Page 35 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

L eila lifted the wooden cup to Gideon’s lips, tilting it slowly so he could drink without choking. The water was stale and lukewarm, but she watched his throat work as he swallowed, noting the relief that flickered across his battered features.

“Slowly,” she murmured when he tried to drink too quickly. “Just small sips.”

After he had taken what he could manage, she set the cup aside and turned her attention to cleaning his injuries. The sight of blood on his face, the swelling around his eye, the split in his lip—it all twisted painfully in her chest.

This was her fault. He had been hurt protecting her.

She reached for the hem of her already tattered shirt and, without hesitation, tore off another strip of fabric. The piece she managed to tear away wasn’t large, and it wasn’t exactly clean either, but it would have to suffice.

Dipping the improvised cloth into her precious water supply, she wrung it out carefully—wasting even a drop felt like a sin in this place. Then she began to clean the blood from his face.

He winced when she touched the area around his nose, and she immediately lightened her pressure, barely grazing his skin as she worked.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered each time he flinched, though she wasn’t sure if she was apologizing for the pain she caused now or for being the reason he was hurt in the first place.

When she had done what she could with his wounds, she reached for the stale bread from her own meager ration and broke it into small pieces, offering them to him one at a time. He ate slowly, but she could see some color returning to his face as the food settled in his empty stomach.

“Your hands are cold,” he observed quietly, his voice still rough but stronger than it had been.

Leila glanced down at her fingers, noticing for the first time that they trembled slightly—whether from cold or the aftermath of fear, she wasn’t certain.

“Yes, well,” she said, attempting a light tone, “England is not exactly a sunny paradise. I’ve grown accustomed to constantly being cold here.”

A ghost of his old teasing smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Are you certain it’s constantly? Because I remember you being very warm… hot even, at one point during our acquaintance.”

Her cheeks flushed as the memory of their passion flashed before her eyes, making her heat despite their current circumstances. She found herself pursing her lips in mock disapproval.

“You’re not allowed to use that as a jest when you’ve shamed me for it,” she said, though there was no real anger in her voice.

“I would never,” he replied, taking her hand in his. The contact sent warmth shooting up her arm as he threaded their fingers together, his thumb brushing gently across her knuckles.

“Come closer,” he said softly. “Let me warm you.”

When she raised her eyebrows at the suggestive undertone, he let out a weak chuckle and shook his head, wincing slightly at the movement.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he clarified, and there was something almost boyish in his embarrassment. “At least, not here. I will just hold you…” He paused, and when he continued, his voice was softer, more vulnerable than she’d ever heard it. “If you let me.”

She didn’t understand him. He had been so angry with her just a few hours earlier. Then he had shielded her from an attack. And now he was infinitely gentle with her again.

His moods were like whiplash, and she doubted he understood them himself.

Perhaps, battered and beaten, he just needed the comfort of her touch.

Or perhaps witnessing the men trying to force Leila into that terrible act had softened him toward her.

She settled next to him carefully, acutely aware of his injuries and the need to avoid causing him further pain. But as she shifted to find a comfortable position, her elbow accidentally bumped against his ribs, and he couldn’t suppress a groan of pain.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, hastening to move a little farther away from him, creating space between their bodies. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That is a new development,” he said, and though there was dry humor in his voice, she could hear the underlying pain as well.

She rolled her eyes heavenward, exasperated by his stubbornness. “I never wanted to hurt you, Gideon.”

“Yet you tried anyway.” The words weren’t accusatory, just a statement of fact.

“I did,” she admitted quietly. “At the beginning.” She looked down at their joined hands. “Gideon, I told you the truth about the fire. I didn’t mean for you to die there. I should have told you everything from the start; I know that now. But I didn’t think you trusted me enough to listen.”

“Because you didn’t trust me fully either,” he observed, and there was no condemnation in his voice.

“I didn’t,” she agreed. “Did you? Trust me, I mean?”

He was quiet for a long moment, and she could almost feel him thinking, weighing his words carefully.

“I think deep down, I always trusted you,” he said slowly.

“It wasn’t wise; it wasn’t logical, but I just…

I just trusted you.” He paused, and she felt him shift slightly beside her.

“I understand why the Cardinal chose you to be his assassin. You have an aura about you, something that draws people in. You wrap your prey in a haze, and it’s not easy to escape from it.

But more importantly, I don’t think anyone would want to escape from it.

It feels so warm and comfortable… it feels like home. ”

His words should have been flattering, but instead, they made something cold settle in her stomach.

“I don’t believe I have that effect on everyone,” she said quietly. At least, I hope I don’t.

“Certainly on enough men over the years since the Cardinal deemed you necessary for over a decade.”

She didn’t like to think about her past that way, didn’t like to examine too closely what she had become or what she had been forced to do. She had simply done what was necessary to survive, to protect Emir, to keep them both alive in a world that seemed determined to destroy them.

She hadn’t enjoyed it. She had never taken pleasure in the deception, the seduction, the violence that followed. It had all been a means to an end, a role she played because the alternative was death.

But she was good at it.

Was that all she was good at? To ensnare men into a trap and eliminate them when they were no longer useful?

And if so, was the attraction between Gideon and her just a charade? Would it fade away once the danger was over?

What would she even do once she rescued Emir— if she rescued him? She didn’t have a penny to her name, no resources, no connections beyond the Cardinal.

Emir had received an education as one of her conditions to work for the Cardinal. Perhaps he would be able to find legitimate work somewhere, could build a normal life for himself. But her…

All she knew how to do was deceive, seduce, and kill. Those were her only skills, her only talents. What kind of life could she build with such a foundation? What kind of future could she offer anyone, least of all a man like Gideon?

Gideon’s head grew heavy against her shoulder, his breathing deepened and slowed, and she realized that exhaustion and pain had finally overtaken him again. In sleep, the harsh lines of pain and wariness smoothed from his features, making him look younger, more vulnerable.

She believed he was simply too injured to remain conscious for extended periods. His body needed rest to heal, needed time to recover from the beating he had endured on her behalf.

She didn’t know how they were going to manage their escape.

She had spoken confidently about having a plan, but the truth was far more precarious.

The dagger hidden beneath her gave them a weapon, but they were still trapped in a cell, still surrounded by guards, still weak from days of inadequate food and water.

But they needed to make their move soon. Every moment they delayed increased the chances of discovery, the likelihood that the Cardinal would arrive. And once that happened, she knew that neither of them would leave this place alive.

* * *

Gideon awoke at dusk.

The first sensation was pain—a dull, persistent throb that radiated from his ribs with each shallow breath. His left eye felt swollen shut, and when he attempted to move his head, a sharp spike of agony shot through his skull.

How long have I been out?

The cell was dim, shadows pooling in the corners where the dying light from the tiny window couldn’t reach. He blinked his eyes, trying to focus.

He didn’t remember the guards entering their cell in the morning, but there was an empty bowl and cup by his side. Had Leila fed him, and he didn’t even remember it?

She still sat beside him, her arm threaded through his, his body leaning against her slender form.

Her warmth was the only comfort in this cold, damp place.

He could feel the steady rhythm of her breathing and the faint scent of flowers that clung to her despite their circumstances. When he shifted slightly, she tensed.

“Did the guard come in the morning?” he asked, his voice barely more than a rasp. His throat felt like he had swallowed glass.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice calm and sure.

“I didn’t hear him,” he admitted, the taste bitter on his tongue.

While he had been sleeping, unaware of what was happening, the guards could have hurt Leila without him knowing.

Fortunately, Leila wasn’t a helpless damsel. She had that dagger beside her that they managed to hide from the guards. They were unshackled, although the guards didn’t know that.

But if that hadn’t been the case… Gideon didn’t want to think about what might have happened.

They needed to escape.

Now.

His eyes swept their prison cell for what felt like the hundredth time. The tiny window that allowed a bit of sunlight during the day was too small—barely wide enough for his fist to fit through. Even Leila, with her delicate frame, wouldn’t fit through it, much less his broad shoulders.