His Wicked Embrace novel Chapter 10

Lawrence woke to the chiming of the grandfather clock in the corridor outside his bedroom.

Half past seven. It was still early, and they had gone to bed in the wee hours of the morning.

He shifted, feeling the welcome weight of Zehra in his arms. Her head rested on his chest, and their legs were entwined. Her chemise had ridden up, and he had one hand on her left thigh. She had one hand in his hair, as though she'd fallen asleep stroking her fingers through the strands. A smile twisted his lips. She liked his hair-just as he liked hers.

He wondered if she was genuinely at ease with him, or if it was something she'd done unconsciously during her sleep. Either way, he liked that she was touching him. He wanted her to feel safe with him, to feel she could be around him, even touch him without fear.

I want to be a man she can trust.

He carefully moved his hand from her thigh and reached up to stroke his palm over the dark coiling locks that tumbled down her back. She didn't stir as he continued to play with the gleaming spools of her hair.

Memories of last night slowly returned, and he fought off a shudder. She'd seen her parents murdered...and then she was sold into slavery. She'd endured hell itself and was still alive, still sane.

My God... What was he going to do? She couldn't go home-it was too dangerous. But what could she do here? Zehra was the most stunning creature he had ever beheld and would make any man a fine mistress, but she deserved more than simply being kept by some man, especially given her past. She was no one's pet. And she should never be forced to do anything she didn't wish to do.

He studied her delicate features, the small upturned nose, high cheekbones, and dainty chin. Despite her fine Persian features, there was something arrestingly familiar, almost English about her, but he couldn't say what. Something prickled at the back of his mind, but he still couldn't figure out why looking at her caused a stirring inside him.

He brushed her hair back from her neck and caught a glimpse of something he hadn't seen last night. A golden chain hung around her neck. He traced the chain down to a thumb-sized locket that rested on the swell of her breasts. He lifted it up and examined it more closely. The scrollwork on the crest was familiar, giving a faint tug on his memory.

He began to open the locket but then froze. Guilt crept through him on stealthy paws. No doubt it held portraits of her parents and was the only thing she had left of them. It would be wrong to intrude upon such a memory uninvited. He laid the pendant back down and removed his hand. It was odd. He'd never worried about a woman like this before. Seduction had been a game and the woman the prize.

Yet nothing about Zehra was simple, and she was no prize to be won. He was tempted beyond imagining to seduce her, but he refused to be such a callous bastard. Imagining himself in her place for but a moment squelched any such urges, though not the passions that had kindled them.

I must be a man she can trust.

Lawrence waited several long moments, enjoying her quiet breathing and the simple feel of her body against his. She'd slept through the remainder of the night without fear or dreams as far as he could tell, and he had no desire to disturb her.

The door to his bedchamber opened, and his valet, George, peered in. Lawrence gave the man a small nod, and he crept into the room to see to his duties as quietly as possible. Only then did Lawrence, regretfully, slip out of bed. He tucked Zehra beneath the blankets, pausing to admire her exquisite beauty.

"Sleeping like a lamb, that one." George chuckled as he and Lawrence stepped into the dressing room, where George was preparing a bath for him.

"Indeed. She needs it, poor thing." Lawrence stripped out of his clothing.

His valet cleared his throat. "Is it...er...true, what Mr. MacTavish said about her, sir? That she came from the White House? She doesn't look like a-" George blushed to the roots of his hair.

"That's because she isn't." Lawrence didn't want Zehra to be treated like anything other than the princess she seemed to be. "Treat her like royalty. Anything she needs, see that she has it."

"Of course." George bowed. "I'll lay out your clothes and return when you're ready to dress, unless you need anything else?"

"Thank you. I'll be fine." Lawrence hummed softly as he eased into the copper bathtub, sighing as hot water relaxed his stiff muscles.

Last evening had been a tense affair, and until this moment he hadn't truly relaxed. Even his sleep had been fraught with memories of the auction and raid, and his current concerns were far from over. It was only a matter of time before his younger brother, Avery, came storming through the front door accusing him of the very crime he was supposed to help stop.

"Give me but a moment. I will finish dressing and send up footmen to draw fresh water." Picturing Zehra naked in the copper tub made him burn, and he would have to leave the room or else face that temptation again.

Do not seduce her. Be a gentleman. She deserves that much from you.

She left the dressing room, giving him a minute to cool himself down. After he'd finished getting dressed, he exited his dressing room and found Zehra by the freshly lit fire, a book in her hands.

"Catching up on a bit of reading?" He winced, regretting his poor choice of words. It wasn't as if they had books on board slave ships. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

She looked up, a small smile on her lips. "It is all right. I understand what you meant. And this is certainly an interesting book. This woman finds herself stranded on an island after her ship breaks apart on the rocks. She swims to shore but is utterly alone until she spies a figure on a distant hill..."

"Aw... You found out my secret." He recognized the book. It was called Lady Isabelle and the Lord of the Dark Isle. It was one of L. R. Gloucester's works, a rather torrid Gothic novel.

"Your secret?" Zehra's eyes narrowed.

He chuckled. "Yes, I like to read novels. This one is a bit...well, I won't spoil it for you." He couldn't wait to see what she thought when she reached the scene where the mysterious lord makes love to Isabelle in the library after dinner in his castle. Would Zehra find any pleasure in that? Or would she be outraged and scandalized? He hoped it was the former. She didn't seem to be the sort of woman who abhorred pleasure; there was an openness and sensuality to her that he could not miss.

"Hmm." She turned her attention back to the book, but he had the distinct impression that the second he turned his back on her, she would be watching him.

Appreciate the view, Miss Darzi, because I will be sure to do the same.