Lawrence looked up in surprise as he heard Zehra climb out of the bath behind the screen. She hadn’t been in there very long and he worried the water had cooled too fast.

“Was it hot enough?” he asked.

“Oh yes. I didn’t need to stay in very long.” Zehra came around the changing screen into view, a blanket wrapped tight around her body. She came toward him on dainty bare feet, clutching the edges of the blanket around her shoulders. He caught a glimpse of her bare skin as she moved, and his body turned taut with arousal.

She deserves a gentleman, not a rogue. He forced himself to stay where he was. The old Lawrence would have been on his feet in an instant, sliding that blanket off her, determined to get her on her back on the nearest comfortable surface. But he wanted to be a better man for this woman. When he took Zehra to bed, he wished for it to mean something for both of them. It would be about more than simple pleasure, even if it was doomed not to last. He swallowed hard, his body fighting his mind every second as she drew close.

“I…was drying your clothes.” He pointed to where her chemise, gown, and stockings hung over a brass grate close to the fire. It wouldn’t be too long before they would be wearable again.

She glanced at the spot and then continued toward him, her head tilted just enough to show the graceful slope of her neck. The distance between them closed, and time seemed to lengthen like a fine gossamer strand. He took in the sight of her and how damned lovely she truly was. From her raven-black hair to her slight upturned nose, even the hint of a scar just above her collarbone, she was perfect. Too perfect. He should have backed up, should have put the chair between them, but he couldn’t move. Her hypnotic eyes rooted him to the floor.

Zehra came right up to him and placed a hand on his chest. He reached up to curl his fingers around her wrist, but he sucked in a breath, and she gave him a shove. He fell back into the armchair, staring up at her.

She eased down onto his lap before he could say anything to stop her. The weight of her body was welcome, the feel of her exciting beyond words. The blanket covered his knees, and he tried to fight the urge to pull it away from her body. Every muscle was rigid with tension.

“Zehra, you don’t have to—”

She put a finger to his lips. “Shhh.” The curve of her lips would have knocked him onto his backside if he hadn’t already been sitting down.

“Do you want me, Lawrence?” she asked, her eyes fixed on his mouth in a way that made him hungry beyond measure. He wanted her mouth on his body in the worst way.

He nodded. He’d never been in a situation like this before, where he was the one being seduced. “I want you so much,” he whispered, his breath coming faster.

“Then you will kiss me.” She trailed a fingertip down his cheek to his mouth. Her touch was light and gentle, but wherever she traced the pad of her finger, it burned his skin deliciously.

“But I cannot take advantage of you. Not like this. I—”

“Hush,” Zehra said, her voice even more commanding. “I do not say this out of obligation, but desire. I know my fate, and I accept what must be. But I wish to know some measure of happiness before this all ends. I want to be happy with you.” She leaned back and let the blanket drop to her waist, revealing that she was completely naked. The swell of her perfect breasts with dusky nipples were fully open to his view.

Lord, she was lovely, but her beauty wasn’t the reason he wanted to kiss her, to make love to her. It was because she was unlike any woman he’d ever met. She was brave, intelligent, warm, passionate. For all the shyness she had shown earlier, she also possessed a strength of will he’d never seen. For the first time in his life, he wanted a woman not because of her looks, but because of who she was.

“Lawrence?” She purred the word, a sweet, irresistible challenge for him to say no.

As if I could resist—she’s too damned perfect, too damned wonderful.

She curled an arm around his shoulders and leaned in, her bared breasts rubbing against his shirt.

Bloody hell.

He cupped her chin and leaned in the last inch between them, covering her mouth with his. She met his kiss eagerly, and he drank in her sweet taste. For a virgin, she had a natural ease of learning how to respond to his sensual offerings.

“You seem quite comfortable with this,” he said.

She chuckled against his lips. “I have read books on pleasure.”

“How many of these books have you read?” He pictured her studying texts like the Kama Sutra beneath candlelight.

Her wicked smile made his body rigid with need. “Many…”

He nuzzled her throat. “Then perhaps you might be able to teach me a thing or two.”

“I might indeed.”

He banded his arms around her, holding her close. This sudden unexpected need shocked him, but he didn’t stop kissing her—couldn’t stop. She trembled against him, her entire body quivering.

“Are you cold?” he asked. Her hair was still wet with rain, falling out of the loose style. Droplets fell onto her shoulders, and he ached to lick them away.

“Only a little.”

Lawrence kissed her for another long moment before he lifted her up in his arms and carried her over to the bed. She lay back, propping herself up by her elbows, and gazed up at him from beneath dark lashes. It took everything in him not to pounce on her like an inexperienced youth, fumbling with his first maid.

“I have never lain with a man before, but I believe you need your clothes off in order to proceed.” She laughed as he practically ripped his cravat and shirt off and removed his boots.

“Not necessarily,” he said with a chuckle. “But for it to be the most enjoyable, absolutely.” He reached for the front of his trousers and unfastened them. Zehra watched him with hungry eyes, making him feel like a god.

I’ll show this woman every pleasure I can. I won’t think about letting her go.

He buried the pain deep down, trying not to think about the fact that no woman had ever made him feel this way before. And perhaps never would again.

* * *

Zehra’s heart hammered as Lawrence removed his trousers. The man was beautiful, every muscle defined far more than she’d ever expected; every part of him was toned. His skin was paler than hers, and she couldn’t help but imagine how it would look to see the two of them pressed together, skin to skin.

She had decided to seduce him, afraid he would never make the move if she did not, yet she hadn’t realized just how excited and afraid she would be. Fear now hummed at the edges of her consciousness, but it was overpowered by the intense excitement that rippled through her as her desire climbed higher and higher.

He climbed up on the bed, fully exposed now, and she couldn’t help but fixate on his erect shaft. No book she’d ever read had prepared her for this. A wave of panic subsided as he lay beside her, rather than on top of her. He cupped her face in his hand and kissed her, making her worries fade into nothing. He was a master of kisses—no two were the same. Each one sent her pulse skittering and her mind spinning in delicious circles.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yes… How did you know?”

Lawrence chuckled. “You had the look of a skittish horse just now. We can take this as slow as you like. I promise.” His hazel eyes twinkled as he brushed his knuckles over her cheek before he began to kiss her throat.

“You know just what to say to make a lady feel comforted,” she confessed with a shy smile. “I wanted to be bold for you. But having never done this before, I am also afraid to make a mistake.”

He chuckled. “A lady never makes mistakes in bed—only men can do that. All I want is for you to be yourself. There is only you and me in this bed tonight.”

Zehra nodded, her heart filling with warmth. “Only us,” she echoed. This man was perfect—a perfect gentleman, a perfect rogue, a perfect lover.

He nuzzled her cheek and left another lingering kiss upon her lips that sent her body and heart soaring. “Yes, only us.”

She sucked in a breath as he reached her breasts, taking one nipple and sucking on it until it was a hardened nub. Zehra arched her back, moaning as he cupped her other breast, rubbing his thumb over her nipple before gently pinching it between his fingers.

“Lawrence!” she gasped. Zehra gripped his hair, tugging on the strands. His warm laughter made a dark, wonderful heat build inside her, and her thighs quivered.

“Close your eyes and just feel,” he murmured as he began to kiss his way down her body.

His powerful hands were surprisingly gentle as he pushed her thighs apart. She tensed, but he didn’t yet take her. She relaxed, closing her eyes. A second later, his mouth was on her mound, his tongue licking her folds. Zehra jolted and cried out as exquisite pleasure suddenly roared through her. Everything seemed to explode in waves of fire before she came down from the height of ecstasy.

“Was that it?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Merely the beginning.” Zehra opened her eyes to see him grinning wickedly at her from between her thighs. Lawrence pushed one finger into her, and she watched in amazement as he played with her, stroking, thrusting, swirling. The sensations his touch evoked were beyond words. The intensity, the rippling frissons beneath her skin, like a thousand tiny bolts of lightning, left her weak and trembling. His intense eyes burned into hers as he seemed to seek out those spots that made her tremble and burn even hotter.

“Lord, you are beautiful,” he whispered, his tone reverent.

He was driving her mad with his touch. The pleasure that had built so fast the first time now crept up slowly on her, but it was unbearable. She needed some kind of release.

“Please, Lawrence. You’ve teased me long enough.” She wiggled on the bed, trying to sit up, but he moved then, sliding between her thighs, his arms caging her shoulders. He gazed down at her.

“Are you ready for me?”

She lifted her chin and smiled up at him. “For you, I am ready.”

Lawrence brushed his cheek against hers before pressing faint kisses on her lips. He deepened their kiss as he came into her and began to thrust.

The feel of him pressing into her, merging with her, was unlike anything Zehra could have imagined. There was a slight moment of pain, but it faded as Lawrence pushed deeper. Seconds later his kiss turned harder, but Zehra enjoyed it. She dug her nails into his back, clawing at him as his hips moved back and forth. It was the most wondrous thing she’d ever experienced, the joy of their bodies, the heat of their skin, and the beat of her heart pulsing as pleasure rippled through her entire body.

Stars burst across her eyes and she let out a whimper as her body went blessedly limp. Above her, Lawrence breathed her name, kissed her, and with one last thrust went still. He continued to place featherlight kisses upon her lips as she closed her eyes.

Zehra could have died in that moment from pure contentment. She felt such exquisite bliss in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Every fear, every worry—nothing could destroy the sense of passion and safety she felt in that moment.

“How do you feel?” he asked. His breath stirred a lock of hair close to her ear. It tickled, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wonderful, truly wonderful. And you?” She held her breath, afraid to hope he might feel the same way.

“Simply wonderful.” He lifted his head to smile at her.

They lay cocooned together, their bodies entwined. Lawrence traced a fingertip along the faint scar that ran just above her collarbone. The scar that Al-Zahrani had left her, a reminder of who she belonged to. She shivered.

I am not his. I will die before I suffer him ever again.

“How did you get this?” he asked.

Her lashes lowered. “When my parents were killed, I fled, as you know, but…” She paused, drawing in a deep breath. “The man who betrayed my father, who cut him down, was an Arabian named Samir Al-Zahrani. He took me captive as I fled. I thought he was helping me, but I soon learned the truth. Another shah wanted to take over our lands, and I was Al-Zahrani’s payment in exchange for betraying my father. I was to become part of his harem.”

“He hurt you?” Lawrence’s voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it that would have scared her had he been directing his tone at her.

“Yes, more than once, but he never took me. He thought he had the rest of my life to torture me with the promise of sharing his bed. Instead, he spent a week punishing me for what he called my ‘insolence.’ Striking me with his hand at first, then later the sting of a whip, and finally he cut me with a small blade. All I did was argue for my freedom.”

Lawrence’s arms tightened around her, and he closed his eyes, his lips pressed in a firm line. “If I ever have the fortune of meeting this man, I will kill him.”

She gasped, cupping his chin and forcing him to look at her. “No! You must never say that. He’s a brutal man without honor. He would kill you for simply being in the same room as me.” She wanted to warn him that Al-Zahrani was still looking for her, but if she told Lawrence this, she feared he would move heaven and earth to find the man and try to kill him. She couldn’t have him put his life at risk.

“I never want you to fear that man again. But he’s not here. You’re far away from him. You’re safe,” Lawrence promised.

If only it were true… But she feared the demon-hearted man was walking the streets of London right now and Lawrence didn’t know, couldn’t know. She tucked her hand against his chest and closed her eyes, focusing on the beating of his heart.

“My mother once said that when you lie with a man, you grow close in body and mind, close enough to share each other’s dreams.” She drew a fingertip between his pectoral muscles, imagining her mind and body connecting to his. “Do you think that is possible?”

Lawrence moved one of his hands up and down her lower back in a gentle motion, one that would lull her into a deep sleep if she let it.

“Possible, I suppose. I’ve never really spent much time sleeping with other women. I suppose I shouldn’t admit that, the part about other women…” His voice trailed off, and she chuckled.

“You are allowed to have a past, Lawrence, as am I. I do not judge you for the women you have loved before me.”

“I cannot say I loved them,” he said, his voice distant. “It was always for a bit of fun, you know, scratching the old proverbial itch.”

She giggled. “More silly words.” She lifted her head to rest her chin on his chest and watched him, grinning at his obvious discomfort at their discussion.

His eyes narrowed as if he didn’t believe her. “You really don’t mind, about the other women?”

“No. Those other women made you the wonderful lover you are today. I benefit from their guidance.”

With a soft laugh, he gave her bottom a little pat. “Indeed. They taught me many things…” Then he slid his fingers between the cleft of her bottom and down to her folds, pushing his fingers into her lightly. She moaned at his touch, feeling the sensitive nerves spring back to life. He played with her for a long moment, making sure she was wet and hungry for him, then lifted one of her legs over his hip and brought her closer. He pushed into her slower this time, gently, their bodies rocking as they lay on their sides, facing one another. It was somehow more intimate than before, more tender and sweet, even as he possessed her in every possible way.

I belong to him. I will always belong to this sweet, seductive man…

The thought made her throat tighten, and she leaned into him, kissing him desperately as they climaxed together.

Lawrence held her close, his breath uneven in her ear as he struggled to recover. Neither of them spoke for many long minutes. They simply existed together in the same space, bodies, hearts, and minds connected in a way Zehra didn’t fully understand but had longed for ever since she had learned such a thing was possible.

After several long minutes, Lawrence heaved a sigh. “I should hate to leave this bed, but I’m famished. You must be as well. I’ll fetch us our food. The lads should have it ready by now.”

Zehra didn’t like the thought of him leaving her or the thought of them separating, but she reluctantly let go of him, and he withdrew from the bed. When he stood, his dark red hair was tousled from where her hands had run through the strands. It was a simple marking, but a marking nonetheless. She bit back a proud smile.

“You look like a cat who’s fed on the cream,” he said with a chuckle.

“Even more silly words, though these I understand.” She wrinkled her nose. “Is that supposed to be a bad thing?”

He tapped her under the chin, still grinning. “Not at all. I like to see you smile. It makes your eyes shine like sapphires.”

His praise should not affect her as strongly as it did. Yet she could not stop smiling even if she tried.

“Your chemise should be dry by now.” He walked over to the fire, completely naked. She had a chance to admire his firm buttocks and the lean lines of his muscled legs. Her body was exhausted, but she still burned with arousal. He removed the delicate chemise from the fire grating and walked back to her.

Lawrence held it out to her and she accepted it, loving the way the fire’s heat clung to the fabric. She pressed it to her bare chest for a moment, sighing in pleasure before she slipped it over her head and sat back on the bed while he dressed.

“Stay right where you are,” he ordered with a wink before he stepped outside.

Zehra chuckled and lay back in bed. She was a little tender, but it felt good in a strange sort of way. She’d passed into a new state of womanhood. The mysteries she’d heard about in whispers had answers now, and none of the texts she’d read had compared to the reality of being with a man.

Zehra snuggled deeper into the bed and closed her eyes. She saw Lawrence’s face, felt his kiss, and sensed his hands on her body, and his weight atop hers. Even though she was more than two thousand miles away from her parents’ palace, she felt like she was home. And it was all because she was falling in love with the man who would soon be forced to send her away. Tears pooled in her closed eyes.

Don’t think about leaving. I have a few days yet before I have to say goodbye.

* * *

Lawrence leaned back against the closed door, pausing to reflect over what had just happened. He had made love to Zehra, and it had been… Lord, it had been unlike anything he’d ever felt with any woman. He had been focused solely on her pleasure, showing her how intimacy between a man and woman should be.

And yet she’d been the one to teach him things. Like how staring into her eyes as she came apart was like watching a sunset over a lake: brilliant blue water bathed in gold light. It consumed him, drowned him in its ecstasy.

She’d been so open with herself that he hadn’t been able to maintain his emotional distance as he did with past lovers. Being with her, even just holding her in his arms, made him want to tell her a thousand things and to ask her just as many questions. For the first time in his life, he was fascinated by someone in a way he couldn’t get enough of. That was why he dragged himself away from the bed—not for food, but to clear his head.

I cannot let myself get attached. She will leave me in less than a week, and I’ll never see her again.

A weary sigh escaped him. He pushed away from the door and walked down to the taproom, where he found a barmaid and asked for the trays of food he’d requested earlier. While she fetched him dinner, he waited in the corner by the stairs. Suddenly he had that odd notion of being watched again. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he glanced about. Men and women occupied the common room, and many were gathered around the fire in the hearth. A few men glanced his way, but they were laughing and completely preoccupied.

Am I being foolish? Is it merely the shadow of my brother’s threat to take Zehra away that’s making me feel eyes everywhere? It was possible, but he’d never been prey to such concerns before that left him in such a state.

The maid returned at last and handed him a tray of food. The aromas that came off the plates were enticing, and he rushed back up to their room. He chanced a glance back over his shoulder at the base of the stairs, and a hint of movement made him hesitate. Had someone followed him to the foot of the stairs? He continued to stare, but no one appeared. Only then did Lawrence feel safe enough to go back into their room. He set the tray down, then locked the door behind him, just in case.

“Are you all right?” Zehra’s voice made him glance toward the bed.

“Er… Yes. Sorry, come and get some food.” He uncovered the plates. They had provided hot soup, mutton, fresh bread, and cheese. The simple fare would taste like a king’s feast after lovemaking.

Zehra slipped out of bed, her shapely legs a tempting vision as she joined him in the chair by the small table, using a blanket as a shawl.

“I am famished,” she admitted shyly.

Lawrence handed her a plate. As they began to eat, he gave in to his curiosity.

“Tell me, what was your home like? I must admit I have never seen any place outside of England.”

“We lived in a village outside of Shiraz. My mother was visiting the country with her parents when she met my father. He was a prince, a shah in the Fars province. They were negotiating trade deals with a number of countries, including England. My mother was taken with the beauty of the land and its people.”

Zehra’s eyes met his as she continued. “There is a mystery that shines in the eyes of Persians, an ancient calling to come close, to learn of the past. My mother said that called to her. She came to love Persia almost as much she loved my father.”

“Is it truly a desert, where you lived?” Lawrence couldn’t picture this beautiful woman living in a hard, hot land of sand.

“Some of it is, but not my home. Shiraz is a green land at the foot of the Zagros Mountains, an oasis from the harsh but beautiful desert.”

Lawrence leaned closer, bewitched by her. She spoke of home. “Green? You had gardens?”

Zehra nodded. “We have some of the most beautiful gardens in the world. And the roses… I miss the roses.”

“Roses? England is quite famous for its roses. Did you know that we have a breed called tea roses because they smell like tea?” he pointed out with a grin.

She chuckled. “Yes, but you’ve never seen Persian roses. We have pink roses with crimson edges and ones as yellow as midday sunlight, even orange roses that have coral at the tips of their petals.” As she spoke, her eyes were distant, and she gave a wistful smile.

“My mother would cut them from the gardens and fill vases with hundreds of them. Over the next two weeks they would slowly unfurl their petals, the colors deepening, before they finally faded. The petals would fall onto the tables, and I would collect them for my mother to make rosewater. My people believe rosewater can cure anything.”

“Ah, rosewater, yes. We love that perfume here. Some ladies even bathe in it.” Many of his past mistresses had insisted on rosewater for their baths.

Zehra took a sip of her wine and looked to him with bright eyes. “I wish you could have seen the festivals we had for rosewater.”

“Festivals?”

She nodded. “The women would dress in their brightest clothes and go out to the gardens before sunrise to pluck the petals from the roses. The men would have copper tubs with hot water prepared. My mother took me every year to watch. I can still remember seeing the petals fall like colored raindrops into the vast tubs and the singing of the women as they welcomed the dawn.”

Lawrence took in the image her words created. He could picture Zehra as a beautiful dark-haired child, wearing a colorful gown, holding her mother’s hand and watching the petals fall around her. The morning light would have come over the horizon, illuminating her bright-blue eyes. Yes, he would have given anything to see that. Anything.

“Persians and roses have a long history. We are besotted with them.” She smiled impishly. “My mother said my father seduced her with roses.”

“Oh?” Lawrence listened eagerly. As she spoke of her home, her face transformed, becoming even more beautiful, to the point where the sight filled his heart to bursting. She licked the tips of her fingers as she finished her dinner.

“Roses are considered to be beautiful and perfect. They are the object of longing and adoration of the nightingale, who represents a lover and sings his devotion to the rose in much of our poetry. The poet Omar Khayyám was a favorite of my father’s. I remember a bit of his work.” She paused as though thinking before she began again:

I sometimes think that never blows so red

The roses as where some buried Caesar bled;

That every hyacinth the garden wears

Dropt in its lap from some once lovely head.

For a second neither of them moved, the weight of the words caught between them in an invisible web, and then Zehra continued to speak.

“My father crept into my mother’s chamber one night and had his servants fill her bath with rose petals, and there he spoke to her of love and roses.”

“Your father sounds like an intelligent and romantic man,” Lawrence said.

“He was,” she agreed. Fresh sorrow now painted her face with a haunting loveliness. He hadn’t wanted to remind her of her loss, so he scrambled to ask her something else.

“Did you have a beau, back in Persia?”

She looked puzzled. “Bow?” She gestured as if tying her hair with one.

“No, beau. You know, a man who comes to court you? Someone who wanted to marry you?”

“Oh, I see. There were many men who wished to court me, but I was not interested. My mother had shown me the freedoms of a Western woman, and I had no desire to marry a traditional suitor. It was my mother’s hope that I would travel to England in a year for studies.” She sipped her wine, and with a coy grin she continued. “I was looking forward to coming here and possibly finding my own wild English lord.”

Lawrence laughed. “And here I am, ready to fill your every desire.”

She raised one elegant dark brow. “Every desire?”

“Yes, every one.”

She set her wine glass down on the table and stood, holding her hand out to him.

“Then take me to bed. I wish to see the stars again.”

He would not deny her. They would not think of what the future held. For tonight there was only the beauty that blossomed between them as they came together in each other’s arms once more.