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“Do you mean the Earl of Norfolk?” the footman inquired. Ah, that’s his name.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

The servant bowed and melted away into the shadows along the walls.

Leila forced herself to appear attentive to the musical performance while every nerve in her body remained focused on Norfolk’s reaction.

She didn’t have to wait long. During a particularly enthusiastic but wildly off-key performance of a Handel piece, she saw the footman approach Norfolk’s chair and quietly present the note. The lord’s thick fingers unfolded the cream paper, and Leila watched as his pale eyes widened slightly while he read her carefully crafted words.

Norfolk’s gaze immediately sought out Miss Charlotte, who sat in the front row completely unaware of the trap being laid in her name. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Leila felt her stomach churn at the hungry expression spreading across his fleshy features. She could practically see his mind working, imagining what he hoped to achieve in that secluded gazebo.

Instead, he would fall into her trap.

This was a risky plan, but risk was all Leila had left.

She patted the dagger she kept pressed against her spine in a special concealed pocket of her gown.

She was ready.

But as the minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness, Norfolk remained firmly planted in his seat. He shifted restlessly, his eyes darting between Miss Charlotte and the windows overlooking the gardens, but he showed no signs of actually leaving the drawing room.

Leila’s heart began to sink as frustration and panic built in her chest. Had she completely misread his character? Was he more cautious than she’d credited him for? Or perhaps his desires weren’t strong enough to overcome his natural cowardice?

Whatever had gone wrong, she needed to come up with another plan to trap Gideon alone outside—and quickly.

Setting up another liaison seemed logical, albeit a riskier plan. What if he suspected her? In that case, her attack wouldn’t catch him by surprise, and beyond that, she had no power over him.

The dagger felt like it was burning against her spine, a constant reminder of what she needed to accomplish and what was at stake if she failed.

Just as the first half of the musical program was concluding, Lady Payne rose from her place at the pianoforte and clapped her hands for attention.

“I thought our guests might enjoy a bit of dancing before we continue with the performances,” she announced with bright enthusiasm. “Footmen, please be so kind as to move the chairs to the walls.”

The servants immediately sprang into action, efficiently clearing the center of the room to create an impromptu dance floor.

Lady Payne took her place at the pianoforte and began the opening measures of a stately minuet. The familiar melody filled the room, and couples began to form and move to the center of the dance floor.

“You owe me a dance.”

The voice came from directly behind her, low and warm, sending an immediate shiver down her spine. Leila’s heart began to flutter wildly, her stomach performing acrobatics that she desperately tried to attribute to fear rather than the far more dangerous emotion threatening to overwhelm her.

She turned slowly, fighting to keep her expression composed, and found herself looking up into those silvery-gray eyes that seemed to see far too much. Gideon stood close enough that she could smell his cologne—sandalwood, cedar, and his own heady masculine scent.

“Do I?” she managed to say, proud that her voice remained steady despite the chaos in her head.

“You fled the Kensington ball rather abruptly,” he said, extending his hand with that slight smile that always made her pulse race, “after promising me one.”

She placed her gloved hand in his, trying to ignore the way heat seemed to race up her arm from that simple contact. Even through the thin fabric of her glove, she could feel the warmth and strength of his fingers as they closed around hers.

They began to move together in the measured, elegant steps of the minuet, and despite everything—her mission, her fears, the very real danger she was in—Leila found herself lost in the perfection of the moment. His hand was warm and sure, guiding her through the patterns of the dance with ease and confidence.

There is a more obvious way, her practical mind whispered as they danced. Invite him to the gardens yourself. Seduce him away from the crowd and strike when he least expects it.

The thought shattered the fragile illusion of perfection, bringing reality crashing back with brutal force. This wasn’t a romantic interlude; it was reconnaissance. She was dancing with her target, feeling his body move in perfect synchronization with hers, all while planning the most efficient way to slide a blade between his ribs.

She looked up at him, expecting to find those penetrating eyes focused on her face, perhaps trying to read her thoughts. Instead, his gaze was fixed on something over her shoulder, his expression suddenly sharp and predatory.

Without warning, he halted so abruptly that she nearly stumbled. His hand dropped hers as if her touch had burned him, and without a word of explanation or apology, he simply walked away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the dance floor.