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“Not everything,” she replied. “And don’t act as though I’m the one trying to deceive you when you are a murderer.”

His expression hardened again. “Well, I have reasons for my actions.”

“What reason justifies taking another human’s life?” The question escaped before she could stop it. She wasn’t being hypocritical by asking this, she told herself firmly. She knew her own reasons for taking a life, but she wanted to know his. She wanted to determine whether she would be safe with him or if she would become his next victim.

“Killing another human being,” he replied without hesitation.

No, she wasn’t safe. Her pulse quickened, and she felt the familiar cold grip of fear.

“What you’re saying is that others would be justified in killing you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

To her surprise, he nodded gravely. “Very much. And they have tried. Instead, they killed my family.”

There was pain in his voice. What had Mrs. Hill said? That his wife had died fifteen years ago. She hadn’t just died; she was killed. “Who’s they?”

“The Brotherhood of the Crimson Fist.”

Leila frowned, genuinely puzzled. “What does this mean?”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her face intently. “I think you know.”

“I really don’t.” Why would he think she knew about some brotherhood?

“Don’t tell me you’re not following their orders,” he said, his voice gaining intensity as he stepped closer to the bed.

“How can I follow their orders if I don’t even know who they are?” Frustration crept into her voice. What was he talking about?

“They are a society of evil, murderous people,” he said, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“And Norfolk was one of them?”

“Yes. And I think you are, too.”

“You’re mistaken.” The word ‘Brotherhood’ echoed in her mind. She hadn’t heard the name before, but she wouldn’t, would she? However, a society of evil, murderous people—that summed up the people she worked for pretty well.

Could it be? Could she be one of them without even knowing? The thought was terrifying. She couldn’t entertain it, not now. If Gideon found out her thoughts, he would kill her on the spot.

“Then what in the hell were you doing with this?” He dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a vial of poison she had meticulously crafted specifically for him.

Leila raised her brows, pretending to be completely unfazed, though if he could hear her heartbeat, he would realize the turmoil she truly felt. “The lip balm?”

“Is that what it is? Because it smells exactly like something you put on your lips the night I fell ill. The night we kissed.”

Leila swallowed. “If you had an adverse reaction to my balm, it’s not my fault.”

He regarded her with narrowed eyes. He didn’t trust her, and he had every reason not to. But she couldn’t reveal the full truth of who she was, or she would be in more danger than she was already in.

“Then who are you?” He moved closer, looming over the bed, his presence overwhelming. “How did you get to England? Why are you here?”

Leila took a shaky breath. The truth—or part of it—was her only option. “I am here to do the bidding of powerful men. I was told to infiltrate society and steal money from the rich.” There. She was not going to pretend to be innocent. But if she weren’t a murderer, he wouldn’t deem her worthy of killing, right?

“How?” His voice was impassive.

“They set up fake charities, and I make unwitting do-gooders donate money for my causes. Except all the funds go to these men.”

His expression shifted, disgust replacing suspicion. “The orphanage you were talking about—it doesn’t exist?”

“Oh, it exists, but the money never reaches them. It’s a scheme.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth.