Page 23

She raised a brow. “Is it yours?”

Was it?

She was another man’s wife. Yes, in an unhappy marriage, but he had never stooped so low as to cuckold another man.

Wedding vows were sacred to him, even if they weren’t to her.

And yet… a part of him ached for this one moment of warmth in a life grown cold.

Gideon’s gaze dropped to her lips. Full. Soft. Inviting.

She leaned forward, and though he hadn’t consciously registered his own movement, he found himself leaning in too. Her breath brushed against his cheek. Just one inch more, and their lips would meet…

Gideon jerked away and jumped out of bed.

What the devil was he doing?

He grabbed his banyan and threw it over his naked form, then stalked toward the door, his hands shaking.

“Where are you going?” she asked, confusion evident in her voice.

“Away.” The word came out harsh and angry, but the anger wasn’t directed at her—it was aimed at himself. At the traitorous response of his body that had, for just a moment, forgotten why he didn’t deserve happiness.

“This is your room,” she called after him.

Her words followed him into the corridor.

He closed the door to shut them out, pressing his back against the solid wood as though it could somehow keep the chaos of his emotions at bay.

It was his room. The room where he had never welcomed a single woman in his life. Not even his wife.

And he should have kept it that way. Should have kept it sacred, untouched, pure.

But Leila had been in his bed now, her scent clinging to his sheets, her warmth still whispering across his skin.

Confusion, desire, and guilt all warred inside him. The ghosts he had guarded so carefully in his house, in his mind, began to fade away.

He couldn’t let them.

Not now.

Not ever.

* * *

Leila let out a breath as she heard the footsteps retreat down the corridor.

She closed her eyes briefly and let out a shuddering breath, collecting her wits. When she opened her eyes again, she looked down at her dagger and weighed it in her hand. Clutching it in her fist, she rolled off the bed and slowly made a circuit around the duke’s room.

It was well-ordered, with nary a thing out of place. The fire still crackled in the hearth, illuminating the room just enough for Leila to make out the furniture.

She walked toward the dresser by the window and found a little leather-bound notebook carelessly lying on top of it. She picked it up and brought it close to the light of the fire.

There was nothing of note in the notebook—just dated entries and lists of tasks to accomplish each day. She flipped through the pages and stopped at the date of Lady Hargrove’s ball.

Her gaze immediately fell on the last crossed-out entry.

Lord Wrexham