His Wicked Embrace novel Chapter 17

Horatia's eyes twinkled. "Lawrence, you should know by now that Emily does as she pleases. Besides, she is no stranger to having been taken and held against her will. If anything, they would have much to talk about."

Lawrence relaxed a little, surprising himself by smiling. "If she wishes to help, then I would gladly accept it. But you must explain to her the situation in full. I do not want to be facing Lord Essex on the field at dawn over a misunderstanding."

She giggled. "Rest assured, the Society of Rebellious Ladies is on the case."

At that moment Lucien walked over, scowling. "Society of Rebellious Ladies? Darling, don't tell me you're indulging in something that will get you into trouble." Lucien's eyes were locked on Lawrence, the warning clearly intended for him.

"You have no need to worry-it is not your concern." She tucked her arm in Lucien's and leaned against his side. "Now come, you promised the next waltz to me."

Lucien's gaze softened as he looked down at Horatia. "I did." With a reassuring smile at Lawrence, Horatia led Lucien away to the dance floor.

Lawrence watched the pair waltz as he tried to fight off a wave of melancholy. Zehra and I will never dance like this. But perhaps she can have some small measure of joy before she must leave me forever.

He gave himself a little shake. Since when had he become a romantic fool?

"Ah, Lawrence! There you are!" His mother elbowed her way through a group of young men as she found him. "You really must stop hiding like this. I am too old to be playing hide-and-seek."

"Hello, Mother." He sighed as Jane reached him. For the better part of an hour, he'd managed to stay out of sight. His mother held a fan, which she collapsed in one hand and soundly whacked him with on the shoulder.

"You haven't danced with Miss Hunt yet. I know you signed her card for the next dance, so go make yourself ready."

"Yes, Mother," he said with a growl and stepped past her toward a crowd of young ladies. Miss Hunt, a fair-haired woman, was speaking animatedly to two of her friends as he approached. They all went silent, one stopping mid-titter, like a startled starling.

"Miss Hunt." He made an elegant bow. "The next dance is mine, I believe." The young woman's friends scattered, leaving her alone. She blushed and accepted his hand. They walked to the edge of the crowd, waiting for the waltz to finish.

"I know why you are here, Mr. Russell," she said in a hushed voice.

He raised a brow as they both clapped as the waltz ended. "Do you?"

Miss Hunt chuckled. "Your mother and my father have convinced themselves we make a good match. My father is desperate to get me married." She glanced his way, and he saw a speculative gleam in her eyes.

"That isn't so very surprising. Isn't marriage the goal of all ladies?" he teased.

"Most, I'm sure, but not me," she replied with startling honestly.

"Oh?" Now he was curious. "And what is your goal, Miss Hunt?"

This time, his dance partner was less forthcoming and her response much quieter. "To be free." The amusement in her eyes faded to melancholy

Miss Hunt smiled knowingly. "The woman you've been thinking about this entire time. I can see it clearly in your eyes that you're distracted. A handsome man is only distracted when he's thinking of a woman. If there is someone out there for you, you should go to her."

"But-" He'd promised his mother he would stay for a few hours.

"Go, my lord. You won't be missed. If I see your mother, I'll tell her I don't think we would suit."

Relief cascaded through him. He could return to Zehra and spend the rest of the evening with her.

"Thank you, Miss Hunt, truly. I hope you find that sensible, quiet man you're looking for."

"Thank you." Miss Hunt was blushing again. Lawrence glanced back at her only once as he left the ballroom. She stood there looking utterly alone, and he felt a pang of pity for her. She was a lovely girl, after all. He hoped she would find someone worthy of her.

By the time Lawrence had slipped out of the ballroom, he was more than ready to go home. Miss Hunt was quite right. He'd thought of nothing but Zehra all night. She was so openly lonely, and he'd hated leaving her behind this evening. He smacked his gloves against his palm as he waited for his coach.

But as he climbed into the coach, he had the strangest feeling he was being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he glanced around. For a minute, he swore he saw a shadow detach from the wall across the street, but when he leaned forward for a better look, the shadow had vanished. Perhaps it had never been there. He wasn't sure. He traveled the rest of the way down the darkened streets, keeping a close eye on the road through the small window, even though he saw no one.

But it didn't stop the feeling of being watched.