Emily St. Laurent, the Duchess of Essex, sat in the drawing room of Lord Denbruck’s townhouse in Mayfair, sipping tea. Beside her, Horatia and Audrey were also holding teacups. Lord Denbruck, an older man who still bore the vestiges of his handsome features, had been delighting the ladies with tales of his youth.

“My lord,” Emily said at an appropriate lull in the conversation. “The portrait behind you—may I ask who that is?” She nodded politely at a beautiful woman with blonde hair painted in a green gown, leaning against a pillar covered with English ivy. The woman was Zehra’s mother, Joan, she was sure of it. The resemblance in the eyes was uncanny. Even though Zehra was dark-haired and olive-skinned, there was no mistaking those eyes.

“That’s my daughter, Joan.” Lord Denbruck gave a world-weary sigh. “I have two other children, Elizabeth and Archibald. Joan was my eldest.” He chuckled, though it held more sorrow than humor. “I swore never to have favorites, but damned if she wasn’t mine.”

“What happened to her?” Audrey asked.

Denbruck looked away. “She died. Only a few weeks ago. She lived in Persia, where she had married a local shah, Rafay Darzi, whom she met while I was there negotiating trade agreements.”

“Oh?” Emily queried.

“That was more than twenty years ago. I was quite mad at her at the time. I thought she ought to marry a young Englishman and…” His tone softened. “I fear I ruined everything with Joan. She married anyway, and our family fell apart, as they tend to do when everyone is too stubborn to mend things. She wouldn’t come home to visit, and I was too proud to ask her to.”

A tear rolled down his cheek, and Emily feared he would not continue, but he did. “I loved Joan. I even accepted the fellow she married, but I just couldn’t bring myself to beg her to return to England to see me. I hired the son of a friend who was remaining in the area to keep an eye on her. Over the years, he sent me reports, told me how my daughter, son-in-law and my grandchild were doing.”

“Grandchild?” Horatia asked. She and Emily shared victorious looks.

“Yes, my granddaughter, Zehra. I never had the chance to see her, but I heard she was a lovely woman. I learned only recently that Joan had planned to send Zehra to England for a time and sought my blessing. Alas, the poor girl was never to have the chance.”

Emily leaned forward. “Was? Don’t tell me…”

“Yes. She died with her parents. Warring tribes or some such were to blame. That part of the world is politically turbulent. I only received word a few days ago that they were gone.” He wiped away another tear with his fingers. “Forgive me, ladies, I’m afraid I have not quite come to terms with it all just yet.”

Emily and her friends rushed to reassure him that his outpouring of emotion was not unwelcome.

“I’ve ruined our tea, haven’t I?” he asked at last.

“No, certainly you haven’t.” Emily reached across the tea table and patted his hand. “In fact, we shall have to have you over for a ball in a few days. My husband has been meaning to meet with you if you would like to join us.”

“I would love that,” Denbruck replied. “I may be a bit gray in the beard but I do love a good dance.”

“Wonderful! I’ll send you an invitation soon. We should leave you to rest, my lord.” Emily gave her friends a slight nod, and they let Lord Denbruck escort them to the door.

As they climbed into her private coach, Emily was positively bouncing.

“He’ll want to see her, don’t you think? He doesn’t know yet that she’s alive, but once he does, he’ll be overjoyed. It is perfect.”

Horatia and Audrey both agreed.

“How can we bring them together?” Horatia asked.

“It will upset the men, of course, but I think we should invite Lord Denbruck to our little ball tomorrow night.” Emily tugged on her gloves, tightening them.

“And if he refuses to come?” Audrey asked.

“Then we tell him why. No sense in keeping it a secret if he refuses. Knowing Zehra is here, that she’s alive and well… Lord Denbruck will be desperate to see her.”

“But what about Al-Zahrani?” Horatia’s eyes were dark with worry.

“I refuse to let that evil man bully our new friend. It’s not as though we haven’t faced danger before. Only this time, we have a clear idea of who’s behind it. Perhaps we can put the League on guard. They could take turns watching over Denbruck and his family. We shall have to tell Lawrence Al-Zahrani is here, of course. He must know. But first we must introduce Zehra to Lord Denbruck. Once that is done, we can devise a plan for her safety.”

Emily bit her lip, deep in thought. She remembered all too well how it felt to be powerless and terrified of a man who wanted to possess her and break her. Thankfully, Godric had rescued her from that awful man. She wasn’t about to let Zehra suffer that fate a moment longer.

Emily was convinced her plan would work. It was simply a matter of putting the pieces together in the right order.

* * *

The night of the ball, Zehra was wildly nervous. She had never attended such an event before, but she’d listened for hours at her mother’s knee about what the experience was like. As she descended the stairs to meet Lawrence, his eyes widened and his lips parted. She smiled, yet felt strangely shy. Eva had helped her dress, and she’d felt more like a princess tonight than she ever had in Shiraz.

She wore a sapphire-blue evening gown in a simple but elegant style with thin gold netting over the bodice and part of the skirt. It was a style that reminded her very much of the gowns back home. Its low neckline offered a lovely view of her décolletage and the slope of her neck and shoulders. The bodice was embroidered with gold stars in the shape of constellations. The dressmaker, Madame Ella, had quite a skilled set of seamstresses who were creative in their designs, which Zehra liked immensely.

“My God, you’re a vision,” Lawrence said as he she reached him.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Heat flared between them, and for a moment Zehra forgot where she was. Lawrence had a way of kissing her that seemed to swallow time, trapping them in a cocoon of wondrous feelings where nothing else could exist. When their lips finally parted, she followed him a few inches as he retreated, and she had to stop herself.

“As much as I would love to take you upstairs and ravish you, I promised you a ball. Also, I mustn’t disappoint the Duchess of Essex. She adores helping out, and I know she’s planned this event with special care.”

Zehra smiled. “She’s quite wonderful. All of your friends are.”

Lawrence chuckled. “Yes, the League and their wives are wonderful, but if you dare tell my brother I said that, I’ll deny it to my last breath. Now, come along. Our coach awaits.”

Zehra slipped her arm through his, and they left the house. By the time they reached Emily’s home, her stomach was under siege by a fresh legion of butterflies. She touched her belly gingerly, and Lawrence noticed with a frown.

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes. I am simply nervous.”

His hazel eyes softened. “No need for that. You know everyone in attendance tonight. You are supposed to have fun. Do not worry about a thing. Promise me.” He lifted her chin up as they reached the townhouse door.

“I promise.”

“Good.” He rapped the knocker against the door, and a footman allowed them inside. Golden light bathed the interior, and the sound of music already echoed through the hall. The footman led Zehra and Lawrence to a small ballroom, where a few of the couples were already engaged in dancing. Zehra saw Godric and Emily waltzing, and the pretty picture of them made Zehra feel envious. She wanted to dance with Lawrence like that. Feel him close and let the music pour into her heart and soul.

She placed her reticule on a chair by the wall. “Can we join in?”

“Absolutely.” Lawrence held out his hands. “Do you know the waltz?”

She nodded and rushed into his arms. “My mother hired a tutor who taught me all the English dances, but he was a very old Englishman.”

He pulled her against him and she blushed. “It’s quite a different experience, waltzing with a lover,” he said, low enough that only she could hear.

They began to dance. The private ball was everything she’d dreamed it would be—candlelight, music, her heart racing, her body humming with joy at the thrill of being alive in that moment. It was as though every bit of darkness in her heart had been banished. She lost track of the number of dances they had, but she danced every one with Lawrence, even when the other gentlemen jokingly begged Lawrence to share her. He refused them all. She danced a quadrille, a waltz, a minuet, and even a boulanger, which made her laugh as she danced in circles with the others.

And despite her best efforts, she fell in love with him more and more. She’d done the one thing she’d known would be dangerous to her heart: she’d fallen in love with a man she would never see again. Tears stung her eyes as the dance ended.

Lawrence brought her close to him. “Everything all right?” he asked, concern shadowing his handsome face.

She ducked her head. “Yes.”

“I wanted this to be a special night, because…” His face was a ruddy red now.

“Yes?” Her heart began to pound, and she was too afraid he might help that foolish emotion called hope blossom inside her when she knew better than to believe he might—

The doors to the ballroom burst open, and a red-haired man stormed in with several others flanking him, all wearing grim expressions. The violins squealed to a halt, cutting the dance short as everyone around Zehra and Lawrence faced the men in the doorway.

Lucien stepped forward. “Avery? What is the meaning of this?”

“Avery…” Zehra whispered the name, her chest filling with dread. This was Lawrence’s brother, the man who would take her away, put her on a boat, and send her to a home where she had lost everything.

“Zehra,” Lawrence said slowly. “Get behind me right now.” He positioned himself in front of her, his arms held out to shield her.

“Lawrence, you are hereby commanded to turn over the woman in your possession, by the order of the Home Office. If you fail to comply, you will be placed under arrest and face a hearing before the magistrate.”

“What in God’s name are you doing?” Godric growled. “You have no right to—”

“Your Grace, I’m afraid I have not only the right, but the duty. By order of the Crown.” Avery held out a slip of paper to Godric. He read through it, and his face drained of color as he wordlessly handed it to Lucien. Lucien scanned the page, and he glanced between Avery and Lawrence, his lips pressed thin as he returned the paper to Avery.

“What?” Emily spoke up. “What is it? What does it say?”

Godric cleared his throat. “They have the authority to take Zehra immediately and imprison Lawrence and anyone else who resists.”

“Imprison?” Horatia clutched her husband’s arm. Lucien stared hard at Avery.

Godric’s voice became hard, yet there was a note of defeat hidden within it. “Ladies, if you will be so good as to wait in the other room while we sort this out.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “Godric, no. I won’t allow this. There are things you must all hear before you rush to—”

“Emily, my love, it gives me no pleasure to say this, but you must all leave the room at once. I will not have you become a part of what must happen.”

“Godric, you don’t understand…”

But the Duke of Essex had already nodded to the servants in the room, who escorted Emily and the others out before they could complete their protest, though Emily did manage to blurt out that they were all being incredibly stubborn about this. Not that any man listened to her.

Now it was just Lawrence and the League facing Avery’s men, with Zehra caught between them. She was pressed against Lawrence’s back, and every muscle she touched was hard as stone. She closed her eyes, accepting with dread and heartbreak what she had to do.

“Lawrence…I must go with him,” she said. She tried to walk around him, but he moved with her, keeping himself between her and his brother.

“No. I won’t let him take you. Not after everything that—” His voice broke. His hazel eyes glittered, and she feared that if he cried she would not be able to do what she had to.

Zehra bit her lip hard. Her heart was shattering, and from the look in Lawrence’s eyes, so was his.

“You’ve done so much for me, Lawrence, given me so many wonderful things in these last few days, and I will never forget that. I will never forget you.” For as long as I live, you hold my heart, no matter the distance between us.

Zehra curled her fingers into his waistcoat and pulled him to her, kissing him in front of all who were present. She would never have another chance. Her mouth trembled as she tried to imprint this last kiss upon her very soul. It would never be enough, but it was all she would ever get. She pulled away, putting the back of her hand to her mouth, fighting a sob.

“No,” Lawrence begged. “No…” He reached out to catch hold of her, but she stumbled away. She had to leave. There was no other way to protect him from Al-Zahrani—or Avery, for that matter.

“Forgive me, Lawrence.” She could barely speak past the pain in her throat as she pulled away from him.