His Wicked Embrace novel Chapter 6

"It is so different here," she murmured.

"Different?" he asked, curious.

"Yes." She pointed at the moonlit streets, and despite her blush, there was a fire and steadiness in her voice and gaze as she spoke.

"Please, tell me what you meant to say." He wanted her to speak. That soft voice of hers was heaven-sent, and he could've listened to her talk for hours. He usually liked to hear women sigh or moan his name, but from Zehra he wanted conversation. He sensed that anything she said would have meaning.

"It's so cold and harsh here. My home was warm and colorful."

"Where is your home?" he asked, half afraid she wouldn't tell him.

"Persia," she replied softly.

He blinked. "Wait, the auctioneer wasn't lying? You really are from Persia?" She nodded, and he smiled. "Does that mean you are a princess too?"

"Perhaps," she replied, a soft twinkle in her eyes.

She seemed so afraid, so hesitant around him, but he understood. She was a brave woman facing a life as a slave if she couldn't trust him. He was about to ask her why she wanted to stay here with him, but the coach rolled to a stop and the driver announced his address. He moved to get out first and relished lifting her down from the coach. Nothing seemed more wonderful than holding her close in his arms, and he hated having to set her down on the ground and let go.

With a furtive glance about, he saw the street was empty, so they rushed up the steps to his door. His butler, Mr. MacTavish, was waiting for him. The old stout Scotsman's eyes widened at the sight of Zehra, but he did not question her presence. Lawrence had kept a fair number of mistresses in recent years, which meant a lady after midnight was not completely unexpected. They didn't usually stay for more than a night, so MacTavish would likely be surprised by Zehra staying longer.

"MacTavish, this is Miss Zehra Darzi, and she is my esteemed guest. Please have a chamber prepared for her."

The old Scotsman blinked in momentary confusion. "Not your room?" he queried, his tone polite and careful.

"No. Miss Darzi will have her own chambers. She will advise you what her needs are with regard to meals and anything else."

Lawrence paused at the base of the stairs, Zehra at his side as he looked at her. "You do not have a maid... I've only just realized you must have nothing. How foolish of me."

Zehra shook her head. "I had a maid back home, of course, but she was..." Her words trailed off. She seemed to consider her next words carefully. "She is no longer with me."

MacTavish interjected. "Er... Shall I make inquiries first thing in the morning to procure a maid for the lady?"

Lawrence replied, "Yes," at the same time Zehra said, "No."

"You will have need of a maid while you remain here," Lawrence explained. "I can't ask my upstairs maids to spend time away from their duties to assist you. I would much prefer you have a maid ready to see to your every need, not to mention your changes of clothes."

Her cheeks pinkened, and she glanced away. "I have only this gown. A maid shall not be needed."

Lawrence gaped at her. "Zehra, you wound me." He was teasing, but the flash of panic in her eyes made him move on hastily. "You have met me under the least reputable circumstances, I know, but rest assured you will be treated properly under my roof." He stroked her cheek, loving the way her eyes dilated. "That means, I'm afraid, that you must endure a new wardrobe."

Zehra stared at him in disbelief as he led her upstairs. Below them, MacTavish called for servants to attend to them.

"You may rest in my chambers for now until they have your room prepared." He escorted her to his own room and ushered her inside. A fire was lit, and Lawrence knew a tray of food would soon be sent up, but for now at least, he could get Zehra settled. She lingered by the door, her elegant fingers twining in the silk of her gown. Lawrence longed to reach out and touch those hands again, to reassure her that all was well, but he feared she still did not trust him.

"Please, sit. I can offer you wine or a bit of brandy?" He started toward the decanters on his side table, then his face turned a ruddy red. "I suppose you don't drink spirits do you? I apologize if I caused any offense.

MacTavish nodded. He'd served Lawrence since Lawrence had turned twenty and was no stranger to taking orders of a peculiar nature. "The maids will see to her room, and I will let everyone know that this guest is special and her presence a secret."

"Thank you. Apologize to everyone for the late hour." Lawrence walked downstairs to his study, where he pulled out a bit of parchment and prepared a quill and fresh ink pot. He hesitated, however, when he put his quill tip down.

What would he say to his brother? Apologize for buying a woman when he'd vowed he would not interfere? Yet what should he have done? Sit idly by as a woman had her freedom stripped from her? If anything, it was his brother's fault for not properly warning him.

He had taken one look at Zehra and knew he couldn't let her be taken by another man. There was something about her eyes and how she moved. It brought back memories so far in the recesses of his mind, and they seemed to whisper to him, but he couldn't pull them into the light, couldn't make sense of what he was seeing-or half remembering.

Yes, there was something about Zehra that he could not get out of his mind. She reminded him too much of the young woman from the brothel years before, though not directly in looks, of course. It was the situation as a whole. It felt as though he'd been given a second chance to right a past wrong.

He stared hard at the parchment. With a curse, he crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the fire. As he watched the embers eat away at it, he sighed and looked up at the ceiling to where Zehra sat now, one floor above.

She was a lovely woman who'd been through a horrifying ordeal, and he was moved by her in ways that were far too dangerous. He'd never considered himself a true gentleman-he took after his older brother, Lucien, far too much. As his mother had said more than once, "Rogues run in the family." If he kept Zehra under his roof for very long, he would have trouble remaining a gentleman.

Yet he was not a man who ever forced seduction on any woman, either. He did have some scruples he still clung to, by God. But if she gave him any indication she wished to share his bed, he most certainly would not turn her down. The problem would be in determining if such a request was genuine or out of some sense of obligation. He wouldn't abide the latter.

Lawrence leaned back in his chair, frowning. This week his entire family was to be present for various summer parties in London, and he would no doubt be forced to attend these events as well, but what of Zehra?

He would have to keep his Persian princess safely tucked away for now. He could still see the look of fear in her eyes as she begged him to keep her, even though he'd promised her freedom. Something had frightened her about being returned home. It was a mystery-one he had every intention of getting to the bottom of once she had a chance to rest.

Lord, he was thankful no other man had bid against him. Seven thousand was an unbelievable sum, one he would have trouble explaining should anyone question his accounts-that was assuming the White House was able to use it, which was unlikely given that the Bow Street Runners were tearing the brothel apart. But he had won, and he was relieved she'd come home with him. She was safe now and would remain so under his watch.