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“Because I’ve seen him grow up. I know how he is with servants. I know how he treats his tenants. He is a gentle soul and never hurts anyone who doesn’t deserve it. He is a protector by nature, not a tormentor.”

He used to be a soldier—by his own admission, not the noble kind. He led a deadly secret society and was a murderer. It was clear this woman didn’t know him at all. Leila closed her eyes. “You seem to have unwavering faith in the duke, Mrs. Hill.”

“I do,” the housekeeper admitted with a small smile. “But I don’t just say this because I know him to be kind. I’ve seen enough of life to understand that love—real love—is very rare. I recognize it when I see it. And I believe what you two have… it is a real thing.”

Unlike Mrs. Hill, Leila hadn’t witnessed much love in her life. The only true love she’d experienced was for Emir. What she felt for Gideon was… lust. It was a pure physical need. She liked him, yes, but she also feared him. She didn’t trust him. With those emotions in the mix, it couldn’t be love.

He didn’t trust her either, hence the predicament she found herself in.

In another life, if their circumstances had been different, perhaps whatever they felt for each other could have blossomed into love.

But not here. Not now.

Not in this life.

The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway interrupted her thoughts. Mrs. Hill immediately straightened and smoothed her skirts.

“He’s returned,” she whispered. “Please, miss, give him a chance. Give yourself a chance. Just tell him the truth. Ask him for help. You will see the true Duke of Wolverstone.”

When the footsteps stopped outside the door, Mrs. Hill quickly curtsied and scurried away.

Perhaps the housekeeper was right. If she told him the whole truth, maybe he would help her instead of hurting her. Perhaps they could be allies instead of enemies.

What other option did she have? Well, there was one other option, but she’d tried it numerous times and failed. Perhaps it was time to try a different approach.

The door opened, and the Duke of Wolverstone stepped inside, his gray eyes immediately finding hers.

He closed the door with deliberate slowness and leaned against it, his imposing frame blocking any hope of escape. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed in the silence.

“I know you’ve been lying to me,” he said, his voice low and measured.

Leila’s heart hammered against her ribs. What exactly did he find out? She forced herself to remain still, her face a mask of composure even as panic clawed at her throat. She kept silent, waiting.

He pushed himself away from the door and began to pace, the thick Persian carpet swallowing the sounds of his steps. “I went to the place you’ve been staying and found a few interesting things.” Each word was carefully enunciated, as if he were presenting evidence in a courtroom. “Your husband is not there. The windows are nailed shut. The house is being watched.”

Is that all? Leila waited for him to continue outlining everything he’d learned.

The pause stretched between them like a taut wire. She could hear her own breathing, too loud in the stillness. Her wrists ached from the restraints, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the dread building in her chest.

“Tell me who you are,” he said finally, stopping his pacing to face her directly.

Was that all? Had he found her poison vials? Her mind churned, trying to come up with an explanation for their existence. If he realized she had tried to kill him, her life would be over.

His jaw tightened at her silence. “What is your real name? Are you even from Smyrna?”

That was a question she could answer. “I am,” she said quietly.

He cocked his head slightly, and she caught a flash of surprise in his silver eyes. He had expected her to remain silent, she realized.

“Where’s your husband?” he pressed, moving closer to the bed.

She swallowed hard; her throat felt suddenly dry. “I don’t have one.”

Was it relief that flickered across his features? It was so quick she almost missed it. Was she imagining it? The possibility that he might actually care about her marital status sent a flutter through her stomach.

Perhaps Mrs. Hill was right—he had developed deeper feelings for her than she’d realized. Could she use this to her advantage?

“So everything you told me is a lie,” he said, though his tone had lost some of its edge.