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“Pardon me?” He tilted his head, curiosity piqued.

She laughed, waving a hand as if to dismiss the topic. Her rings caught the candlelight as she gestured—thick bands set with jewels that seemed to glow from within. “My traditional clothes. Much more comfortable than these English gowns. But I am told English ladies must suffer for fashion.”

“We all suffer,” he murmured, “though some more than others.”

Gideon frowned inwardly. This was the longest conversation he’d had all evening, and he didn’t feel the urge to run.

Odd.

In fact, a strange weight overtook his limbs, as if forcing him to stay in place—to inch closer and closer to the mysterious lady before him. He inhaled, the sweet scent of jasmine and something more elusive filling his senses.

“I have to admit that you look beautiful in English garb,” he found himself saying.

Her cheeks flushed, and she performed a slight curtsy. “Thank you, Your Grace. Though I confess, I sometimes feel like I’m playing a part here, and this attire is just a costume. People know I don’t belong. So many rules to remember. So many I am certain I am breaking with every step.”

“I assure you, you are doing quite remarkably,” he felt the need to reassure her, wanting to shield her from wandering gazes and disapproving stares.

“You are very kind. Though it takes great effort to appear so. I must think before I speak, consider my next step before I move, check if anyone else is drinking before I take a sip, wondering if I am breaking some unknown rule and offending the hosts. It’s rather like learning a new dance and making sure not to step on any toes.”

“I don’t see anyone minding,” he said honestly.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Perhaps we will have to wait and see.”

“Hm…” he grunted. “Are you planning to deliberately step on someone’s toes?”

“Never!” She bit her lip, a grin on her face. She was so animated that it was as if the very air around her came to life, drawing him closer.

Gideon was the opposite. He was like an iceberg—calm, contained… cold. And if he were like ice, she was like fire. And like fire, she was bound to melt him into nothing.

Perhaps he should have stayed away.

He couldn’t help but step closer.

“Only if it helps my cause,” she added after a brief pause.

“What is your cause?”

She stood a little straighter and licked her lips, as if preparing to recite a poem in front of an entire class. No doubt, she had memorized this part for the role she had to play as a diplomat’s wife.

She’s somebody else’s wife, he reminded himself.

“I’m here on a mission, actually. To raise support for an orphanage near my home. You see, children are often taken from different countries and brought to Smyrna. Being a port city, many lost souls end up there, but these poor children don’t speak our language and have no way to find their families again. I am certain London faces a similar problem. Yet, as the center of the trade network, Smyrna bears the brunt of it.”

Usually, when people spoke of charities, Gideon’s ears perked up. There were individuals—people he was seeking—nay, people he hunted—who used various charities to swindle money from well-meaning donors for their own nefarious purposes. Norfolk was one of those men, perhaps the most important of them all.

Because of this, Gideon trusted only a handful of charities in England. The rest he regarded with skepticism.

But there was such passion in Lady Leila’s voice that he couldn’t help but be drawn to her story.

Somehow, it made her extraordinarily beautiful.

“A noble mission. I can see why it moves you.”

She lowered her eyes, her lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. For just a moment, her composure seemed to slip, revealing something deeper in her gaze—a vulnerability, perhaps even pain.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Something felt off.

Again.