Page 40 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

T he place Gideon called William’s Tower was indeed an actual little tower rising from the earth like something from a children’s tale. As they approached through the forest, Leila found herself surprised that this was where he was leading them.

What is this place?

It stood on the vast grounds of what must have once been a grand estate, though the main house was nowhere to be seen.

The stables were quite a distance from the tower. Leila dismounted first. The ride had been longer than she’d thought it would be, and her body was beginning to protest the events of the night.

Gideon slid down from the horse with less grace, gripping the saddle for a moment to steady himself. His face was pale in the moonlight, and she noticed the fine tremor in his hands.

After ensuring the horse was comfortable and secure, they made their way to the tower’s entrance, obscured by a tangle of flowering vines that would have hidden it completely from casual observation.

Only someone who knew exactly where to look could find the narrow wooden door set deep into the stone archway.

Gideon rummaged through the stones and found a key hidden there. “I placed it there,” he explained.

Leila didn’t pry further. She was too exhausted to speak, and it was clear this was not the first time Gideon had been to this place.

When she stepped inside, she was pleasantly surprised by its size. It wasn’t a grand palace, but it was more spacious than she’d expected.

The main floor was a single room dominated by a large stone hearth that still held the ashes of a previous fire.

Beside it, a neat stack of seasoned wood waited to be burned.

The furniture was sparse—a heavy wooden table, a few chairs, shelves built into the walls, and a single armchair near the hearth.

The larder, however, was a revelation. Accessible through a narrow door by the hearth on the main floor, it led downstairs. Shelves lined with preserved foods made her mouth water just by looking at them.

There was stale bread that would be perfectly edible once toasted, several varieties of cheese, bottles of wine, honey, jam, and an assortment of cured meats. There were also tea and other herbs.

Leila could prepare a decent meal and fashion a nice salve for their wounds.

“The previous owner had excellent taste,” she murmured as she selected items for their first real meal in days.

“He had many talents,” Gideon replied, and there was something in his tone that made her look at him more closely. Yet, his expression remained unreadable in the flickering light.

Having grown accustomed to luxury during her years with the Cardinal—living in vast mansions with endless

rooms—she now stood in this simple tower and realized that none of that had ever felt like home.

This place did. She could truly live here.

All she needed was one bedchamber where she could rest without fear, one small closet for privacy while washing, and a kitchen to prepare simple meals with her own hands. The stocked larder was a wonderful boon, but even without it, this place would have felt like a sanctuary.

Perhaps it reminded her of their little home above the apothecary shop where her mother worked. Small but cozy, it felt just like this place.

She arranged different foods on the kitchen table while Gideon brought in water for tea. After days of imprisonment and exhaustion, however, they could hardly eat.

They merely took the edge off their hunger with bread and cheese before Gideon fell asleep in the armchair by the blazing hearth.

Letting him rest, she ventured outside to draw water from the well. It was an old structure, lined with moss-covered stones, and the water that came up in the wooden bucket was clear and cold.

She couldn’t resist drinking a few drops directly from the bucket.

She heated the well water in a large iron pot suspended over the hearth, and while it warmed, she explored the upper floor of the tower.

Above the main room was what had clearly been the master bedroom, complete with a large bed frame and two heavy wooden trunks.

To her delight, she discovered a small dressing chamber that contained not only a chamber pot but also a lovely copper bathtub.

A bath would be nice, but—she glanced down at her bloodied clothes—she would need some clean clothing as well. She returned to the bedchamber and rummaged through the trunks. Most had been emptied by whoever cleared out the tower, but a few items of clothing remained.

She found a couple of shirts that might be a little snug but would ultimately fit Gideon, a pair of breeches, and one nightshirt that was loose enough not to aggravate his injuries.

There were also a couple of women’s shifts—simple but clean, made of soft cotton that felt luxurious against her fingertips. No actual clothing for her, just the night shift, but that would suffice, she supposed. Better than their bloody rags.

In another trunk, she discovered some sheets, an old dark curtain, and a warm blanket.

She pulled out one sheet and ripped it into pieces, needing the cloth to clean and dress Gideon’s wounds. Then she gathered all the items she had found and bundled them on the bed.

When she returned to the main floor, she found Gideon still slumped in the armchair, his head tilted back and his eyes closed. For a moment, she thought he was asleep, but then he spoke without opening his eyes.

“I need a bath,” he said earnestly. “Violently.”

Leila couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her.

“A violent bath?” she asked, moving to check the temperature of the water heating over the fire. “Are you certain that’s what you want? Because I can give you a gentle one instead.”

The water was steaming hot, so she carefully carried the heavy pot upstairs to the dressing chamber.

By the time she brought the pot back, Gideon had fallen asleep again. He was too tired to stay awake even for a few minutes. Filling the copper tub took several trips, but by the time she finished, the water was pleasantly warm rather than piping hot.

Perfect.

“Your bath awaits, Your Grace,” she called down the stairs, hearing his footsteps—slow but steady—as he made his way up to join her.

When he appeared in the doorway of the dressing chamber, she was struck once again by how much the ordeal had cost him. His movements were careful and guarded, and she could see him favoring his left side, where the worst bruising darkened his ribs.

Without ceremony, he began to undress, and she found herself both wanting to look away and unable to do so. Not because of desire—though she was not blind to his masculine appeal—but because of the horror at what had been done to him.

His body was painted in shades of purple, black, and sickly yellow-green. The bruises covered his torso, and she could see the distinct outlines of boot prints where his captors had kicked him.

He settled into the warm water with a sigh that seemed to come from his very soul, and she noticed some of the tension leaving his shoulders as the heat began to work on his battered muscles.

She rolled up her sleeves and knelt beside the tub, dipping a soft cloth into the warm water. “Let me help you with this.”

He started to protest but then seemed to think better of it and simply nodded.

She began with his face, wiping away the dried blood and grime with gentle, careful strokes. There was a cut above his left eyebrow, and that eye was swollen almost shut. His lip was split in two places, but nothing that wouldn’t heal with time and care.

Working her way down, she cleaned his neck and shoulders. His skin was warm under her touch, and she could feel the tension in his muscles beginning to ease.

The worst bruising was across his ribs and down his left side, and she found herself holding her breath as she cleaned the darkest areas.

Next, she washed his arms, noting the wounds from the iron shackles. She had matching ones on her own wrists. The skin was raw and angry, and she made a mental note to prepare a salve for those particular injuries.

When she reached for his hands, he caught her hand gently.

“Leila,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” she replied simply. “I want to.”

He smiled a little. “I wish I could return the favor…” He paused, his breathing ragged. “Perhaps not tonight.”

How could he still possess humor when he was in so much pain?

“I will definitely take you up on the offer,” she replied with a smile. “But tonight, you’re all mine.”

His smile turned wistful. “I rather like the sound of that.”

She cleaned his hands—his split knuckles and scraped palms—then moved lower to his abdomen and legs. She let him take care of his intimate parts, respectfully averting her gaze.

She’d seen him naked before, but this was different. She wanted him to have his privacy. His dignity.

By the time she finished, the worst of the blood and grime was gone, and Gideon looked more human than he had since their escape.

“Can you stand?” she asked, offering him her arm for support.

He nodded and rose slowly from the tub, water streaming down his body. She helped him dry off with clean cloths and then guided him toward the bedroom.

Now for the real work.

She helped him settle against the pillows, noting how his breathing remained shallow and careful.

While he rested, she gathered her supplies from the kitchen—honey from the larder, clean water, and strips of linen she’d torn from one of the abandoned sheets. She had also managed to make some salve for his bruises.

“What are you planning to do with all that?” he asked, eyeing her supplies with suspicion when she returned.

“Take proper care of you,” she said firmly. “No arguments.”

She worked slowly and delicately, careful not to hurt him. She cleaned each injury and applied honey to the worst of the cuts before beginning to wrap his ribs with the linen strips.

When she finished, she sat back to examine her work. The binding was neat and secure, and all his other wounds were covered as well.