Page 5 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

The storm hit him the moment he stepped outside. Rain stung his face, and the wind tried to rip his hat away. He pressed it to his head and hurried toward the carriage that lay on its side —one door crushed against the cobblestones, the other wedged shut by the twisted frame.

How in the hell did this happen?

Through the half-open window, he could hear the soft muttering of a young woman and the sloshing of water. Rain was pouring in through the broken window, slowly filling the carriage.

“Don’t worry, madam,” he shouted over the rain. “I’m going to get you out.”

Gideon examined the stuck door. The hinges were bent but not broken. He shook his head, again surprised this could have even happened.

“Were you struck by something?” he asked the footman.

“You see, sir, there’s no way to open it!” the footman shouted over the downpour, not having heard Gideon’s question. He was demonstratively tugging on the door handle, rattling the carriage.

“Right, right, stop!” Gideon yelled, tapping the man on the shoulder.

He paused, a strange feeling raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Gideon looked around, suddenly certain he was being watched.

“Help!” came the soft voice from inside the carriage. “I’m going to drown in here!”

Gideon shook off the strange feeling and focused on the door. He raised his cane and brought the wolf’s head down hard on the upper hinge.

Metal shrieked.

Another blow, then another, until it snapped.

“Now, that wasn’t hard,” he murmured under his breath.

The lower hinge was more stubborn, but eventually, it gave way. He wrenched the door free and, with help from the footman, tossed it aside.

The carriage was half-filled with water, and the woman—completely soaked—was crouched inside.

“Are you hurt?” Gideon asked over the sound of the rain.

The woman looked up at him from the wreckage, and he instantly recognized her.

Even soaked and disheveled, looking like a drowned rat—no, she looked like a drowned cat… a slick, black cat with eyes shining like diamonds in the night. Her raven-black hair stuck to her face and neck, only deepening her resemblance to a slick feline.

A little panther.

“Your Grace?” Her accented voice was musical despite her distress… Was she distressed? She seemed rather calm. “That was quite impressive.” She glanced at the door lying to the side of the road.

Gideon offered his hand. “Lady…” he paused, trying to remember her name. It was on the tip of his tongue. Lydia? Lily? He decided not to guess. “…of Smyrna.”

She smiled and placed her cold hand in his. She wasn’t wearing any gloves, and neither was he. The contact of skin on skin sent a jolt through him. Surely, it was the shock of her cold limbs. “Leila. Please, call me Leila.”

“I can’t use your Christian name,” he said evenly. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

“Good thing it’s not Christian, then.”

He stepped closer, slipped an arm around her waist, and lifted her from the carriage. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her body against his, clinging to him.

She was warm despite the freezing rain, and his body couldn’t help but react to the closeness. The scent of jasmine mixed with the fresh scent of rain created a heady, almost intoxicating allure.

He set her safely on the cobblestones, hesitating for a moment before releasing her from his grasp.

“Thank you,” she said, her warm breath hitting his cheek. Her smile quickly turned to concern—and then alarm—as she turned away. She picked up her wet skirts and ran toward the horses. “Mr. Rodgers!”

Gideon followed her. Only after rounding the carriage did he notice an older man lying on the ground, a deep gash in his leg, bleeding freely.

Leila bravely attempted to help the coachman stand, but he proved too heavy for her.

Gideon crouched over him. “Are you hurt anywhere other than your leg?”

Mr. Rodgers shook his head weakly.

“What the devil happened here?” Gideon asked, leaning closer to inspect the injury.

“We were attacked,” the coachman replied.

“Attacked?” Leila’s voice was filled with panic. It seemed even she hadn’t known what had occurred before the carriage ended up on its side.

“Yes. They had canes and knives, but luckily, no guns. I turned a gun on them, and they ran off—but not before managing to overturn the carriage.”

Gideon stood abruptly and scanned the surroundings. His instincts hadn’t failed him. Someone had been watching him when he left the house. Or rather, someone had been observing the entire scene. He didn’t feel an eerie sensation now. Perhaps the attackers had left, but he couldn’t be certain.

Leila stood beside him, her arms wrapped around her stomach, looking miserable and disturbed. Gideon took off his hat and placed it on her head.

“Hold on to that. You”—he turned to the footman—“help me get the coachman up. We need to get inside. Now.”

Gideon hoisted the coachman’s arm over the footman’s shoulders, steadying him before reaching for Leila.

“Stay close to me,” he said, his grip firm around her arm.

With the injured coachman supported between them, the four of them hurried through the rain toward the house.

The butler held the door open for them as they rushed inside.

“Hobbes,” Gideon called once they entered. “It seems you’ll have to wake Mrs. Hill after all. We’re having guests tonight. And call for a physician.”

Leila scrubbed her wet hair away from her face, water dripping from her fingers. “No need. His wound doesn’t seem very deep. I can take care of it on my own, as long as you have the supplies.”

Gideon raised a brow.

“I come from a family of healers; trust me. I can help Mr. Rodgers better than any English physician. Besides, it will take them hours to get here in the rain.”

While Gideon couldn’t assess the seriousness of Mr. Rodgers’ wound, he knew she was right regarding the time it would take for a doctor to arrive. In heavy rain like this, it would take over an hour just to send a footman to fetch one.

“Fine,” Gideon said as the housekeeper appeared in the hall, her breath labored, her apron askew. “Mrs. Hill, please prepare a room for our injured guest and give Lady Leila anything she needs to treat him. Then arrange rooms for the footman and the lady. We are having guests tonight.”

Leila looked up at him with relief. “That is very generous of you to keep us overnight. I wouldn’t wish to be traveling in this rain again tonight.”

Not in this rain. Not when somebody is after you.

“It is my pleasure.”

Two of Gideon’s footmen appeared, flanking the injured coachman as they followed Mrs. Hill—her apron now straightened, her composure restored.

Leila paused to wring some of the water from her soaked gown before falling into step behind them, with Gideon bringing up the rear.

They stopped outside a modest servant’s room, where the footmen carefully eased the coachman onto the narrow bed.

Gideon was soaked through, and his skin crawled from the cold. He could only imagine how frigid and miserable Leila must have felt. Still, she didn’t complain. She calmly listed the items she needed and began directing Gideon’s servants as if they were her own.

Gideon watched from the doorway as she worked, cleaning the wound and dressing it, moving with confidence—though her hands trembled.

Water pooled on the floor around her feet, and she had to pause several times to turn away as sneezes racked her body.

When she finally finished, she walked out of the room, leaving Mr. Rodgers to rest for the night.

Leila wrapped her arms around her middle, shivering as water dripped steadily from her hair and clothes onto the floor.

“Achoo!” She sneezed again into a simple cloth she’d gotten from Mrs. Hill. “Forgive me.”

“You’re soaked through,” Gideon noted. He pulled out a half-wet handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to her, then called, “Mrs. Hill! Is the room for Lady Leila ready?”

The housekeeper hurried toward him. “Almost, my lord. All the guest rooms have been unoccupied for years—they’re so cold it would take hours to warm them up…”

Gideon, despite having inherited the Wolverstone title only a few weeks earlier, refused to move into the previous duke’s house. He’d kept his own old townhouse, which hadn’t been in use for over a decade.

“She’ll catch her death if that’s the case,” Gideon grumbled.

“Of course, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said, twisting her apron. “That’s why I asked the maids to prepare the blue chamber.”

“No,” he said sharply, without pause, making the poor woman flinch. “Not that room.”

Not the blue chamber. Anything but that.

“But Your Grace, all the other chambers have been closed for so long,” she hastened to explain. “They’re cold and damp, and it would take hours to air them properly and light the fires. The blue chamber is the only one that remains close to the source of heat from your own hearth.”

Because it sat right next to it—connected to his room by an adjoining door.

Gideon shot her a look that made her take a step back.

“I can take a chamber in the servants’ quarters that is not—” Lady Leila began, trying to ease the tension, but Gideon cut her off, slicing the air with his hand.

“No, that’s fine. I would never dream of keeping my guests in the servants’ quarters.” The words came out as a growl, but Gideon forced himself to say them. “The blue chamber it is.”

“Really, Your Grace, I am quite content—” Lady Leila tried again, but her insistence only made him more irate.

“No.” He ground out. “You’re staying in the blue chamber. That’s final.”

She swallowed, her chest rising and falling rapidly with quick breaths.

He had frightened her. And Mrs. Hill.

The poor housekeeper backed away. “It will be a few minutes before the room is ready, Your Grace,” she mumbled before turning and practically running away.

Gideon closed his eyes and tried to temper his foul mood.

“Come,” he said after a brief silence. “You can warm up by the hearth in the meantime.”

Leila didn’t say a word, but she followed him down the hallway to his bedchamber.