“I’m not…” Diana shook her head. It didn’t matter what the woman thought of her as long as she helped her in the end. “What is your name?”
She lifted a brow. “That is all you wish to know?”
“No,” Diana replied. If she had her way they’d know a lot more about each other when everything was said and done. “But it’s polite to know who one is speaking with. I am Lady Diana. My father is the Earl of Bristol.”
“Ah,” she said noncommittally. “Lady Di the county’s princess. I’ve heard of you.”
Diana was starting to dislike her, but she shook that away. The gypsy girl had something she craved and she’d bury her own pride to get it. She stared at her not backing down from her disdain.
Finally, she replied with her name. “I am Lulia Vasile.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Vasile,” Diana replied congenially. “Now that the introductions are out of the way how do you feel about teaching me fencing?”
The girl’s laughter enveloped Diana. She continued to laugh for what seemed like forever. Then she stopped and wiped tears from the corner of her eyes. “You mean it don’t you. Little one, fencing isn’t for you.”
She lifted her chin up mulishly. “I can learn if I have a teacher. If I wanted to I could learn anything.”
Lulia shook her head. “Very well. After the fair is complete come and see me. We will discuss the possibility. I need to rest now.”
With those words, Lulia went into the tent. Diana remained confident she’d have a fencing teacher at last. The gypsy would teach her and then she’d be able to learn other things as well. Diana thirsted for knowledge and she had a feeling Lulia would be able to teach her more than fencing. The possibility of marriage had been forgotten and an entirely different life presented itself to her. It was a good thing she’d decided to give up on domestic bliss. She would not beg for love, and she certainly didn’t think it would ever find her. This was much better, and more tangible than some mythical feeling.
Luther didn’t make it far before he decided to turn back around to head back to the fair. As much as he hated to admit it Lady Diana had been correct. The fair would give him some respite from the grief he carried with him and it would honor his father’s wishes.
Lady Diana had grown up in the years he’d been away. She was still a little girl in his eyes, and she would remain so. He was five years her senior and he couldn’t shake the brat that had tagged behind him over the years. At least she’d grown up enough to realize that she couldn’t always have her way. She’d been polite and encouraging earlier. He could respect that. What he didn’t want was to marry her—even if it had been his father’s last wish. Luther didn’t want to marry out of duty, at least not yet. He might consider the possibility many years in the future. His heart was too heavy for any thought of matrimony.
He reached the edge of the fair and found a post to tie his horse to. There was a young boy standing nearby to keep an eye on the animals. He tossed a shilling at him and said, “Make sure no one bothers him.” Luther gestured toward the horse.
“Yes, m’lord.”
With his horse secured, Luther wandered deep into the fair. A group of actors were on the stage in a fencing battle. It appeared to be at the end of it. The crowd gathered around watching in awe as the actors parried back and forth. The rapiers were real and the clang of metal echoed over the constant thrum of the spectators. Luther was as enthralled as the villagers. The actors had skill with rapiers and must have had excellent teachers. He’d studied fencing with some of the best instructors and he wasn’t sure he could keep up with them himself.
At the end of the battle, the crowd erupted in applause. Luther’s mouth fell open as they unmasked themselves and took their bow. How had a woman been able to fence with suck skill? He didn’t believe it possible, and yet it had been. He wanted to meet her but wasn’t sure it was a wise move. It might encourage the gypsy to embrace a more informal relationship. His father hadn’t believed they should mix socially with the hired help—even at the fair.
Luther headed toward a tent set up near the stage for the actors. He caught a glimpse of blonde hair and frowned. Why was Lady Diana heading to the tent? She shouldn’t be near the gypsies. If he needed a reason to seek out the gypsy Diana just gave him one. The lady gypsy stopped outside of the tent and Diana caught up to her. They were discussing something, but he couldn’t hear it. After a moment the gypsy went in the tent and Diana wandered away with a huge smile on her face. Luther changed his trajectory and went toward Diana.
“Lady Diana,” he called out for the second time that day, but she didn’t hear him. She kept walking toward a booth that sold meat pies. She happily talked to the man running it and purchased one. “Bloody hell,” he cursed and pushed past some villagers trying to reach her side. There were too many people at the fair to move at a faster pace.
Diana wandered off speaking with a lot of the villagers as she passed. Where was her escort? How could her father let her run wild at the fair unchaperoned? Didn’t they care about her safety? She stopped to watch a boy throw balls into the basket of a game. If the lad won he’d win a sweet treat for each basket he landed a ball in—the grand prize was four jam tarts.
He was mere steps away from her when she decided to move again. His frustration grew with each second that passed. He reached out and managed to clasp his hand around her upper arm. She jerked backward and nearly stumbled to the ground. “My apologies,” he said a little breathlessly. “I’ve been trying to gain your attention. I didn’t mean to cause you harm.”
She glanced up and frowned. Her meat pie had tumbled to the ground and was now covered in dirt. “What was so urgent you had to be so rough?”
He was an arse… “I wanted to speak with you about the gypsy.” That hadn’t come out quite how he wanted it to. It was gruff and rude. “and why you’re wandering about by yourself. Don’t you have a care for your reputation?”
She closed her eyes and clenched her hands into fists at her side. After several heartbeats, she opened her eyes and glared at him. Where she’d been kind and understanding earlier she now displayed a full array of anger. “Allow me to understand this correctly.” She held a finger out. “You placed your hand on my arm and made it so I lost my afternoon meal to berate me for not having a care for my reputation?”
“That should be an example of why you shouldn’t be alone. Anything can happen to a young lady if they don’t take proper care of their safety.” He puffed out his chest. That should teach her that she shouldn’t argue with someone who knew better than she did. “Your father shouldn’t have allowed you to leave Bristol Manor without a maid at your side at the very least, but you really should have a footman with you. The crowd is dangerous.”
“You’re the only dangerous person near me,” she nearly spat out. “I was perfectly fine before you accosted me. I’ve attended this fair since I was a girl—”
“You’re still a girl,” he interrupted her. “Some gentleman would find your innocence too enticing to pass up.”
“But you’re not one of them?” She lifted a brow. “No need to explain, my lord. I realize I’m no great beauty. If you’re done berating me for my lack of accompaniment I believe I need to replace my meal.”
She turned to leave but he couldn’t allow it. How could she not understand that she shouldn’t be alone? Why didn’t she take him seriously? “Wait,” he yelled. “You shouldn’t…”
She spun on her heels and faced him. “I don’t need you watching over me Lord Northesk. Go away.”
“The lady doesn’t seem to like you.” The female’s gypsy accent echoed through her ears. “Do as she says.”
It wasn’t his day. He should never have come back to the fair. He glanced over his shoulder and met the violet eyes of the gypsy that had been on stage earlier. She had her rapier at her waist and she definitely knew how to use it.
“Lady Di doesn’t need a male to dictate to her.” She stared at him from to
p to bottom as if she’d found him lacking. “Especially one who would rather order her about instead of treasure her.”
“Who are you to condemn me?” He glared. “A gypsy who doesn’t have a home to call her own.”
“At least I have honor,” she said. “You’re lacking in something more fundamental than I am.”
Lady Diana stepped between them. “Please leave, Lord Northesk. I have business with Lulia that doesn’t involve you.”
Luther left, but not because either woman ordered it. Lady Diana was safe in Lulia’s care. She’d be able to dispatch any ruffians with a flick of her rapier. He might not like the gypsy, but she had talent. He couldn’t help worrying about Lady Diana Thompson though. Something about her made him want to protect her and make sure nothing ever harmed her in any way. He didn’t want to think too hard on his motivations. He already had too much swirling through his mind from the responsibilities he inherited upon his father’s death. Finding Love or building relationships? Those seemed impossible… Ladies of Diana’s caliber were out of his reach and would be for the unforeseeable future. It would be best if he kept his distance and let her find her own way. He didn’t have anything to offer her either way.
About Amanda Mariel
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USA Today Bestselling Author Amanda Mariel dreams of days gone by when life moved at a slower pace. She enjoys taking pen to paper and exploring historical time periods through her imagination and the written word. When she is not writing she can be found reading, crocheting, traveling, practicing her photography skills, or spending time with her family.
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Visit www.amandamariel.com for more information on Amanda and her books. Sign up for her newsletter while you are on her site and receive a free ebook!
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USA Today bestselling author
~Heartwarming historical romances that leave you breathless~
His Wicked Embrace
Lauren Smith
For Amanda, my friend and muse—you are a true gift. For Jennifer, who breathed life into Zehra and Lawrence’s love story.
Chapter 1
League Rule Number 11:
A man should remember from time to time to be a gentleman, even if he thinks he may have forgotten how.
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Excerpt from the Quizzing Glass Gazette, April 28, 1821, the Lady Society column:
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Lady Society is quite curious about a certain gentleman named Mr. Lawrence Russell. His elder brother, the Marquess of Rochester, is quite infamous indeed as a member of the League of Rogues, but as for Mr. Russell himself…the rumors abound.
Lady Society would like very much to know if he wishes to be married, or will he continue as his brother had and resist matrimony at all odds? If it is the former, Lady Society will endeavor to find him a suitable bride; if it is the latter, Lady Society sees his determined bachelordom as a challenge. A rogue you may be, Mr. Russell, but Lady Society believes you might yet make a good husband. Now who to marry you to?
“You belong to me now.”
The whispered words echoed in Zehra Darzi’s head as she jolted awake. Somehow in the last twenty-four hours she’d managed to sleep a little inside her gilded prison. Those words that haunted her still made her head throb as a fresh wave of fear swept through her. The man who had spoken them had murdered her parents and kidnapped her from her palace in Persia three weeks ago.
Al-Zahrani. His name was like bitter poison upon her tongue, and she fought the urge to throw up. She’d spent only a few days as his prisoner—listening to him boast of capturing her and his plans of using her as a concubine—before she’d had a chance to flee.
She curled her hands into fists and winced as her nails dug into her palms. Cuts, somewhat healed, still stung from when she’d scaled a low-branched tree near Al-Zahrani’s walls to break free. She’d been so close to freedom, had felt it with every step as she stumbled and ran through the desert hills.
Then, after two days without food or water, she’d collapsed on the dunes, lips parched and cracked, eyes burning. She’d glimpsed men upon the horizon, on horseback in dark clothes. At first she’d thought they were her salvation, but she soon learned they were anything but.
Slavers.
Now she was imprisoned in an English brothel thousands of miles from her home.
Zehra’s gaze darted around the room for the hundredth time, and she wished the women who had seen to her care, such as it was, had brought a fresh pitcher of water. Her throat was parched and she would have done almost anything for a sip of water. It was dark outside, and she hadn’t been visited by anyone since early that morning, when the slavers had sold her to the madam who ran this wretched place. She licked her dry lips and refused to cry.
You are strong. You are the daughter of a shah and an English lady. No one owns you—no matter what happens tonight.
It was the mantra she had spoken again and again as the slavers had mocked her during their long days at sea. She hadn’t been the only woman they’d captured, but she’d been one of the few they had left unspoiled. Her father’s name had carried weight enough to give her that protection, at least so far as the greed of the men was concerned.
“Sell a Persian princess and turn a tidy profit.” She could still hear the sneering voice of the captain as he’d coiled a lock of her hair around his fingers and crushed her breasts with his exploring hands before they’d thrown her in a tiny chamber, where she’d spent the next two weeks of their voyage.
Now Zehra Darzi stared at the locked door that kept her trapped in her new prison. Through the thin walls of the gaudy bedchamber she could hear the sounds of passion, of men grunting and women moaning along with the heavy sounds of furniture moving rhythmically. Bile rose in her mouth again. She tried not to think of how this tiny room was so different from the colorful, open rooms and rose gardens she’d once called home.
At least you escaped Al-Zahrani. He cannot find you here. She hoped that was true. He had bragged during her brief captivity that he engaged in slavery, like many powerful men in the area, and he’d once told her that the Western countries paid handsomely for foreign beauties. He’d assured her that he would never sell her, however, because he wanted the pleasure of breaking her spirit himself.
No man would ever break her spirit.
Zehra glared at the blasted door handle, wishing it would magically unlock, but even then, she knew escape would be impossible. When she’d been escorted to this room, two strong men had stood guard outside, their expressionless faces frightening. She doubted they had moved since.
For the tenth time since she’d been cast into this bedchamber, she eased down on the bed and tried to calm the fear that rolled through her. She couldn’t sit still while her life and freedom hung in the balance. Zehra ran through her options. She had attempted bribery, but the madam and her gaggle of whores had laughed when Zehra had promised riches beyond their wildest dreams. She was coldly informed that her only value was the money she would bring at a private auction tonight. When Zehra had told her she was half-English, with relatives in the peerage, they had laughed again, clearly disbelieving. Her skin was too olive in color, her hair raven black, and her features more exotic. She was no English rose in their eyes.
I may be a woman, but I will fight before I surrender to despair.
Her one last hope—a dim, if not impossible one—was to find a gentleman from tonight’s auction who would listen to her and believe her when she told him she was here against her will. S
he could not be a slave, for slavery was outlawed in England. Of course, the madam had reminded her that even the English kept their dark secrets, like slaves, but surely there would be one man tonight who would have mercy and set her free.
The door handle clicked as the lock turned. Zehra braced herself against the bedpost, fingers digging into the wood. She blew out a breath in relief as a woman in a curly blonde wig sauntered inside. The rouge coloring over the white paste on her cheeks matched the beautiful red dress she held.
“The madam says you’re ta wear this tonight. I’m ta help ya.” The woman set the gown on the bed and placed her hands on her hips. “No funny business, mind. The guards are outside, and they’ll catch ya right quick if ya try to run.”
Zehra studied the woman’s pale face. Her scraggly blonde wig was pulled back into a messy coiffure, and her arms were thin. Her body was slim, but in a sickly sort of way. Zehra was a strong, full-figured woman. It would be easy to overpower her, but not the guards outside.
“I said no funny business,” the woman snapped. “I see you lookin’ toward the door. Gowan, get on with it.” She waved at the dress, which she’d tossed on the bed.
“Very well.” Zehra reached for the buttons on the front of her dress and began to slip them out of the little slits. The woman waited until Zehra had stepped out of her pale-blue traveling dress before helping her into the red satin evening gown. It fit well enough on Zehra’s curvy figure, but the moment it was on, a wave of nausea overtook her. She closed her eyes, taking slow deep breaths until the sick feeling had passed.
When a Rogue Falls Page 111
