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Without a word, he straightened his clothes, tucking himself away, his breathing still ragged. He ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair, his eyes fixed somewhere far beyond her.

Then he turned the handle and walked out the door.

* * *

The morning of Leila and Emir’s departure was grey and drizzling, the London sky weeping in sympathy with Leila’s mood. Emir, on the other hand, was filled with nervous excitement, his dark eyes bright with anticipation as he supervised the packing of their belongings. The prospect of returning home, seeing familiar sights, and hearing his native language spoken freely in the streets energized him in a way that mere rest and good food could not.

“Just think, Abla,” he said, carefully folding one of the shirts Gideon had provided. He had sent a modiste with orders to fill both their closets to the brim, and now they had to transport it all to Smyrna. “Soon we’ll see the harbor at Smyrna again, smell the spices in the market, hear the call to prayer echoing over the water. We’ll be home.”

Leila nodded and made appropriate sounds of agreement, but her heart felt heavy in her chest.

She didn’t want to go. She had made friends here in Lady Payne and Lady St. John—real friends, she thought—who cared about her regardless of her status, her financial standing, or her past.

She had found love here, complicated and impossible though it might be. Yes, it would be difficult to stay, to navigate the social prejudices and find a respectable place in this society, but wasn’t love worth fighting for?

But then she looked at Emir’s excited face, saw the hope there, and the joy at the prospect of returning to the familiar, and her resolve hardened. She had promised him they were going home, and they were going. His happiness had to take precedence over her own desires.

She hadn’t seen Gideon since that night in her room. When she made it clear that she couldn’t accept the role of mistress, he had accepted her answer and left. He had bought their passages to Smyrna, overfilled their trunks, and their parting kiss was something she would remember for a lifetime.

But that was it. He’d done exactly what she’d asked and then disappeared.

Part of her had hoped he might try to change her mind, find some alternative they hadn’t considered. But his absence spoke louder than any argument could have.

She just hoped to see him once more before they left, if only to say a proper goodbye.

“The carriage is ready,” Payne announced, appearing in the doorway with his wife. “We’ve loaded your trunks, so we’re just waiting for you.”

“Are you sure you want to leave so soon?” Lady Payne asked. “You’re welcome to stay in our house as long as you need. There’s no rush.”

Leila smiled sadly. Remaining would only make the eventual parting more difficult, and she couldn’t impose indefinitely on the Paynes’ hospitality, no matter how generously offered. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” she said, approaching Lady Payne for a warm hug.

She curtsied, her throat too tight to say anything more, and followed Emir out to the street where their carriage waited.

As she approached the vehicle, another carriage came to a stop behind theirs. A spry, middle-aged man with a balding head and wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose jumped out with surprising agility for someone of his apparent years.

“Lady Leila, is that you?” he addressed her without ceremony, then seemed to remember himself and bowed low upon noticing the others present. “Apologies for my lack of manners, but I was instructed to arrive at the last possible moment before your departure, and it seems I almost didn’t make it in time.”

Leila felt her heart skip a beat. “Instructed by whom?” she asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

The man straightened to his full height, which wasn’t particularly impressive, and cleared his throat. “My employer,” he announced with obvious pride. “His Grace the Duke of Wolverstone.”

“What did he say?” Leila stepped forward eagerly, her mind racing. Was he ill? Had he changed his mind about letting her leave? Did he send this man to stop them?

“I am his solicitor, Mr. Barry,” the man introduced himself with a slight bow. “And he instructed me to give you this.” He held out a sealed envelope. “With specific instructions that you were to open it only once you were already aboard the ship bound for Smyrna.”

He handed her the envelope, which felt heavier than if it held a single letter.

“Can I get your signature confirming that you received this?” Mr. Barry produced a small leather portfolio and extracted a document.

But Leila was already tearing at the envelope’s seal, her fingers trembling with anticipation and anxiety.

“But he said—the instructions!” Mr. Barry exclaimed, grabbing his balding head in frustration. “His Grace was very specific about when you were to open that!”

“I’m sorry,” Leila said without taking her eyes from the envelope, “but I can’t wait that long.”

She expected a love letter, a goodbye, some expression of feelings… What she found instead was something far more practical—and far more shocking.

Her eyes widened as she read, her breath catching in her throat.