Lawrence stood at the back of the crowded assembly room, watching the most beautiful woman in the world descend the steps to the main dance floor. There was no sorrow in her eyes, no hint of the pain she’d endured. The man who had hunted her in London, Al-Zahrani, was at the bottom of the ocean after a sea battle with Ashton Lennox’s merchant fleet. Zehra was safe. Now and forever.

“Miss Darzi!” Her name was announced by the master of ceremonies, and the crowd erupted in applause.

“Can you believe it? Denbruck’s granddaughter?” a lady in front of him murmured to a friend. “She’s a princess, you know.”

“Indeed. Persian royalty, they say,” her companion replied. “True exotic beauty. No debutante this season will stand a chance against her. Thanks heavens my daughter is already married.”

“I heard she was sold into slavery but was rescued by a gentleman here in England!” the first woman whispered scandalously. Lawrence tensed, expecting to hear them condemn her.

Her friend shuddered. “Oh, Helen, you read far too many of those dreadful novels, I fear.”

Another companion chimed in. “Indeed. If it were true, I have no doubt Lady Society would have said something in the Quizzing Glass Gazette.”

“But wouldn’t it be exciting if it were true?” Helen asked.

“Oh, I suppose there’s a certain rough romance to the idea, but we shouldn’t give credence to such stories. It does her no favors, I can tell you. I heard the king himself met with her over tea yesterday and was utterly captivated. Every bachelor in England will be vying her for hand.”

Helen grinned behind her fan. “They will be wasting their time. I know a woman who was on Bond Street yesterday, and she saw Miss Darzi buying the most beautiful wedding gown.”

“What?” the others said together.

“Someone’s already asked her, I’m sure of it. I wonder who the lucky fellow is.”

“Hmph, more flights of fancy, I’m sure. I swear, Helen, those novels will be the end of you.”

Lawrence smiled to himself. He walked along the back of the room, drawing closer to Zehra, watching as all the men competed for her attention. She stood there as regal as any queen and offered them sweet, polite smiles. But when he came to stand in front of her and offered her a courtly bow, her face flushed and the crowd rippled with whispers.

“The first dance is mine, is it not?” He nodded at her card, where his name had been written days ago.

“I believe you tried to make them all yours.” She walked right up to him, her eyes only on him, just as his eyes were only for her.

“Of course. It is the only way to keep you from learning how disappointing a dancer I truly am.”

She laughed. “Nonsense.”

“You really will marry me?” Lawrence asked as they prepared to dance.

Her blue eyes were filled with sweet fire. “You think I won’t?”

“You could have your pick of any man in London now. Men with money, with titles. Men far better than me.” He curled a hand around her waist, his heart racing. She was without a doubt the most desired woman in London. Even the damned king had been taken with her. He had to know that she truly wanted him and didn’t simply feel indebted. “So, I must know. Why me?”

“Because from the first moment I met you, you saved me.”

His heart sank. It was as he had feared. “You owe me nothing, Zehra, you know that. I’ve told you a dozen times that I wanted nothing in return. I was doing my duty.”

She looked as though she was tempted to laugh. They began to spin in slow circles around the hall, the eyes of most of the ton on them, but none were close enough to hear. “Lawrence, you silly, wonderful man. I don’t mean that you saved me from those other men.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Before you, I was without a guiding star,” she replied. “When you took me into your arms, that sense of being lost vanished. I knew I wanted you and no one else, even though I did not yet understand the depth of that desire…that love.” She ducked her chin a moment before defiantly raising it back up. “I am told the English do not speak so openly of love, but I do. I love fiercely—I love you fiercely. It is not in my nature to question my heart or its mysterious desires.” Zehra lifted her chin to gaze at him. “Do you feel that way about me?”

He couldn’t speak, not at first, but finally nodded. “More than anything.”

“That is why I am marrying you. Now, stop thinking so much, my English rogue, and dance.”

Lawrence beamed down at her, unable to repress his joy. “Now that is something I’m happy to do.”

Tonight they would dance. Tomorrow he would announce their engagement in the papers. While he had met her under the most scandalous of circumstances, he would not let their marriage begin under a similar cloud. The musicians readied for the next dance and couples spread out on the dance floor, but neither he nor Zehra saw them. They were together in a world that held only them and the music that poured into their hearts.

* * *

Zehra stepped into her bedroom at her grandfather’s townhouse, her feet still aching from all of the wonderful dancing. But she sensed something was amiss and froze. Her bath had been drawn, yet she didn’t remember asking for one. She walked deeper into the room and saw red-and-orange-tipped petals floating in the water like a colorful blanket. She stared at it, shocked, and jumped when Lawrence stepped out from behind her changing screen. He placed a finger to his lips for silence. Smiling, she tiptoed over to him.

“How did you get in here?”

He nodded at her bedroom window, which was still open.

“My brother Lucien taught me the value of climbing trellises in my youth.”

“Oh? And was this to make it easier to seduce the young ladies?” she asked.

“In this case, one particular lady.” He waved to the bath. “It’s nice and hot. I thought after tonight you might need it to relax.”

“It’s a wonderful idea. Will you join me?” She turned her back to him so he could unbutton her gown.

“If you wish me to.”

She smiled impishly. “And if I wish for you only to watch?”

He leaned down to nibble her bare shoulder. “Then I will suffer the sweet agony of only watching.”

“Lucky for you, then, that I do not wish you to suffer agony.” She let her gown drop to the floor at her feet. “Today.”

Soon they lay in the large tub together. She leaned back against him, their hands playing with the petals. Zehra lifted one orange petal up, examining the colors closely.

“Where did you find these? They are not English roses.”

“When you told me about the roses from your home, I hunted every florist in the city to find a way to acquire some Persian roses. I’m now in possession of several plants at a hothouse in my garden. They will soon be yours.”

She had to take a moment to collect herself. “You brought part of my home here?”

“To make your new home as close as I could to your old one,” he answered, nuzzling her neck.

“How did I ever deserve to find a man like you?” Zehra asked.

“Sometimes, two people find their way together. Fate gave us our chance that night I stepped into the White House. I thought I was trying to save you to make up for mistakes I made in the past, but I was wrong. I didn’t know then that you would be the greatest gift in my life.”

Zehra turned around on his lap, straddling him. The colorful petals rippled around them on the surface of the water, their perfume making her dizzy in the most delightful way.

“And you, my wicked rogue, are the greatest gift in my life. My rescuer, my lover, my partner in life.” She leaned into him, kissing him with the passion and love that burned like an eternal flame in her heart, and he swept her away in his wicked embrace.

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You’ve just read the 6th book in the League of Rogues series. The other books in the series are Wicked Designs, His Wicked Seduction, and Her Wicked Proposal, Wicked Rivals, and Her Wicked Longing. Be sure to grab your copy of the next League adventure: The Earl of Pembroke!

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