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, y
ou 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.
Chapter 13
Avery met Zehra halfway across the ballroom and gripped her by the arm. She flinched, not from pain, but from the memory of the night the auctioneer had grabbed her the same way. Not as a person, but as a thing.
“Avery, you cannot do this!” Lawrence said, his tone full of fury and panic. “If you send her back, Zehra will face slavery again.”
Avery shook his head. “I assure you, the slavers are dealt with, both here and abroad. And I warned you this had to be done.”
“Yes, in a week,” Lawrence fired back. “That time has still not passed. Why this sudden entrance? Were you not content to have this concluded peacefully? You required some grand show of force? Why?”
Avery’s face hardened. “Matters have changed, brother. The Persian ambassador has been informed about what happened at the White House, and in his outrage he has demanded a swift resolution to the affair. Somehow he learned that you were in possession of one of these women, and he insisted we take action immediately.”
Lawrence’s voice rose. “I do not possess—”
“This has become bigger than your games or your need to play the hero to satisfy your lust, Lawrence. This is about the stability of our empire.”
“Lust?” Lawrence was shouting now. “This was never about lust. It was about justice, fairness, compassion, and…and love.” He spoke the word in quiet reverence, and because the ballroom had fallen silent, everyone heard.
Avery huffed, which only seemed to harden Lawrence’s resolve. “I swear before God, I will fight you for her if I must. Your authority be damned.”
Zehra shivered at the frightening duality of a man who could love her so deeply and yet threaten his brother at the same time.
“Don’t be a romantic fool, Lawrence.” Avery waved at the men behind him. “Six against one. You always were foolish in choosing your fights.”
“I’d say the odds are more like six to six.” Godric stepped forward, flexing his arms. The rest of the League, Jonathan, Charles, Ashton, and Lucien, all came forward with nods toward Lawrence in a show of support.
“I apologize. I miscounted, Your Grace,” Avery said. “However, I speak for the Crown, and the Crown speaks for the empire. Your titles and privileges cannot protect you in this matter. You will all face charges if you resist. Please do not make this difficult.”
Charles laughed. “Sadly, this is not the first time I’ve heard that threat. It did not scare me then, and I cannot say it scares me now. I’m quite content to stand by Lawrence’s side, as will every man here with me.”
One by one the others drew closer together, as if preparing for battle. Zehra couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The League had rallied behind Lawrence. For her.
“Lawrence, be reasonable.” Avery’s hold on Zehra’s arm softened as he pleaded with his brother. “She was returning home soon regardless. What does it matter if it is today or tomorrow? Don’t make me do this.”
“This is wrong and you know it,” Lawrence warned.
Avery’s head dropped. “I am sorry. I never wanted this. But I have my orders, and I cannot disobey them. You don’t understand what is at stake here.”
“Then what’s it to be, Avery? Your duty, or your family and friends?” Lawrence left the threat hanging.
Avery tightened his hold on Zehra’s arm. “You ask me to choose between my family and my country. I think you know what my answer will be.”
Everything that followed was a frightening blur. Avery shouted at his men to stand their ground as the League and Lawrence rushed them. Avery moved back, keeping Zehra with him as he herded her to the door. The ballroom was full of shouting and chaos as men traded blows.
“Stay back, I don’t want you hurt.” Avery’s hands were gentle as he shielded her while the League battled the Bow Street Runners. It was fortunate that no one dared to draw any weapons. Each side instead chose to box or wrestle with the other and try to force them to submit. Zehra tried to catch a glimpse of Lawrence. Her heart raced as a wave of panic washed over her.
“This way.” Avery and Zehra reached the door of the ballroom, but Avery was suddenly thrown against the wall beside the open door. Lawrence held him by his throat, pinning him.
“If you take her from me,” Lawrence hissed, “I will never forgive you. Never.”
Avery’s hold on Zehra’s arm loosened, his fingers slipping free of her as he sighed. His hazel eyes burned with regret. “Take her then, damn you. But you will face the consequences.”
Zehra stumbled back, rubbing her wrist. It was only then she realized that others now stood in the doorway of the ballroom mere feet away from her. An elegant red-haired woman and a handsome older man with silver hair. And behind them were Emily and the other women, looking none too pleased at their recent banishment.
“What in God’s name is going on?” the older woman demanded. Her tone carried across the room with the force of a thunderbolt. The fighting came to an abrupt halt as Avery ordered his men to stand down.
Lawrence let go of Avery and moved to Zehra’s side, clasping her shaking hand in his. “Mother?”
Mother? This was Lawrence’s mother? Zehra couldn’t miss the similarities of their features, of course, but it still came as a shock. The older woman’s eyes slid to Zehra, and her face drained of all color.
“No, it cannot be…”
The voice was not hers, however. The old man beside Lady Russell took a slow step forward, his hands trembling as he reached out to Zehra. She would have retreated from anyone else…but there was something familial about him. He reassured her in a way she could not explain. The man stared at her locket.
“The Denbruck family crest. By God, it’s really you… But how? I was told…” The man stared at Zehra as though she were some strange mixture of ghost and miracle.
“Who is she?” Lady Russell asked.
“It is my late daughter’s…daughter. Little Zehra. My desert rose.” His voice broke as he touched her face.
“You…you know of me?” Zehra asked, too afraid to hope the answer he gave her was the one she longed to hear.
“George Lyon, Earl of Denbruck, but more importantly…I’m your grandpapa.” He smiled hesitantly and opened his arms to her. For a moment Zehra couldn’t breathe, and she just stared at him, this man who was her family who waited for her with open arms.
She rushed to him, pressing her face against his chest. He was taller than she had imagined, and his arms were strong as he held her. My grandfather… He’s really here… She shut her eyes tight, blocking the tears that would soon come.
Lawrence’s mother recovered more quickly than the others gathered around them. Emily and the other ladies joined her at the door. “Someone had better explain to me what is going on. Lawrence, Avery, why are you fighting again? For that matter, why was everyone fighting? I demand answers, and by God I will get them.”
The Duchess of Essex now came to Lady Russell’s side. “If you please, Lady Russell.” She whispered something in the matriarch’s ear. The older woman nodded, and then she and Emily exited the room together, though she gave a glare at her sons that indicated this matter was far from over.
Zehra’s throat tightened as she turned to face her grandfather. “May I have a minute alone to speak with you, my lord?” she a
sked, fresh nerves jolting through her.
“Of course. Anything for you,” Lord Denbruck said, smiling.
Lucien nodded to the League and remaining ladies. “We will clear out. Avery, take your men and go home, unless it is your intention to ship the granddaughter of a peer to Persia?”
“No. Of course not,” Avery said, his tone hard.
Denbruck curled an arm around Zehra’s shoulders protectively. “What’s this?”
“It appears there has been a misunderstanding at play, my lord,” said Avery. “Had someone bothered to inform me, we never would have…” He trailed off, his eyes softening as he cast an apologetic glance toward Zehra. “My lady, had I had known you were related to Lord Denbruck, I swear I would have had this matter resolved far sooner and far more amicably. Please forgive me.”
Zehra gave a little nod. She understood, perhaps better than Lawrence did. He was keeping the peace between nations. Her father had faced similar hard decisions. Sometimes doing what was right was not the same as doing what had to be done. But she feared it would cost the brothers their relationship, all because of her.
Avery called for his men to leave. Everyone else had vacated the room now, but Lawrence refused to go.
She took his hands into hers. “Lawrence, please, wait outside for me.”
His eyes searched her face. “I’m afraid you’ll vanish if I close my eyes. You won’t, will you? I can’t lose you, Zehra.”
His words made her tremble with fear and hope in equal measure. “No. I won’t go anywhere,” she promised. She felt the same about him, as though the moment he stepped through the door, he might disappear. He glanced at Denbruck and nodded, and then the two were at last alone.
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