The Scoundrel Who Loved Me

by Laura Landon

  He wondered if she was genuinely at ease with him, or if it was something she’d done unconsciously during her sleep. Either way, he liked that she was touching him. He wanted her to feel safe with him, to feel she could be around him, even touch him without fear.

  I want to be a man she can trust.

  He carefully moved his hand from her thigh and reached up to stroke his palm over the dark coiling locks that tumbled down her back. She didn’t stir as he continued to play with the gleaming spools of her hair.

  Memories of last night slowly returned, and he fought off a shudder. She’d seen her parents murdered…and then she was sold into slavery. She’d endured hell itself and was still alive, still sane.

  My God… What was he going to do? She couldn’t go home—it was too dangerous. But what could she do here? Zehra was the most stunning creature he had ever beheld and would make any man a fine mistress, but she deserved more than simply being kept by some man, especially given her past. She was no one’s pet. And she should never be forced to do anything she didn’t wish to do.

  He studied her delicate features, the small upturned nose, high cheekbones, and dainty chin. Despite her fine Persian features, there was something arrestingly familiar, almost English about her, but he couldn’t say what. Something prickled at the back of his mind, but he still couldn’t figure out why looking at her caused a stirring inside him.

  He brushed her hair back from her neck and caught a glimpse of something he hadn’t seen last night. A golden chain hung around her neck. He traced the chain down to a thumb-sized locket that rested on the swell of her breasts. He lifted it up and examined it more closely. The scrollwork on the crest was familiar, giving a faint tug on his memory.

  He began to open the locket but then froze. Guilt crept through him on stealthy paws. No doubt it held portraits of her parents and was the only thing she had left of them. It would be wrong to intrude upon such a memory uninvited. He laid the pendant back down and removed his hand. It was odd. He’d never worried about a woman like this before. Seduction had been a game and the woman the prize.

  Yet nothing about Zehra was simple, and she was no prize to be won. He was tempted beyond imagining to seduce her, but he refused to be such a callous bastard. Imagining himself in her place for but a moment squelched any such urges, though not the passions that had kindled them.

  I must be a man she can trust.

  Lawrence waited several long moments, enjoying her quiet breathing and the simple feel of her body against his. She’d slept through the remainder of the night without fear or dreams as far as he could tell, and he had no desire to disturb her.

  The door to his bedchamber opened, and his valet, George, peered in. Lawrence gave the man a small nod, and he crept into the room to see to his duties as quietly as possible. Only then did Lawrence, regretfully, slip out of bed. He tucked Zehra beneath the blankets, pausing to admire her exquisite beauty.

  “Sleeping like a lamb, that one.” George chuckled as he and Lawrence stepped into the dressing room, where George was preparing a bath for him.

  “Indeed. She needs it, poor thing.” Lawrence stripped out of his clothing.

  His valet cleared his throat. “Is it…er…true, what Mr. MacTavish said about her, sir? That she came from the White House? She doesn’t look like a—” George blushed to the roots of his hair.

  “That’s because she isn’t.” Lawrence didn’t want Zehra to be treated like anything other than the princess she seemed to be. “Treat her like royalty. Anything she needs, see that she has it.”

  “Of course.” George bowed. “I’ll lay out your clothes and return when you’re ready to dress, unless you need anything else?”

  “Thank you. I’ll be fine.” Lawrence hummed softly as he eased into the copper bathtub, sighing as hot water relaxed his stiff muscles.

  Last evening had been a tense affair, and until this moment he hadn’t truly relaxed. Even his sleep had been fraught with memories of the auction and raid, and his current concerns were far from over. It was only a matter of time before his younger brother, Avery, came storming through the front door accusing him of the very crime he was supposed to help stop.

  That thought ruined his perfectly good bath. He hastily scrubbed his body and washed his hair before climbing out and shaving, feeling vexed the entire time. Once he was done, he gathered the clothes that George had left him. He had just pulled on his trousers when Zehra appeared in the doorway, wearing her chemise and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

  Her eyes trailed down his body, then back up, before her face darkened with an enchanting blush. He couldn’t help but grin. He’d never been ashamed of his body, and he was aware that women found him attractive. He took after his elder brother, Lucien, in that and other things. They’d both spent years bedding enough women to make Don Juan blush, and he had escaped more than one forced trip to the altar by the skin of his teeth.

  “Everything all right?” he asked, staying a safe distance from her. The last thing he wanted was to scare her after everything she’d been through.

  “Yes. I woke to find you gone and…” She was still red-faced as she clutched the blanket tight around her. Her dark hair was unbound and fell around her shoulders in waves. He couldn’t forget the feel of his fingers sliding through those thick, glossy strands. He wanted so desperately to fist his hand in her hair and pull her head back for a kiss. His body tightened, and he forced himself to ignore his arousal, which was damned near impossible.

  “I would never leave you alone. My entire staff is here if you ever feel for a moment that you are afraid or…”

  “I’m not afraid,” she interjected. Her eyes flashed with defiant fire. “After everything I’ve seen… I am not afraid.”

  He didn’t correct her by saying that even a brave soul could experience fear. As he’d once heard his father say, bravery was not the absence of fear, but having the courage to face it. She seemed ready to face hell itself, because she had already been through it.

  “If you like, we can have breakfast in the dining room downstairs in an hour. My servants will have a fresh bath prepared for you.”

  “Here?” she asked, glancing about his dressing room.

  “Er…yes, or the room across the hall, if you wish it. I do not know what your customs might require, but I will do my best to accommodate you.”

  Her mysterious eyes settled on him again, and she nodded. “I shall bathe here.”

  It shouldn’t have pleased him, but it did. He did not typically like the idea of sharing his space with anyone, let alone a woman. Before, he’d kept his lovers in fancy houses across town, avoiding the long-term intimacy that came from shared spaces. Yet with Zehra, he wanted her close and within arm’s reach. Even across the hall seemed too far away. He told himself it was only because of his concern for her safety, and yet part of him called him out as a liar.

  “Give me but a moment. I will finish dressing and send up footmen to draw fresh water.” Picturing Zehra naked in the copper tub made him burn, and he would have to leave the room or else face that temptation again.

  Do not seduce her. Be a gentleman. She deserves that much from you.

  She left the dressing room, giving him a minute to cool himself down. After he’d finished getting dressed, he exited his dressing room and found Zehra by the freshly lit fire, a book in her hands.

  “Catching up on a bit of reading?” He winced, regretting his poor choice of words. It wasn’t as if they had books on board slave ships. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  She looked up, a small smile on her lips. “It is all right. I understand what you meant. And this is certainly an interesting book. This woman finds herself stranded on an island after her ship breaks apart on the rocks. She swims to shore but is utterly alone until she spies a figure on a distant hill…”

  “Aw… You found out my secret.” He recognized the book. It was called Lady Isabelle and the Lord of the Dark Isle. It was one of L. R. Gloucest
er’s works, a rather torrid Gothic novel.

  “Your secret?” Zehra’s eyes narrowed.

  He chuckled. “Yes, I like to read novels. This one is a bit…well, I won’t spoil it for you.” He couldn’t wait to see what she thought when she reached the scene where the mysterious lord makes love to Isabelle in the library after dinner in his castle. Would Zehra find any pleasure in that? Or would she be outraged and scandalized? He hoped it was the former. She didn’t seem to be the sort of woman who abhorred pleasure; there was an openness and sensuality to her that he could not miss.

  “Hmm.” She turned her attention back to the book, but he had the distinct impression that the second he turned his back on her, she would be watching him.

  Appreciate the view, Miss Darzi, because I will be sure to do the same.

  With a sly grin, he exited his chambers and called for a footman to fill the bath again. He also found one of the upstairs maids, a girl named Eva, to tend to Zehra for now while they searched for a proper maid.

  As he reached the bottom of the stairs and entered his study, he skidded to a halt. Someone was sitting at his desk, looking over some papers. Avery looked up, and his expression was filled with disappointment, just as he’d expected.

  “How the bloody hell did you get in here? MacTavish would’ve sent for me.”

  Avery scoffed. “Not likely, brother. If old MacTavish had heard me, I would not be fit for my duties.”

  Lawrence crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for his little brother, a damned spy of all things, to start lecturing him on morality.

  “Well?” Avery asked expectantly, still seated at Lawrence’s desk. The position of control had been put in Avery’s favor, and Lawrence didn’t like it one bit.

  “Well, what?” he snapped back. Lord, sometimes Avery behaved just like their father. He was the only Russell child out of the entire brood who took after him. It made Avery their mother’s favorite.

  “Well, where is she? Your slave?”

  “What slave?” Lawrence said. He saw no point in making this easy for him.

  “The one you paid seven thousand bloody pounds for! That slave!” Avery’s last two words dripped with a quiet outrage that shocked Lawrence. Lawrence was a bit of a bounder, he knew. Arguably the worst-behaved of the siblings now that Lucien had settled down. But surely Avery didn’t honestly think he would actually stoop to buying a slave?

  “She’s not a slave,” Lawrence growled. “I saved her. Your damned men arrived late—the blasted auction had already started. I couldn’t let any of those men take her away. She would’ve been…” He refused to complete the sentence.

  Avery’s anger seemed to ebb. “Wonderful. So you took her to the Bow Street offices after you secured her safety?”

  “No, but wait—”

  Avery was on his feet and already on top of Lawrence. Avery shoved his brother hard against the wall.

  “Where is she?” Avery bellowed.

  The ease with which he had been subdued reminded Lawrence just how dangerous an agent of the Crown could be. He wasn’t used to seeing this side of his brother, but after a moment of shock he recovered.

  “Get your bloody hands off me or so help me—”

  “You’ll what?” Avery challenged, menace layering every word. Again, Lawrence was struck by this change in his brother’s tone. He was like a damned vengeful god.

  “Avery, what the devil is the matter with you? You know I’d never hurt a woman or…”

  Avery hissed but let go of him and stepped back so he could pace the length of the study.

  “I’m sorry, Lawrence. It’s just…after what I’ve been through last night…” Avery’s face changed, sorrow carved in his features. “We found bodies floating in the harbor. That was in part what caused our delay. They must have been the ones who died before the ship docked. The tides at the port have been washing them in. I can’t close my eyes without imagining those poor women in their final hours…”

  Grief and rage mixed in Avery’s eyes as he focused again on Lawrence. For the first time, Lawrence allowed himself to feel the depth of the awfulness of what had happened to Zehra. The things she must’ve seen, things she must have suffered. His stomach turned. It had been worse than he’d even imagined.

  “Where is she?” Avery’s tone was quieter.

  “Upstairs, having a hot bath. I’ve been seeing to her care, nothing more. I swear it.” He may have been a damned rogue, but his mother had taught him one thing above all else—when you came across a woman in need, you played the hero as best you could.

  Avery sighed and raked a hand through his hair, which was more sun-kissed than their other siblings’ darker red hair.

  “She will have to go back. You know that, don’t you? She cannot stay here. There’s no place for her. If it were to come out, it could ruin the peace talks and trade negotiations we’re attempting at the moment with Persia. Relations are strained enough with them as it is. If they discover we are allowing the sale of their people as slaves, it could kill those negotiations, and we might end up in a war.”

  Lawrence swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat. Send her back? She wouldn’t be safe there.

  “I gave her my word that she could stay with me if she wished it,” Lawrence said. He wasn’t sure if it was his place to mention the peril she might be put in, not yet.

  “And that was generous of you, but you can’t. What will she do in London? She has no friends, no purpose except to entertain you. I know you, Lawrence. If she’s anything like the other women we saved from the White House auction, she must be stunning, and we both know you’ve had little, if any, self-restraint when it comes to women.”

  Lawrence growled. “That’s not fair.”

  “Remember Horatia? You got carried away with our own brother’s future wife and kissed her, quite against her wishes.”

  Lawrence groaned. “That was at Mother’s insistence. You were there! She told me to seduce Horatia to make Lucien jealous. I only kissed her…” Even still, he had felt like a cad for it. Horatia Sheridan had fought him off like he was some wild pirate trying to ravish her. He’d only wanted Lucien to see them together so that he would be jealous enough to claim Horatia as his own.

  Mama and her blasted matchmaking schemes…

  “Please don’t make me take her to the docks, Avery. I believe she’d fit well in England with enough time.”

  “She’s not a lost puppy, for God’s sake, Lawrence.”

  “Blast it, brother, stop twisting my words. She speaks English fluently. I could introduce her to Horatia, perhaps even Emily and the other ladies…”

  Avery scoffed. “Introduce a common woman from Lord-knows-where in Persia to a duchess? Lawrence, you’ve lost your mind.”

  “She’s not common, Avery. She’s a princess, or some such thing.”

  Avery shook his head and leaned a hand on the nearest armchair. “You’re naïve. Let me hazard a guess—that is what the auctioneer at the White House told you?” Lawrence didn’t answer. “They say things like that about all of those women. It makes them more exotic and desirable to the bidders. She’s not special, Lawrence, she’s just like the other women they brought here. Scared women ripped from their homes, deserving of respect and repatriation. We’re doing our best to help them and see them returned.”

  “She won’t be safe there—” Lawrence began, but Avery cut him off.

  “You’ve developed a silly notion of playing the hero for her, but I won’t let you ruin your life or hers by letting you get attached. She is not some convenient plaything.”

  Fury shot through Lawrence, and he reacted without thinking. His fist caught Avery right in the eye, causing him to stumble back, cursing, before he could raise his fists in defense.

  “You really want to do this before breakfast?” Avery snapped. “You know how it will end. And then what would Mother say?”

  “Mother would say, you had better not!” a feminine voice declared. It came from the doorway
of Lawrence’s study. Both he and Avery turned to stare in horror at their mother, who was glowering at them. Lady Russell had arrived.

  Chapter Five

  Jane Russell was a stunning woman of fifty-two years with dark-red hair and hazel eyes. Lawrence wasn’t fooled by his mother’s beauty, however. He knew she was one of the fiercest matriarchs in all the ton when it came to schemes, especially those of a matchmaking nature. She also had the uncanny ability to appear in the lives of her children when they least expected. Like right now.

  “Does everyone just walk into my house without knocking? Where the bloody hell is MacTavish, and why isn’t he doing his bloody job?” Lawrence flexed his throbbing hand, and Avery rubbed his sore eye, each shooting glares at the other.

  “A good butler knows better than to stop a man’s mother at the front door.” Jane pulled at the tips of her gloves, removing them while she stared at her sons, one reddish brow arched in disapproval. “What are you two quarreling about?”

  Lawrence and Avery shared a look. Avery gave Lawrence a jerk of the head so slight their mother would miss it.

  Be silent.

  He quite agreed. Their mother could not know what they were fighting about.

  “A bit of brotherly nonsense, eh, Avery?” Lawrence asked, his tone casual.

  “Yes. Brotherly nonsense,” he said, emphasizing the word, and then with his back to their mother he mouthed five more. “One week and she’s gone.”

  One week? He couldn’t let Zehra go back—not to Persia, at any rate. Her parents had been murdered in front of her very eyes. She would never be safe there. She would end up back on an auctioneer’s platform somewhere else, and he wouldn’t be able to help her. He’d have to explain to Avery the danger Zehra faced, but now was not the time, not with their mother staring at them.

  “Lawrence, stop scowling—it ruins your good looks. You’ll never catch a wife with a sour expression like that,” his mother snapped. “Now, I’ve brought good news, and I’d like to share it with you over breakfast.” Jane turned and left the study, clearly expecting her sons to follow.