Page 43 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

G ideon had said they needed to be discreet, so Leila fashioned a cloak and a couple of masks from an old curtain she’d found in the trunk. She did her best with needle and thread, though her handiwork was far from perfect.

Now, as they left the tower for the first time in a week, she wore a shirt and breeches that were too large for her, an uneven cloak, and a mask.

Their time in the tower had been strange—a peculiar interlude of domesticity amid the chaos of their lives. It had been nice, even pleasant, to spend days with Gideon when he wasn’t in one of his irritable moods.

Most of the time, he was attentive and caring.

They talked about various topics that didn’t pertain to the Brotherhood or their pasts—books, philosophy, and the way sunlight fell through the narrow windows at different hours.

They read books that Leila had found in a small library just behind the larder, taking turns reading aloud by firelight.

And they healed, both in body and spirit.

But it was the nights that tormented her most. Leila found herself sleeping closer to him each night, drawn by his warmth and the steady rhythm of his breathing. Yet Gideon hadn’t made a move to touch her, not even brushing her hand in passing.

Perhaps he’d lost interest in her, though she had noticed the contrary in the way he looked at her.

She decided not to dwell on it now. She needed to save Emir. That was all that mattered.

They stopped by a dark, small building on the outskirts of town.

The structure seemed to lean inward, as if keeping secrets.

Gideon led her around to the side, his fingers finding a loose board that swung open to reveal a hidden entrance.

He moved with confidence, quickly locating a door that led to a narrow corridor between the walls.

The space was cramped and smelled of old wood and something else—wax, perhaps?

“How do you know this place so well?” Leila whispered.

“I was watching it for a few nights,” he answered quietly, as if that explanation sufficed.

Watching for what? Or whom? But she didn’t press him.

They made their way through the building via this hidden passage, then stepped out from the walls through another concealed panel.

After a couple of steps down a dimly lit hallway, they found themselves face to face with a tall woman in a seductive garment that left little to the imagination.

She wore a towering white wig adorned with ribbons and feathers, and her face was painted with rouge and kohl, making her eyes appear enormous in the lamplight.

The woman looked them up and down, her painted lips curving into a professional smile. “Can I offer you a private room?” she asked, her voice honeyed and inviting.

Leila felt heat rise in her cheeks and looked away, suddenly fascinated by the ornate wallpaper.

“I’d like to meet your owner,” Gideon said confidently.

The woman’s smile faltered slightly. “I’m afraid that is not possible. The owner is not taking guests.”

“She will take us,” Gideon insisted, stepping closer to the woman. He leaned in and whispered something in her ear, his words too low for Leila to catch.

Whatever he said transformed the woman’s demeanor entirely. Her painted eyebrows rose, and genuine surprise flickered across her features before settling into a knowing smile. “Follow me.”

She led them through a dark corridor lined with doors. Muffled sounds drifted from behind the closed doors—laughter, conversation, and other things that made Leila’s face burn. Finally, the woman stopped at a door at the end of the hall, knocked twice, then opened it and gestured for them to enter.

“Wait here,” she said before closing the door behind them.

The office was small but richly appointed, featuring a large mahogany desk, a comfortable armchair upholstered in deep green velvet, and a fire blazing merrily in the ornate hearth. The walls were lined with ledgers and what appeared to be account books.

“What is this place?” Leila asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

“It’s a… bawdy house,” Gideon confirmed her suspicions, his voice neutral. “But a rather expensive and exclusive one.”

Leila’s stomach clenched with disgust and disappointment. “You work with people like these?” she said, unable to keep the grimace from her voice. “How are they better than the Brotherhood?”

“Because we don’t force our workers here,” came a smooth voice from behind them.

They turned to see a woman in a similar dress, wig, and paint as the one who had led them in, though this woman carried herself differently.

She moved to close the door, then reached up to remove her elaborate wig, revealing jet-black hair.

Without the towering hairpiece, she appeared younger and more natural, though no less striking.

She waved a graceful hand toward the chairs. “Please, sit.”

Leila remained rooted in place, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. “No, thank you.”

The woman’s expression didn’t change; her smile remained patient and understanding.

“That’s your prerogative,” she said, her voice soothing and even.

“But if your hesitation stems from the belief that the women who work here have no choice, I assure you, they do. They choose to be here. They love what they do—love making love, giving, and receiving pleasure.”

She paused, settling gracefully into the chair behind the desk, and studied Leila with sharp, intelligent eyes. “Does that surprise you? Perhaps because you haven’t felt the same?”

Leila felt her face flush hot. “I’ve been forced to please men before,” she said, her voice tight. “And I assure you, I didn’t relish it.”

The proprietress—who was clearly who this woman was—didn’t seem offended by Leila’s sharp tone.

Instead, she leaned forward slightly, her expression compassionate.

“But that’s where you and the men and women who work here differ.

They enjoy it. They find power in it, pleasure in it.

There’s a difference between force and choice, between survival and desire. ”

“Men?” Leila was genuinely surprised, her eyebrows rising. “You mean… harlots can be men, too?”

A genuine smile crossed the woman’s painted features.

“Yes, we have a women’s wing as well, where men service the ladies who’d like to experience pleasure…

sometimes for the first time.” Her eyes glittered with mischief as she looked Leila up and down appraisingly.

“Perhaps you’d like to sample our services for yourself?

I have several young men who specialize in… gentle introductions.”

Before Leila could respond, Gideon’s voice cut through the air. “That would not be necessary,” he said, his tone low and laced with unmistakable warning. His jaw was clenched tight, and she could see a muscle ticking in his temple. “And that’s not why we are here, Grace.”

The proprietress’s head snapped up at the sound of her name, her playful expression shifting to one of sharp attention. She narrowed her dark eyes on him, studying his face as if seeing him clearly for the first time. “Right,” she said slowly. “Why are you here?”

“To ask for a favor,” Gideon said, though his tone made it sound more like a demand than a request. “From your husband. I had no other way of reaching him, and he mentioned that if I needed assistance, he was willing to help. Or at least, I assume that’s what he meant.”

Grace paused, her fingers drumming a thoughtful rhythm against the fine wood of her desk. Then she gave a little wave with her fingers, the gesture both dismissive and decisive. “I will call for him.”

Gideon shifted his weight, and Leila caught a glimpse of something that might have been uncertainty in his posture. “As a matter of courtesy, I’d like to inform you that we are being hunted. Helping us would mean putting yourself and your business in danger.”

Grace didn’t flinch at the warning. “Wouldn’t be the first time.

Probably won’t be the last, either. I’m living with a thief-taker—I know the risks that come with this kind of work.

” Her eyes swept over them both, taking in their ill-fitting clothes and hastily made disguises.

“But perhaps you’d like a change of clothes while we wait? ”

“You won’t even ask us what we want your husband’s help for?” Leila demanded, slightly perturbed by the woman’s casual acceptance.

Grace shrugged. “I know who you are,” she said, tilting her head meaningfully toward Gideon. “And I have an inkling of why you are here. It’s my business to know things.”

“I thought it was your business to sell people’s bodies,” Leila countered, unable to keep the edge from her voice.

“We sell pleasure, not bodies,” Grace corrected airily. “The bodies remain free—that’s rather the point.” Her expression grew more serious, though her smile remained. “We are very particular about our clientele. If anyone threatens the safety of our workers, they are taken care of very quickly.”

There was something in her tone that suggested this wasn’t an idle threat.

“And occasionally you sell information,” Gideon prompted.

“Ah, yes.” Grace’s smile turned sharp, predatory.

“But you know where our loyalties lie. We are against the same people, or you wouldn’t be here, would you?

” She leaned back in her chair, studying them both with her intelligent dark eyes.

“Our clients are known to be loose-pursed and loose-tongued when they’re…

relaxed. But don’t worry—only the rich and unscrupulous really have anything to lose here.

” Her gaze fixed on Leila with uncomfortable intensity.

“If you have some skeletons in your closet, perhaps you shouldn’t visit our rooms after all. ”

Leila instinctively stepped back. The movement was small, but Grace caught it immediately, and her smile took on a strange, unsettling quality that didn’t quite reach her dark eyes.