Zehra slept for much of the coach ride back the following morning. Lawrence was to blame. He had spent all night making love to her. She had collapsed near dawn from sheer exhaustion. It was true, one could have too much of a good thing. She nuzzled his shoulder as the coach rolled to a stop.

“Are you awake?” His tender voice made her want to sigh and burrow deeper into his arms.

“If I say no, can you have the coachman take us back to Richmond?” she asked drowsily.

Lawrence’s laugh warmed her to her toes. “Don’t tempt me, darling. I’d like that more than you, I’d wager. Why don’t I take you straight to bed and let you rest?” He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek, and she smiled.

“That sounds nice, as long as you join me. No more separate rooms.”

“No more separate rooms,” he agreed. For a moment they simply stared into one another’s eyes, their faces close enough for a kiss. In that moment Zehra felt that she could have wanted nothing else in life, except to be with him.

But their driver was waiting for them to leave, so Lawrence helped Zehra out. It was midmorning as they climbed up the steps to his residence on Jermyn Street. As the door opened, Mr. MacTavish stared at them, eyes wide.

“My lord, I’m sorry, you have guests. I told them you weren’t here, but—”

Lawrence went rigid. “Who is it, MacTavish? Is it Avery?” The panic in his tone sent a wave of dread through Zehra. Avery was the brother who would come to collect her, the one who planned to send her home.

“Er, not that one—it’s His Lordship.”

Lawrence frowned. “Lucien?”

“Yes, but Lord Essex, Lord Lonsdale, Lord Lennox, and Mr. St. Laurent are also here… As are their wives.” The butler shuddered at the word, and Lawrence suddenly laughed as he turned to Zehra.

“My brother’s wife and her friends are…spirited. They are known to get into a bit of trouble.”

MacTavish nodded. “Aye, spirited isn’t a strong enough word for the ladies. When they get together, they’re like the witches of Macbeth, they are,” the butler grumbled.

“Trouble?” Zehra had read Macbeth and highly doubted the ladies were witches of any kind, not by the way Lawrence was fighting off a smile.

“Yes, when the ladies were last here, they spent two hours practicing lock picking on all of the cabinets in the silver room.”

MacTavish puffed his chest out. “Those cabinets are impenetrable, no matter what Her Grace says.”

Zehra wasn’t quite following all of this, but as they stepped inside the entryway, Lawrence leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“The Duchess of Essex, Emily St. Laurent, did pick the lock, and MacTavish is too proud to admit it. All of that Highland pride makes him convinced he keeps the household silver in an impenetrable fortress.”

“A duchess was…picking locks?” Zehra asked, still puzzled. That didn’t sound like something a highborn lady should be doing. “Why?”

“Well, you see, my brother Lucien and his friends are known in London as the League of Rogues.”

“Rogues?” Zehra couldn’t help but wonder if these men were like Lawrence or if she should be worried.

“It is just a nickname certain newspapers have come to favor when talking about their exploits. And one would have thought that as they married they would have settled down, yet they keep marrying creatures who are full of just as much mischief as they are. The wives now call themselves the Society of Rebellious Ladies, and they strive to live up to that name.”

Zehra giggled. “The Society of Rebellious Ladies?” It sounded much more like the ladies her mother had been friends with when she was young. Her mother hadn’t talked much of her days in England, but what little her mother had shared sounded like she’d had wonderful friends who got into trouble like this.

“I asked for my brother’s wife, Horatia, to assist me in something the day before last, and I have a feeling that favor is why they are all here. I should have expected they would come. I must apologize in advance for my brother and his friends.” Lawrence paused as they reached the drawing room.

“Oh?” Would they disapprove of her? “Should I go upstairs then? If you feel that I—”

Lawrence raised her hands to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers.

“I am not ashamed of you, nor do I wish to hide you from them for that or any reason. It’s my brother. He’s a devil and will most likely tease you.”

“Something you have in common then.”

Lawrence smiled. “I just wish for you to be prepared. They will likely badger you with questions. I am assuming Lucien found out from my mother that something is afoot and is here to question me. You do not have to tell them anything you do not wish to. I can make excuses for you if you would rather retire for the rest of the evening.”

“No, please, I would like to meet your brother and his friends.” Who wouldn’t want to meet an entire League of Rogues?

Lawrence chuckled. “Very well. Prepare yourself, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He opened the drawing room door, and they came face-to-face with a crowd of people. Five gentlemen stood close to the tall window facing Lawrence’s gardens, and three ladies were seated on the couches by the hearth. The animated discussions in the room ceased immediately. A redheaded man, so close in resemblance to Lawrence that it shocked Zehra, separated from the other men. This had to be Lucien.

“Lawrence, you devil, who is this beauty?”

“Lucien,” Lawrence said with laugh. “What are you doing here? What is the bloody League doing in my house? I asked Horatia for a favor and a couple of friends, not the rest of you lot.”

Lucien grinned. “I heard you and Avery had a bit of a row. Mama was worried and asked me to stop by for a visit, as you would expect. Everyone else thought it would be fun to come along. So, is everything all right between you and Avery?”

The light in Lawrence’s eyes dimmed a little. “No, but you need not worry.”

“Whatever Avery is up to, tell him you’re too busy for all that spy nonsense,” Lucien counseled. “I would like to have at least one of my brothers uninvolved in danger.”

“I’ll try that next time,” Lawrence promised with a sigh.

“But that’s not the only reason I’m here. My wife says she’s helping you arrange a dance for a young lady?” Lucien’s eyes slid to Zehra, though not in a sensual manner, merely curious. “Am I to assume you are that lady?”

Zehra glanced at Lawrence. He’d spoken to Lucien’s wife about a dance? Was it because she’d wished to go to the ball the other night and could not?

“Oh, please,” she interjected. “You mustn’t go to any trouble on my account.”

Lucien laughed. “Ah, Lawrence hasn’t told you, then? Trouble is our forte, is it not?” He called this last part over his shoulder at his companions and waved them over. The other men still lingering by the windows joined Lawrence and Zehra, and the ladies rose from their couches to come and meet her.

“I suppose I’ll have to make introductions,” Lawrence muttered half to himself. “Everyone, I’d like to present Miss Zehra Darzi. This is clearly my brother, Lucien, the Marquess of Rochester, and his wife, Horatia.” He then gestured to a dark-haired man with green eyes and an auburn-haired woman holding his arm. “This is Godric, the Duke of Essex, and his wife, Emily. Then there is of course Miss Audrey Sheridan.” He waved to a petite brunette with lovely brown eyes. Lawrence seemed to be looking around the room. “I count only five among the men. Where, might I ask, is Lord Sheridan?”

“Cedric’s in the country with Anne. Ah, to be newly married,” Lucien added with a chuckle.

Horatia poked Lucien in the ribs. “We are newly wedded,” she reminded him. Lucien grinned at her in a manner which made her blush.

“I see,” Lawrence continued. “Well, Horatia and Audrey here are sisters. And then there’s Ashton, Baron Lennox.” Zehra followed Lawrence’s nod to a tall blond-haired man with intense blue eyes who inclined his head. “And this fellow here is Jonathan St. Laurent, Godric’s half-brother.” Zehra saw that the handsome sandy-haired man shared the same green eyes as his brother.

“Saving the best for last, I see?” a golden-haired man with silvery-gray eyes said with a roguish wink at Zehra.

“Saving the most disreputable, certainly,” Lawrence retorted with a smile. “That is Charles, the Earl of Lonsdale.”

Zehra’s head was spinning from all the introductions. The ladies gently extricated her from Lawrence’s arm and pulled her away from the intimidating group of men.

“Come now,” said Emily. “The women would have their time with you.”

“Zehra, what a lovely name,” Horatia said. Her brown eyes were warm and soft.

“Thank you,” Zehra stammered.

“Is it Persian?” Emily asked.

“Yes, how did you know?” Zehra was stunned to find someone here who recognized the origins of her name.

Emily giggled. “We are all voracious readers. I was quite intrigued by the history of Persia a few months ago. Where are you from, exactly, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Just south of Shiraz.”

“Ah, of course.” Emily nodded. “Lovely gardens, I understand.”

“Yes, I was telling Lawrence only yesterday about the gardens and how we make rosewater.”

“You make absolutely the finest rosewater perfume,” Audrey added. Her cherubic face seemed full of innocence, but Zehra didn’t miss the intelligence that flashed behind her eyes.

“We do,” she agreed. She looked over her shoulder at the men, who were now talking amongst themselves and no longer paying attention to the ladies.

“Zehra… Do you mind if I call you Zehra?” Emily asked.

“Not at all, Your Grace. Is that the correct way to address you?”

“It is, but please, it’s Emily among friends,” she insisted. “We ladies are quite good at discovering things, and it came to Horatia’s attention that there must be something important about you, considering Lawrence made his request to host a private dance for your benefit.”

Zehra didn’t speak. She wasn’t quite sure what Emily was hoping she would say.

“What she means,” Horatia cut in, “is that you clearly are not some…mistress of Lawrence’s. He would never ask that of me unless…unless there was something special about you.”

“Special?” Zehra shook her head. “I’m afraid I am not special. Far from it. I…” She wasn’t quite sure what brought on the flood of tears, but she was now frantically wiping her eyes. Perhaps it had been too long since she’d been around women her age in a casual and free setting and not on a slave ship.

Emily put an arm around her shoulders, and the lady ushered her to sit down on a couch. “Oh dear. I’m so sorry if I have offended.”

“What can we do?” Audrey asked.

“I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t be crying. Truly, you have done nothing to offend.” Zehra soon found herself telling the ladies everything that had happened, from the moment of terror the night the palace was attacked, to the audacious way in which Lawrence had rescued her and brought her here.

“You really are a Persian princess?” Emily placed a hand over heart. “Oh my, you truly are special.” The compliment made Zehra blush.

“Yes, my father was a ruler in his area of Shiraz. It’s why he was killed. Al-Zahrani wanted my father’s power, and he wanted me for his bed.”

All three ladies winced, and Horatia scowled.

“Have you not told Lawrence about this Al-Zahrani fellow?” Audrey asked.

“I have but I never told him that Al-Zahrani followed me to England. Anyone who stands between me and that foul man can only be put in danger. It’s why I haven’t gone to seek out my mother’s family. When I overheard him in the gardens of the White House, he told his companion that he would pay my family a visit. I fear that he might have the house watched in case I try to go on my own.”

“And you cannot send Lawrence because Al-Zahrani would likely recognize him from the auction.”

“Yes.” Zehra sighed, her breath hitching a little. “I know I must leave him to protect him and my family.”

Emily shook her head. “I tried that once myself. You must trust me, leaving people for their own good never ends well. I ended up wounded at the bottom of the stairs after a man who wanted to possess me tried to kill me. Godric was so furious he didn’t let me out of his sight again for two months. I quite enjoyed his attention, but having a gentleman as a watchdog gets rather tedious, especially during private tea engagements. He kept scowling at my companions as though he expected them to wield knives or pistols at any moment. Quite silly, men are.”

Zehra smiled. “What do you think I should do? Lawrence doesn’t know Al-Zahrani’s here—and you mustn’t tell him. He will do something brave and noble—”

“And foolhardy. You are quite right. I am sure you will tell him when the time is right. But I believe we may be able to help in our own way. Who is your mother’s family? Let us start there.”

“My mother was the daughter of the Earl of Denbruck.”

Audrey covered her mouth for a moment. “Your grandfather is Lord Lyon? Oh, he’s such a dear! Does he know about you?”

“I’m not sure. I was told my grandfather disowned my mother when she married. My mother rarely spoke of her family back in England.” Zehra reached up to touch her locket, which bore the miniature portraits of her parents. “I’m afraid to go to see him, and not just because of Al-Zahrani watching over his home.”

“Well, we can go and have tea with him and ask about your mother, if you like,” said Horatia. “Al-Zahrani won’t be looking for three English ladies, not if he expects to see you run up to the door.”

Zehra brightened. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Emily nodded. “I know so. No one turns down the Duchess of Essex for tea.”

“She can be very tactful in her questions,” Audrey added. “And frighteningly forthright when tact fails.”

Zehra’s eyes clouded with tears again. “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” Emily said with a sweet smile. “Now, dry your eyes, because here come the gentlemen. We cannot have Lawrence see you crying. He might get cross with us.” Her teasing tone was comforting. Zehra could not tell Emily or the others that she might have very little time left in which to see her grandfather, whether her grandfather welcomed her into his home or not.

Lawrence was the first to reach them. “Zehra. How would you feel about a ball tomorrow night? A small one in Lord Essex’s house? Would you like that?”

Zehra rose and clasped her hands together. “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

“Excellent.” Lucien came up behind Lawrence and slapped him on the back. “I told you it was a good idea.”

Lawrence glared at his brother. “Of course it’s a good idea—it was my idea.”

“Of course.” Lucien winked at Zehra. “We are to have a private ball, it seems. The trick will be to keep Mother from finding out.”

Lawrence paled. “Damnation, I hadn’t thought of her. She’s a damned bloodhound, able to sniff out any social event. What about Linus? Surely he could distract her, take her to the opera for the evening or something?”

“It might work,” Lucien agreed.

Zehra tried not to smile as she watched Lawrence and Lucien confer. It was a bit like a man talking to his own reflection.

“Let me handle Mother,” Lucien said finally. “I will tell her she needs to have a christening gown made for her first grandchild. That will keep her occupied.”

The men in the room snickered, but Emily and her Rebellious Ladies rolled their eyes.

Audrey leaned into Zehra and whispered behind her delicate gloved hand. “These men all have this silly notion that they can distract us with fashion. Impossible. I adore fashion, but it would never distract me from anything I deemed important.”

Zehra smiled at the other woman, feeling a kinship among them that she had not felt in a long time. In another life, this League of Rogues and Society of Rebellious Ladies might have become her dearest friends.

She smiled at Lawrence, a silly grin curving her lips. When he smiled back, she could’ve flown with the rush of sheer joy it gave her.

Do not think of the days you have left. Live in this moment so you won’t feel your heart breaking.