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Heat flooded Leila’s cheeks as the full humiliation of the moment crashed over her. Other couples flowed around her in the graceful patterns of the minuet, their steps precise and serene—as if she weren’t standing in their midst like a misplaced chess piece. She had to step aside quickly to avoid being jostled by a particularly vigorous pair.

“Lady Leila, would you allow me to finish the dance with you?” Lord Payne—ever the perfect host—appeared at her elbow, concern etched on his face, offering a gallant gesture that only heightened her embarrassment.

The kindly host was trying to save her from social disaster, and if she were a diplomat’s poised wife, she would have accepted.

However, her prey had just rushed out of the room. Why? Had Norfolk bitten the bait? Was that why Gideon had run like the devil’s dogs were on his tail?

“Thank you, my lord, but I must offer my apologies,” she said, forcing a bright smile that felt like broken glass on her lips. “I fear I am not quite myself this evening.”

She hurried toward the edge of the dance floor, her eyes frantically scanning the assembled guests. Norfolk was nowhere to be seen among the dancers or the seated observers along the walls.

Siktir! she cursed under her breath.

Gathering her skirts, she rushed toward the gardens, cursing the puffy gown that impeded her movements with each step.

The night air was cool against her flushed skin as she navigated the darkened garden paths. Her slippers were silent on the gravel as she approached the gazebo, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain it could be heard across the grounds.

Was she too late?

She hid behind the bushes, trying to conceal herself as she strained to make out any shadows inside the gazebo.

She crept closer, moving slower and slower until she froze completely.

There was a dark silhouette of a man standing inside the gazebo, motionless, looming over something large lying on the ground.

Her eyes couldn’t discern exactly what she was seeing.

But her mind knew. It was Wolverstone.

She was too late.

He had killed Norfolk. Because of her.

At that moment, as if sensing her presence, he turned his head and looked directly at her. Even in the darkness, she could see his eyes reflecting the moonlight like a predator’s.

Leila picked up her skirts and dashed away from the garden as fast as her legs could carry her, and her skirts would allow.

Where am I running?

She couldn’t return to the musicale, alert everyone, and risk drawing too much attention to herself. She needed to stay calm. Think rationally.

So she turned and ran toward the garden gate that led to the street, desperate to reach her carriage before he could catch up to her.

But before she could find safety, she heard his footsteps pounding behind her, gaining ground with every stride. Then, a strong hand snatched her by the waist, turning her around and pressing her legs against the garden fence.

Leila let out a screech, but he covered her mouth with his palm.

“You didn’t see a thing,” he said, his voice chillingly calm.

“You’re right,” she mumbled against his palm, nodding frantically. “I didn’t see a thing.”

He removed his hand, his eyes filled with pain. “I can’t risk you telling anyone.”

“I won’t,” she hurried to assure him, fumbling quietly with the back of her bodice, searching for her trusted dagger. “Who would believe me, even if I did?”

“Your husband has powerful allies.”

If she weren’t terrified to her core, she would have laughed. Instead, she replied, “You’re mistaken. No one would believe a woman over a powerful duke.”