When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  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.

  Chapter 9

  Zehra couldn’t help but laugh as Lawrence did his best to lay a blanket down on the soft cool grass. A light breeze kept flipping the fabric into uneven layers rather than behaving and lying flat on the ground.

  “Here, let me.” She grasped the other side of the blanket, and together they were able to get it down.

  “Ah! There we are.” Lawrence helped Zehra down beside him. Once seated, he opened the wicker basket he’d had his kitchen prepare. She took the opportunity to watch him as he pulled the food out of the basket and placed it on the blanket. He was kneeling next to her, and she admired his strong thighs, outlined by the tightness of his trousers in his current position.

  Zehra was fascinated by the way his dark hair caught the sunlight on the hill. Golden amber glinted and sparkled in the strands. She’d never seen a man with such hair color. Now that the shock of what she’d been through had finally begun to fade, she was starting to pay more attention to the unusual aspects of his appearance.

  “What?” Lawrence asked. His hazel eyes searched her face when he realized she was studying him. They sat mere inches apart, and an invisible energy seemed to pull between them.

  “Your hair.” She reached up without thinking and brushed her fingers through it.

  A smile hovered about Lawrence’s lips. “What about my hair?”

  When she realized that she was still touching it, she dropped her hands in her lap, blushing. “I’ve never really seen that shade before. The color, it’s striking.”

  “No gingers where you’re from?” His rich laugh warmed her to her very core.

  “Ginger?” She giggled. “You mean like the root? What does that have to do with your hair?”

  “I’m a ginger. That’s what we call redheads.” He combed his fingers through the strands, smiling. It was the kind of soft smile that reminded her of her father and of her home. A smile that was gentle, playful, open, but only to a person lucky enough to witness it.

  She began to understand her sweet, seductive rescuer more and more simply by talking with him and watching him. He was like her father in some ways, quiet, intense, but at the right moments, when they opened up, it was as though the sun would never stop shining down on them. She shook her head to banish the sudden flare of pain at the memory. Instead she focused on Lawrence and the way he made her want to smile.

  “You Englishmen and your silly words.”

  “We have plenty of silly words, but I promise to waste none on you unless you wish me to.” He winked as he handed her a plate with a mix of cold meats and fruit before he poured her a glass of lemonade.

  They dined in silence, but she found she liked it. The quiet sounds of distant birds whispered in the trees.

  “What bird is that?” she asked.

  Lawrence cocked an ear toward the trees. “That’s a lark.”

  Zehra listened to it again. “It is different from the larks I know.”

  “I suppose it would be. Your home is over two thousand miles away.”

  She had known how far she’d traveled, and yet hearing it now made this land seem even more wondrous and exotic. It was peaceful here and freeing. They’d walked here without horses or a carriage, and they’d chosen a spot on the hill away from other couples who were likely to picnic today. It was as if the two of them were alone in this strange world. Her eyes met his before sliding away.

  He chuckled. “So shy, Miss Darzi?”

  “So bold, Mr. Russell?” she replied just as quickly, earning a deep laugh from him.

  “Are you still imagining all the wicked things I said I wished to do to you?” He slid an inch closer to her, her skirts brushing his knee. She leaned in, her pulse racing. She felt all too aware that if they lost themselves in passion here, it would likely go unseen.

  “I might be,” she whispered, her face heating.

  “Good.” He trailed a fingertip along the patterned silk of the gown by her ankle, toying with the hem, lifting the fabric a few inches. Her breath quickened, and he removed his fingers, letting the cloth fall back into place, much to her disappointment. Lawrence seemed to know just how to toy with her, the way a cat would a mouse. She wanted him, yet he refused to take things any farther than scandalous teasing.

  “Do you miss Persia?” Lawrence asked when they had finished eating.

  “I miss…” She hesitated, trying to express exactly what feelings dwelt in her heart. She hadn’t had time to realize she missed Shiraz, because everything for the last few weeks had been a terrifying whirlwind. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts enough to answer.

  “I miss feeling at home, feeling like I belong. I do not belong in England.”

  “Home is an important thing. My oldest brother, Lucien, has our family estate in Kent, and it is home to me in many ways, but…” His gaze grew distant.

  “But what?”

  Lawrence plucked a bluebell from the grass nearby and brushed his fingers over the petals. “My father’s memory is everywhere in that house.”

  “You did not love your father?”

  He looked away. “Quite the opposite. I loved him very much. He died when I was a lad. It broke my mother’s heart and devastated our family. He made Rochester Hall our home, and every room still carries the lingering presence of him. Sometimes it is too painful to go back.”

  Zehra reached out and touched his hand. “Places collect memories much the way people do. Evil or good. You should never be afraid of a home that carries love in its stones. You should embrace it.”

  She thought of her own home, oceans away, and how evil clung to it now. She would never go back there, no matter what. Her mother had taught her to put love in her heart above all else. It was a hard thing to do when she thought of her parents being betrayed and murdered. For a moment, she was sucked back into that darkness, where smoke and blood threatened to suffocate her.

  Lawrence cleared his throat. “Picnics are supposed to be pleasant things, and here I am bungling it up, aren’t I?” His rueful smile tugged at her heart as he made a grand show of delivering the bluebell he’d plucked to her.

  Zehra took the flower and rolled the stem between her fingers, making it dance. She smiled and then lay back on the blankets, watching the clouds form shapes overhead. She heard a rustle of cloth and felt Lawrence settle down next to her. She looked at him as he propped his chin on one hand and stared back at her. His eyes were enigmatic, but the sensual curve of his lips made her hopeful he would finally give her a taste of the pleasures he’d teased her with.

  She knew so little of him, yet she also felt close to him in a way she’d never felt with anyone. There was a quiet, intense intimacy between them that was unshakable.

  “Would you be angry if I stole a kiss?” he asked.

  She knew why he had asked the way he did. This was the man who had rescued her. She owed him a debt of honor, yet he did not want her affections if they were born from obligation. But what was growing between them was not part of that debt she owed, not to her. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted him to do so much more.

  Zehra bit her lip before replying. “I’d be angry if you didn’t.”

  He leaned over, placing one hand on her hip, and lowered his face to hers. They were but inches apart, and a hint of a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. She closed her eyes a second before he kissed her.

  His mouth moved over hers languidly, as though he was tasting her. There was a hint of sweetness left on his tongue from the strawberries they’d eaten. Zehra curled one arm around his neck, feathering her fingers in his hair at the nape of his neck. Lawrence deepened the kiss, making her head light and her body tremble.

  When his lips wandered to her throat, she was glad the modiste had prepared her low-necked dresses, because she wanted Lawrence to kiss her everywhere. Her breath hitched as he slid his hand up fro
m her waist to gently knead one of her breasts over her gown. Although her clothes acted as a barrier to his touch, her breasts grew heavy and her nipple pebbled under his thumb.

  What would it be like to feel his mouth on her skin? On her breasts? She moaned as he nibbled her collarbone before his mouth sought hers again. Zehra wasn’t sure how long they lay there kissing, until a cold wind teased her and she suddenly shivered. She and Lawrence broke apart, and they both glanced around the hilltop meadow. The sun had sunk beneath a heavy bank of dark clouds, and rain was coming on the horizon. She could see the misty wall as it swept across the distant hills and the city of Richmond below.

  “Bloody hell,” Lawrence muttered and sat up, hastily grabbing the picnic basket. “We’ve got to go. You’ll catch your death if you get wet.”

  She got to her feet and folded the blanket while he packed the picnic basket. They rushed down the hill as fast as they could, but try as they might, they could not beat the rain. The icy water soon soaked her clothes. The tall grass clung to her legs, making it difficult for her to walk when her dress caught on the grass. Lawrence held the handles of their basket with one hand and reached out to hold her free hand with his. They stumbled down to the base of the hill and onto the small muddy road.

  “Zehra, I’m sorry, I should have had the curricle wait here for us instead of having us walk here,” Lawrence said as they dodged the growing puddles. Her feet were starting to ache, not used to the black walking boots she wore.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him, laughing. There was something delightfully ridiculous about all of this.

  They had been on the road for ten minutes before they heard the rattling of wheels on the ground. They turned back to see a farmer on the seat of an open wagon with two horses pulling it.

  “Ho there!” Lawrence let go of Zehra’s hand to wave the farmer down. The scruffy man pulled back on the reins, and the horses stopped.

  Rain dripped off the farmer’s wide-brimmed hat as he peered down from his perch. “Lost?”

  “Lost? No, but in desperate need of a ride to the village.” Lawrence pointed to a distant set of buildings, where a little inn sat on the edge of Richmond.