon—hot and raw, overpowering the pain.

The guard didn’t seem to care. His laughter was harsh and mocking as he walked out, slamming the door behind him and stealing the last of the light with him.

Gideon’s hands trembled slightly as he reached for the wooden cup. He cursed himself for the weakness, but the thirst was overwhelming.

If he didn’t drink now, it would all leak out in moments, and he would die of thirst. If it was poisoned, he would die too—perhaps quicker, but more painfully.

He didn’t know which fate was worse.

He lifted the cup to his lips and gulped it down in one desperate swallow, barely tasting the water as it coursed down his parched throat.

He didn’t bother with the food. The sight of the gray slop masquerading as porridge turned his stomach, and he suspected it would do him more harm than good.

From across the cell, he heard Leila moving. He could barely make out her silhouette in the oppressive darkness, but even from that, her posture suggested she was in pain.

Despite everything, the thought of her being hurt affected him more than it should.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice harsh and sharp.

There was a pause before she answered. “Why do you care?”

“I suppose I really don’t,” he said on a sigh. “Just making conversation. If we’re left here long enough without talking, one can go mad.”

“I thought you said I was here with an ulterior motive. That I’m still working for the Brotherhood. Do you really want to risk talking to me?”

Gideon leaned his head back against the cold wall.

He had said that. And he did think that. It was one of many thoughts swirling in his mind. When it came to Leila, he couldn’t trust anything.

Especially not himself.

“There’s nothing I can say that will make this situation worse,” he finally admitted, his tone bitter. “I’m just surprised you work with men who’d treat you this way. Forcing you to seduce their enemies, to kill them, then throwing you into a dark, dank cell for whatever purpose they have in mind.”

Her laughter was sharp, bitter, and full of pain. The sound sent an unexpected chill down his spine.

“You think this is the worst they’ve ever done to me?” she asked. “You are delightfully naive, Gideon.”

Despite his determination to hate her, he found himself flinching at the thought of the horrors she’d endured. But he pushed down the unwanted sympathy and forced his voice to remain hard. “Yet you were happily doing their bidding.”

Just a few hours ago, he had defended her choices. Now he was throwing them in her face.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her voice was quiet now, almost resigned.

“You’re right, I don’t. You know why? Because you haven’t told me a single thing that was true. Instead, you lied to me, used me, and manipulated me from the first time we met until the very end.”

“You are wrong.”

“Which part?”

“You are wrong when you say I lied to you until the very end.” She paused, and her next words came out quieter, as if she didn’t quite believe them herself. “I told you the truth.”

He let out a harsh laugh that made his ribs burn in pain. He paused, regretting his outburst. Still, he continued, “You mean when you finally admitted you tried to kill me? After I spotted your precious mark?”

“I told you more truths than lies,” she said stubbornly.

“You set up a trap to kill me just the night before. How do you expect me to trust anything you say?”

“Because I had no choice!” The words exploded from her, raw, desperate, and loud. If the guards were standing in the corridor, they surely heard her.

If she was telling the truth and she was locked up with him as punishment, then why would she risk them knowing the extent of her involvement with Gideon? Unless she knew she wouldn’t be getting out of this place no matter what she said or did.

Of course, it could all have been an elaborate act. A ruse… But to what end?

Gideon could not guess that.

“Yes, you did,” he said coldly. “If anything you told me is true, then you did have a choice. You could have asked me for help, and I would have granted it.”

He paused, then added, his voice thick with bitterness, “By God, you’re right. I was incredibly naive. I felt sorry for you. I wanted to save you, to save your brother… Is he even real? Or did you make him up to garner my sympathy?”

There was a long silence. When she finally spoke, her voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear it.

“He is real.” The words seemed to cost her something.

“But he’ll probably die because of my mistakes.

And I’ll have to live with that… Probably not for very long, though.

” She paused again, and when she continued, her voice held a fierce edge.

“But don’t sit there all high and mighty and pretend I was the only one full of mistrust. You didn’t trust me either. ”

“I did trust you,” he said through gritted teeth. “Against my better judgment, I did. And I was wrong for that.”

“When exactly did you trust me?” Her voice was sharp now, cutting. “When I was tied to your bed?”

He flinched. “No,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Just before then, actually.”

“Just before then, I didn’t know you well enough.

And neither did you.” There was a rustling sound as she shifted in her chains, and he heard the pain in the small gasp she tried to suppress.

“I was told you were ruthless and vile, and that I had to kill you.

Once I formed my own opinion of you, once I thought I could ask you for help, you stopped trusting me completely.

“Be honest with yourself,” she continued.

“If I had told you I was going to lock you in the cellar and set the house on fire as a distraction—to make the Cardinal think you’d perished—would you have gone along with it?

Or would you have mistrusted me even more? Would you have fought me on that plan?”

Would he?

Gideon found himself actually considering the question.

By then, he mistrusted everything she’d said.

The only reason that changed was that the fire had made him mad with fear.

He’d been reliving his nightmare, and it had taken hours of holding her in his arms to return to some semblance of rational thought.

But he wasn’t rational.

He’d been so grateful he’d saved her, so relieved not to have lost her to the flames, that he’d forgiven everything in that moment. He’d believed everything she said.

But before that…?

“If you had told me you were planning to fake my death,” he said finally, “we could have come up with a better plan. Yours—if that was truly what you wanted—didn’t even work.”

“Because the Cardinal never intended to let me live.” Her voice broke on the words, and he heard her shift again, the chains clinking softly in the darkness. “I’m afraid they’ll kill Emir, too.”

Despite everything, despite his anger and his determination to hate her, the raw pain in her voice affected him.

The mention of her brother, an innocent boy, afraid and alone, tugged at his heartstrings.

Here we go again.

How easily she manipulates me.

“So Emir does exist,” he said, though he couldn’t quite keep the skepticism out of his voice.

Her voice was hollow as she said, “For now.”

In the silence that followed, Gideon found himself wrestling with emotions he didn’t want to feel. Part of him wanted to comfort her, to tell her they’d find a way to save her brother.

But the other part tried very hard not to care.

“We could have saved him if you had just trusted me,” he said, and even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were cruel. “Now we’re all going to rot.”

“I can’t trust every man I come across, Gideon.” Her voice was tired but firm. “If I did, I wouldn’t have lived as long as I have. Lust isn’t enough to throw all caution to the wind. Yet… I still couldn’t kill you. There’s something between us that I hope—”

“There is nothing between us but loathing and mistrust,” Gideon cut her off.

The words were meant to hurt, and from the sharp intake of breath he heard from across the cell, they had found their mark.

“Is that why you made love to me so sweetly just this morning?” she asked, her tone mocking.

He fought hard not to let the memory of her soft body rise in his mind.

“I was a fool,” he said, his voice hard as granite. “I won’t make the same mistake again. Remember this, Leila. If they hurt me, you’re to blame. If they hurt you…” He paused, preparing himself to utter the cruel words, “I won’t lift a finger to help you.”