Page 48 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

H elen’s eyes fluttered open to the sound of silence—a quality of quiet that felt wrong, incomplete.

Instinctively, her hand reached across the expanse of cool linen to Ian’s side of the bed, finding only empty space where his warm body should have been.

The sheets were cold to the touch, suggesting he had been gone for some time.

Cold sweat began to bead along her spine as she sat up abruptly, her heart hammering against her ribs. The curtains were drawn tight against the night, but thin slivers of moonlight filtered through the gaps, casting silver shadows across the empty pillow beside her.

“Ian?” she called softly into the darkness, though she already knew he wouldn’t answer.

This was the first time in their short marriage that he had simply vanished without explanation. Even when his work for the Crown required his absence, he always informed her beforehand, always kissed her goodbye with promises of his return.

Memories of her previous marriage crept into her consciousness unbidden.

Greyson—her former husband—had perfected the art of the midnight disappearance. He would hold her close, whisper sweet endearments as she drifted off to sleep, and then slip away like a thief in the night. She would wake to cold sheets, knowing he was in the arms of one of his numerous mistresses.

Ian is not Greyson, she told herself firmly, pressing her palms against her temples as if she could physically push away the negative thoughts.

Her second husband was everything her first had not been—faithful, honest, devoted.

He had proven his love to her in countless ways since their marriage, had been patient with her fears and gentle with her ailment.

But then a far more frightening thought crashed over her, one that made her previous fears seem almost trivial by comparison.

Ian wasn’t Greyson, but he worked for the Crown, and his work was inherently, unavoidably dangerous.

What if someone had discovered his identity? What if he had been forced to leave quickly, without time for explanations? What if he was lying somewhere, bleeding, calling her name while she slept peacefully in their warm bed?

Her breathing became shallow and rapid as panic began to claw at her chest. She pressed her hand over her heart, trying to steady its frantic rhythm, when her eyes caught sight of something pale against the dark wood of her bedside table.

With trembling fingers, she reached for the candle and lit it. The flame flickered to life, casting dancing shadows on the walls and illuminating a folded piece of paper that hadn’t been there when she’d gone to sleep.

She unfolded the note and read:

Gone for a short, easy mission. Will be back before dawn. Do not worry, though I know you will anyway, but please try. This is nothing more dangerous than an evening ride, I promise you.

All my love,Ian

Despite her anxiety, Helen found herself smiling. He knew her so well. He must have known that she would worry anyway, despite his reassurances.

Helen slipped from the bed, her bare feet finding her slippers in the darkness.

She pulled on her silk dressing gown and padded to the tall window that overlooked the front drive.

Drawing back the heavy curtains, she peered out into the night, searching for any sign of an approaching horse and rider.

Everything was still and peaceful, but there was no sign of her husband.

After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Helen made her way to the comfortable reading chair Ian had insisted on placing by the window. Drawing her legs up beneath her and wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, she reached for the book on the side table.

She opened the book, but it was useless, as she kept rereading the same paragraph over and over again, all her thoughts returning to Ian. She forced herself to concentrate on the book and—

The next thing she knew, warm lips were pressing against her forehead, and gentle hands were smoothing the hair away from her face.

“Helen,” Ian’s voice was soft, tinged with both affection and apology. “My darling, why are you in the chair when there’s a perfect bed two feet away?”

Her eyes flew open to find him kneeling beside her chair, still dressed in his dark riding clothes but blessedly, wonderfully whole.

She must have fallen asleep.

Without thinking, she threw her arms around his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of him—leather, horses, and that undeniable scent that was uniquely him.

“You’re back,” she whispered against his neck, her voice thick with relief.

He chuckled softly, his arms coming around her to hold her close. “I told you not to worry,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Of course I was worried, she thought, though she didn’t say it aloud. The accusation would be unfair—he couldn’t help the nature of his work any more than she could help her tendency to imagine the worst.

“I know,” he said anyway, reading her thoughts as he so often did.

He scooped her up from the chair, one arm supporting her back and the other beneath her knees.

She felt weightless in his arms as he carried her to their bed, settling her gently against the pillows before beginning to remove his boots and coat.

“I wish your job didn’t require you to leave the house in the middle of the night,” she said, watching him move about their room.

“It wasn’t a job,” he answered. Even in the dim light, she could see the slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “An old friend asked for a favor.”

Helen’s curiosity was piqued. “What sort of favor requires skulking about in the middle of the night?”

Ian’s smile widened into something approaching a grin. “He needed me to break into his own house to steal some papers.” He chuckled at her expression of bewilderment. “I know how it sounds.”

“His own house?” Helen sat up straighter, certain she must have misheard. “Why would someone need help breaking into their own property?”

“Because he’s being watched,” Ian explained, sitting on the edge of the bed to remove his remaining clothes. “His movements are being monitored, but mine are not. So it was actually quite safe—nothing more dangerous than an evening’s entertainment.”

Helen studied his face in the candlelight, searching for any sign that he was minimizing the risk to spare her feelings. But his expression was open and honest, his posture relaxed in a way that suggested genuine confidence in his assessment.

“Are you absolutely certain it wasn’t dangerous?” she pressed.

“I’m certain,” he said firmly, reaching over to cup her face in his hands.

His thumbs traced gentle circles on her cheekbones as he leaned down to brush his lips against hers.

“It was nothing more than helping a friend retrieve some documents that belonged to him in the first place. No violence, no chases, no dramatic escapes through windows.”

The kiss was soft and reassuring, tasting of night air. Helen felt the last of her tension begin to melt away, replaced by a different kind of awareness as Ian’s weight settled beside her on the mattress.

“But since we’re both awake now,” he murmured against her lips, his voice dropping to that particular tone that never failed to send heat coursing through her veins.

His hand traced a lazy path from her ankle to her knee, then higher, slipping beneath the hem of her nightshift to caress the sensitive skin of her thigh.

Helen’s laugh was breathless and joyful as relief transformed into desire. She pulled him down for a kiss that was anything but gentle.

“Welcome home,” she whispered against his mouth, feeling him smile in return.

“It’s good to be back,” he replied, and then there was no more need for words at all.