Zehra turned the last page of the novel she’d found in Lawrence’s bedchamber earlier that day. It had been so wonderful to find an engaging read. She had read some English novels before, but never these “Gothic” ones, as Lawrence had called them, for they were rare in Shiraz, the area where she was from. The adventures of Lady Isabelle had distracted her from her loneliness for a time, but when she heard the click of the door opening her heart leapt.

“Zehra?” Lawrence’s voice was soft, as though he feared she might be asleep.

“I’m here.” She set the book down and stood, surprised by her eagerness to see him again. It was hard to explain, but it was as though every time she saw him, he brought sunlight into the room, even when it was night.

He smiled as he spotted her. “Ah, you’re awake. I thought perhaps you might have gone to sleep. It’s almost midnight.”

She shook her head. “I am tired. But I couldn’t rest.” Her evening after dinner had been plagued with worries. She needed to find her mother’s family, yet she had no way to do so. If she asked Lawrence for help, that might put him in danger, but if she did not, she might be putting her family at risk.

Al-Zahrani would no doubt find her family before she did, and he had told his companion at the brothel that he would kill anyone who stood between him and Zehra. She fought the revulsion she felt at the thought of being back under that evil man’s control. The things he had promised he would do to her, the tortures he wanted to inflict, the pleasures he would take from her while leaving her broken in spirit… And more than anyone, she knew how resourceful Al-Zahrani could be. To stand against him was to put one’s own neck against the sword.

No, she couldn’t put anyone’s life at risk, which meant she had to be careful when searching for her family, assuming there was a family to search for. Her grandfather had disowned her mother, after all, and there was every possibility he did not know she existed. Even if he did, he may not even want her. Regardless, she didn’t want to put him in danger if Al-Zahrani was watching her grandfather’s home.

Lawrence came up to her, concern etched on his face. “What is it? You’re awfully pale all of a sudden.” He cupped her chin, and she leaned into his hold, wishing his strength and comfort could banish all her fears. But she had to remain strong. Lawrence would not always be there to fight her demons.

“I’m all right, truly,” she whispered, gazing at him. He tilted his head, and his fingers toyed with a loose tendril of her dark hair.

“You’re safe now, I promise you. You have nothing to fear.”

She bit her lip before replying. “Nothing to fear until our week is over and I return to Persia.”

The pain that flashed in his eyes reflected her own heart’s sting. She didn’t want to leave England, and the reasons why seemed to be slowly multiplying, with the greatest one standing right in front of her. She looked down to his broad chest and the finely embroidered waistcoat he wore, which bore beautiful swallows in silver and gold threading. She reached out, placing her palm on his chest, not to push him away but to connect them. His fingers lowered from her hair and curled around her wrist, holding her hand to his chest.

“I’m not a gentleman, not by any means, but…” He smiled ruefully. “I would like to be here for you, sweetheart, in whatever way I can.”

She couldn’t resist teasing him. “How noble of you.”

His soft chuckle seemed delightfully sinful. “Lord, everyone keeps accusing me of being so bloody noble all of a sudden. I am most certainly anything but that. If you could read my thoughts at this moment…”

“Oh?” She met his stare, surprised at the stark hunger, but rather than frighten her, it heated her blood and made her feel dizzy, as though she’d had too much mulled wine.

“My thoughts would likely get me slapped and I’d certainly deserve it.”

A sensuous light seemed to pass between them as she moved her hand up his chest. He leaned in just an inch, as though barely resisting his desires.

“And what would get you slapped, I wonder?” she asked, her voice breathless as she waited to hear if he would confess his thoughts.

“Gripping you by the back of your neck and kissing you, hard.”

Her breath hitched. “But you wouldn’t stop there…” she pressed. “That is not worthy of a slap. In deed, perhaps, but not in thought.”

“No, certainly not. But I’d just be getting started. I’d then press you against the wall, hike up your skirts, and use my fingers to make you come apart.” His voice was husky and low, a delicious dangerous edge to it that made her shiver.

“Is that all?” She was imagining his fantasies as her own, wishing desperately that part of him would abandon his noble behavior and act upon his words.

“Then, when you were weak and sated, my hands clenching your soft buttocks and my mouth on your neck, nibbling and sucking until neither of us could walk, I’d push into you, take you hard against the wall, and make you see stars.”

His fingers were still around her wrist. As he was talking, he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. A sharp pang of sensual pain burned low in her belly and between her thighs. She wanted him to do that, wanted it so much, but she was afraid it would make her appear wanton and unladylike.

“I…” She struggled for words. He had certainly said everything she’d wished to hear and more. Then with a coy smile, she reached up with her free hand and gently patted him once on the cheek. “Slap.”

For a second he stared at her in shock and then broke into a grin, as though he understood she was teasing him back.

He released her hand. “You need not worry. I am in control.” He cleared his throat and then glanced toward his bed. “You should be sleeping. After all that has happened, I think you still need rest.” He motioned for her to follow him to the door. “Let me take you to your chambers. The maids should have it ready for you.”

Was he pushing her away? Had he misunderstood her slap as a warning and not an invitation? She thought he had known she was desirous of his advances. Perhaps he didn’t want her as much as she wanted him. He could say pretty words in scandalous ways, but perhaps it was a game and he didn’t truly mean any of it. The thought weighed down on her. All she wanted now was Lawrence. He was her only chance for some small measure of happiness before she was put on a ship and sent to an uncertain future.

He escorted her to a lovely bedroom down the hall with blue satin walls and a dainty walnut wood bed with white silk sheets. Clearly it was a room meant for a woman. She couldn’t help but wonder how many others had been here before her. A man with his face and his body would never sleep alone.

So why does he not want me? All she had left to give him was herself, and he didn’t want her. Perhaps he does not want to take advantage of me after all that has happened? She couldn’t throw herself at him, it wasn’t right, but she’d hoped he’d understood she wanted him to take her, to show her pleasure…but she was afraid to ask him. Whatever occurred between them, she wanted it to be born out of mutual longing, not a sense of obligation.

“I’ll summon the maid to help you prepare for bed.” Lawrence lingered in the doorway, head bowed slightly as though suddenly bashful. “The weather will likely be fair tomorrow during our picnic. We could stay at an inn if we don’t wish to return to the city by nightfall.”

“What is a picnic?” she asked, not certain what the word meant. When he’d mentioned it before she hadn’t thought to ask him about it.

A smile flitted around the edges of his lips. “We lie on blankets in the shade at the top of some grand hill and feed each other food.” He gripped the doorjamb, his cheeks turning a color of red similar to his hair. “If you don’t think you’d like that, we could remain here and—”

“No!” She rushed to stop him. “I think that sounds lovely.” Hope rose up in her again. This picnic sounded romantic, and romance was what she wanted.

“Good.” Lawrence still seemed somewhat bashful, but more confident now. “Get some rest tonight. We will leave for Richmond right after breakfast.”

After he closed the door, she sank into a chair by her fireplace. She had appreciated solitude before now, but ever since she’d woken that night, the screams and blood and the palace on fire, she couldn’t stand to be alone for long. Zehra stood up and crossed to the doorway, only to step back in surprise as a cheery young maid stepped in.

“Evening, miss. The master said you are ready for bed? My name is Eva.” Her sunny smile made Zehra feel instantly at home.

“Yes, thank you, Eva.” She turned her back to the maid, who unbuttoned Zehra’s gown and helped her step out of it. Then she removed the stays and the rest of her underclothes while the maid retrieved one of the expensive nightgowns Lawrence had bought.

“Such a fine bit of cloth,” Eva said as her fingers touched the nightgown. She blushed when she saw Zehra watching her. “Sorry, miss.”

Zehra didn’t want the maid to be shy—she wanted every friend she could get. “He has exquisite taste, does he not?” Zehra said as she too stroked the delicate cloth.

“Indeed,” said Eva. “He has good taste in most everything.” The maid giggled as she glanced at Zehra and then blushed furiously. “Pardon me, miss. I didn’t mean to imply—”

Zehra laughed with her. “It’s fine. Tell me, Eva, does Mr. Russell bring many women here?” She knew it was a risk to ask such a question, but she needed to know more about him. In truth, she had to know if she was but one among many who had fallen for his sweetness and charm. Am I fooling myself?

“He’s brought a few ladies, mistresses of course, but not lately. They usually stay in his chambers until just after dawn and leave.”

“But this room… It is so very feminine. I thought perhaps he kept his mistresses here.”

Eva lifted the nightgown so Zehra could drop it down over her head and slide her arms through the sleeves. The soft fabric whispered over her skin as it drifted down her body.

“This room? This room is used by the master’s mother or sister when they come to visit.”

Relief flooded through her at hearing that this room was not for Lawrence’s mistresses. Yet at the same time, she didn’t like the idea that he was putting her away from him when she’d told him she wished to be with him. “And what are they like? His mother and sister?”

Eva chuckled and motioned for Zehra to sit in the chair by the gilded vanity table. The maid deftly removed the pins from Zehra’s coiffure. Zehra’s dark locks fell down over her shoulders and back in soft natural waves.

“The master’s mother is quite a lady.”

“How so?” Zehra asked.

A mischievous glint appeared in the other woman’s eyes, and Zehra sensed there was more to the compliment from the maid than the words suggested.

“She’s the mother of four boys, all of them trouble.” Eva giggled. “She has to be a most formidable and clever woman to survive raising those boys.”

Zehra ran her fingers through her hair and smiled. “Four boys. What a challenge.”

“Indeed.” Eva gently combed Zehra’s hair with a silver brush until all the tangles were gone. The soft sound of the rasping brush was wonderful, and she closed her eyes for a long moment, enjoying the simple comfort it provided.

“Miss, I hope you don’t mind my boldness for speaking…”

Zehra opened her eyes. “No, not at all. Please, say what you wish to say.”

Eva set the brush down, its handle gleaming in the dim light.

“You will be kind to him, won’t you?”

Zehra tilted her head. “Be kind to him? It is he who is showing kindness toward me. Why would I not return it?”

Eva’s cheeks were pink, but she continued. “Didn’t mean to suggest otherwise, miss. He’s a good man, though he acts like he isn’t. Only, we, the staff, know, you see. He takes after his eldest brother, the Marquess of Rochester. Acting all bold and brash, seductive and dangerous, but he isn’t, not really, if you take my meaning, miss. He has a heart of gold, but people don’t always see that. He gets passed over when his brothers are around, what with being the middle child among so many. I think… I think he gets lonely, and that makes him a bit wild from desperation, you understand?”

Eva’s words struck Zehra’s heart. She’d been the only child of her parents, and she’d known she was fortunate that she’d never been overlooked. Yet she had longed for the company of a brother or sister over the years and would have gladly shared the love and affection of her parents in order to have more family.

“I believe I understand.” She smiled at Eva. The maid patted her shoulders. Zehra longed to comfort the man who had rescued her. Not just because he had saved her or because she found him attractive, but because she genuinely wished to make him as happy as she was when she was with him.

“Is something bothering you, miss?” Eva asked.

“No…” She hesitated. “No, that’s not true. I am worried he doesn’t…” Her voice trailed off, her face heating, and she covered her cheeks with her hands. “I like Mr. Russell very much, but I fear he doesn’t have the same interest in me.”

There, she’d said it, and Eva wasn’t laughing at her or looking at her in disgust.

“Oh, he likes you—I wouldn’t be too worried about that,” the maid said with an impish grin. It was as though Eva could read her thoughts.

“You think so?”

A bit of Eva’s pale-gold hair escaped her cap, and she tucked it back under. “Oh yes, miss. George, the master’s valet, said the master was humming all the while he was preparing for his bath this morning. He’s never done that before. I think he wants to care for you, more so than he has ever cared about anyone. Even his mother and sister aren’t treated with such concern for their comforts.”

She couldn’t help but preen a little at the thought as Eva tended to the bed next. But then a shadow was cast over her joy. What if his actions were only out of a sense of charity? She didn’t want him to view her as some pet that must be cared for or a beggar to be pitied. How could she get him to show his true feelings?

“Will you be needing anything else, miss?” Eva asked as she turned down the sheets on the bed.

“No, thank you.”

The maid slipped out of the room, and Zehra retrieved a new novel from the table by the fire before she climbed into bed. She felt a little better but still wished she could have been in Lawrence’s arms tonight. Zehra closed her eyes, the book dropping onto her lap with barely a word read. She began to slip into sweet dreams of kissing Lawrence. All thoughts of bloodshed and pain vanished for the night.

Tomorrow, I will convince him that I want him, and maybe he will want me back because he truly desires me. All I must do is convince him that I want a rogue and not a gentleman.