Page 54

He tried a couple of doors, only to be met with the same emptiness there as well. It seemed that only Leila’s chamber was furnished.

Returning to Leila’s chamber, Gideon began a more systematic search. In the dressing table drawer, he found them—small glass vials with meticulously written labels in Arabic script. His knowledge of the language was limited, but he could make out enough to understand these were not perfumes or cosmetics.

Medicines? Poisons?

He lifted one vial to his nose and inhaled carefully. Fresh mint—exactly like the fragrance that had clung to Leila’s lips the night they kissed. The night he’d fallen mysteriously ill. The night he’d attributed his symptoms to overwhelming emotion and desire.

What a fool you were.

Everything became extremely clear. The sudden onset of his illness, the blurriness of his vision, and the disorientation that had lasted for hours—all of it made sense now. He had been so besotted, so blind to everything except his growing feelings for her, that he had missed the obvious explanation.

She had tried to poison him. And probably more than once.

On the night they met, she had tipped her wine into his glass—this was attempt number one. The second attempt was the staged carriage crash outside his window, no doubt. He had thought the way her door frame caved in seemed suspect, but he attributed it to an attack, except the attack was on him.

She could have easily killed him in his sleep that night, but he had awoken from a nightmare just in time.

“See, I told you,” he whispered to the invisible ghost of his late wife. “She isn’t so innocent after all.”

Chapter 10

Leila strained her wrists against the restraints, the silk ties cutting into her skin with each futile pull. In a way, he had given her the perfect opportunity to complete her mission. She was in his room, in his bed, with no one but his servants aware of her presence. If she could free her wrists before he returned, she could hide behind the door and attack him the moment he entered.

He would likely overpower her, but she was willing to take that chance. He had taken both her daggers, but thanks to his earlier urging, she had a hairpin holding her coiffure together that she could use. Physically, she was capable of killing him. Emotionally? She wasn’t sure she was ready.

There was another part of the issue. Even if she managed to kill him, would she be free? Or was she being tricked? Deceived? Would the men holding her captive keep their promise and let her go?

She knew too much. The fact that she hadn’t heard from Emir in days had already worried her. Perhaps she could strike a bargain with the wolf instead? It wouldn’t be the first time she had made a deal with the devil to save herself, and it wouldn’t be the last.

The question was whether he would honor their agreement or just use her like all the other men had. As long as she saved Emir, did it matter? But who was to say he would agree to help her? And if he did, who could guarantee that he would be able to assist her?

The door handle rattled, and she froze in place. Damn, she was too late. She hadn’t managed to free herself; she wouldn’t be able to attack or defend herself. Yet, she was still ready to fight.

The door opened, and Mrs. Hill—the housekeeper—entered the room, a tea tray in her hands and a bundle of cloth tucked under her arm. The woman’s weathered face bore a concerned expression that spoke of decades spent caring for others.

“I brought you some tea and some clothes,” Mrs. Hill said gently, setting the tray on the bedside table. “The duke said to keep you comfortable, so that’s what I’m here for.”

“Comfortable?” Leila tugged violently at her tied-up wrists, the bedframe creaking under the strain. “I’m tied to a bed with my hands over my head!”

Mrs. Hill’s expression softened with sympathy. “Yes, but do not worry; I will feed you tea. And I can free you from those clothes if you wish—they look terribly uncomfortable.”

“So that I can be completely naked? No, thank you.” Leila’s voice dripped with bitterness. “Though I suppose that would make your master’s intentions even clearer.”

The housekeeper’s face flushed slightly as she poured tea into a delicate porcelain cup. “My lady, I know you might not think so right now, but His Grace is a decent gentleman. He would never—”

“Tie anyone up to his bed with the curtains?” She wiggled her fingers for emphasis.

Mrs. Hill moved closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s not his bed.” She paused, as if the words themselves carried weight. “It’s his late wife’s. And you’re the only woman to ever lie on it aside from her.”

Leila stared at her, momentarily speechless. Was that supposed to make it better? She shook her head in disbelief. “What an honor.”

“You don’t understand,” Mrs. Hill continued, settling into the chair beside the bed and lifting the teacup to Leila’s lips. Leila turned her head, refusing the refreshing drink. It could have been poisoned for all she knew, and she wasn’t falling for that trap. The housekeeper let out a sigh and set the teacup back on the tray. “His Grace’s wife died over fifteen years ago. He hasn’t remarried nor brought a single mistress or dalliance into his home. He inherited a dukedom, yet he still resides in his old townhouse, unable to move on from her memory. You are the only woman he has allowed inside this room. It means he thinks a great deal of you.”

“That is ridiculous,” Leila said. “He regards me so much that he deemed me suitable to be tied up on her bed?”

“I can’t know all his motivations,” Mrs. Hill admitted, smoothing her apron, “but I know his heart, and there’s a lot of honor there. More than you might believe.”

“Mrs. Hill,” Leila said suddenly, her voice taking on a desperate edge, “please. You seem like a kind woman. Surely you can see that this is wrong? I’m begging you—untie me. Let me go. I swear I will cause no trouble. I’ll disappear, and you’ll never see me again.”