by Laura Landon
She tilted her head, a disappointed look on her face. “I’m afraid that will be quite impossible, my lord.”
Lawrence was puzzled. “Oh? Why is that?”
“You cannot convince someone of something if they already know it to be true.” A coy look came over Zehra’s face. “But perhaps I shall pretend I need to be seduced. I would like to experience your idea of convincing me.”
“I will be sure to do that, once I’m able to get you alone.” He pressed his lips to hers in a slow, sweet kiss, relishing the feel of her in his arms. But he had to let her go, at least for now. Not long, yet too long, all at the same time.
“Dream of me?” he asked her, flashing a grin. He tried to look confident, but deep inside he still feared her slipping away from him. It left him with a bittersweet ache deep in his chest.
“I’ll always dream of you, my wicked rogue.” She kissed him once more before she left him standing alone in the corridor. She joined her grandfather outside, taking his heart with her.
Epilogue
Lawrence stood at the back of the crowded assembly room, watching the most beautiful woman in the world descend the steps to the main dance floor. There was no sorrow in her eyes, no hint of the pain she’d endured. The man who had hunted her in London, Al-Zahrani, was at the bottom of the ocean after a sea battle with Ashton Lennox’s merchant fleet. Zehra was safe. Now and forever.
“Miss Darzi!” Her name was announced by the master of ceremonies, and the crowd erupted in applause.
“Can you believe it? Denbruck’s granddaughter?” a lady in front of him murmured to a friend. “She’s a princess, you know.”
“Indeed. Persian royalty, they say,” her companion replied. “True exotic beauty. No debutante this season will stand a chance against her. Thanks heavens my daughter is already married.”
“I heard she was sold into slavery but was rescued by a gentleman here in England!” the first woman whispered scandalously. Lawrence tensed, expecting to hear them condemn her.
Her friend shuddered. “Oh, Helen, you read far too many of those dreadful novels, I fear.”
Another companion chimed in. “Indeed. If it were true, I have no doubt Lady Society would have said something in the Quizzing Glass Gazette.”
“But wouldn’t it be exciting if it were true?” Helen asked.
“Oh, I suppose there’s a certain rough romance to the idea, but we shouldn’t give credence to such stories. It does her no favors, I can tell you. I heard the king himself met with her over tea yesterday and was utterly captivated. Every bachelor in England will be vying her for hand.”
Helen grinned behind her fan. “They will be wasting their time. I know a woman who was on Bond Street yesterday, and she saw Miss Darzi buying the most beautiful wedding gown.”
“What?” the others said together.
“Someone’s already asked her, I’m sure of it. I wonder who the lucky fellow is.”
“Hmph, more flights of fancy, I’m sure. I swear, Helen, those novels will be the end of you.”
Lawrence smiled to himself. He walked along the back of the room, drawing closer to Zehra, watching as all the men competed for her attention. She stood there as regal as any queen and offered them sweet, polite smiles. But when he came to stand in front of her and offered her a courtly bow, her face flushed and the crowd rippled with whispers.
“The first dance is mine, is it not?” He nodded at her card, where his name had been written days ago.
“I believe you tried to make them all yours.” She walked right up to him, her eyes only on him, just as his eyes were only for her.
“Of course. It is the only way to keep you from learning how disappointing a dancer I truly am.”
She laughed. “Nonsense.”
“You really will marry me?” Lawrence asked as they prepared to dance.
Her blue eyes were filled with sweet fire. “You think I won’t?”
“You could have your pick of any man in London now. Men with money, with titles. Men far better than me.” He curled a hand around her waist, his heart racing. She was without a doubt the most desired woman in London. Even the damned king had been taken with her. He had to know that she truly wanted him and didn’t simply feel indebted. “So, I must know. Why me?”
“Because from the first moment I met you, you saved me.”
His heart sank. It was as he had feared. “You owe me nothing, Zehra, you know that. I’ve told you a dozen times that I wanted nothing in return. I was doing my duty.”
She looked as though she was tempted to laugh. They began to spin in slow circles around the hall, the eyes of most of the ton on them, but none were close enough to hear. “Lawrence, you silly, wonderful man. I don’t mean that you saved me from those other men.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“Before you, I was without a guiding star,” she replied. “When you took me into your arms, that sense of being lost vanished. I knew I wanted you and no one else, even though I did not yet understand the depth of that desire…that love.” She ducked her chin a moment before defiantly raising it back up. “I am told the English do not speak so openly of love, but I do. I love fiercely—I love you fiercely. It is not in my nature to question my heart or its mysterious desires.” Zehra lifted her chin to gaze at him. “Do you feel that way about me?”
He couldn’t speak, not at first, but finally nodded. “More than anything.”
“That is why I am marrying you. Now, stop thinking so much, my English rogue, and dance.”
Lawrence beamed down at her, unable to repress his joy. “Now that is something I’m happy to do.”
Tonight they would dance. Tomorrow he would announce their engagement in the papers. While he had met her under the most scandalous of circumstances, he would not let their marriage begin under a similar cloud. The musicians readied for the next dance and couples spread out on the dance floor, but neither he nor Zehra saw them. They were together in a world that held only them and the music that poured into their hearts.
. . .
Zehra stepped into her bedroom at her grandfather’s townhouse, her feet still aching from all of the wonderful dancing. But she sensed something was amiss and froze. Her bath had been drawn, yet she didn’t remember asking for one. She walked deeper into the room and saw red-and-orange-tipped petals floating in the water like a colorful blanket. She stared at it, shocked, and jumped when Lawrence stepped out from behind her changing screen. He placed a finger to his lips for silence. Smiling, she tiptoed over to him.
“How did you get in here?”
He nodded at her bedroom window, which was still open.
“My brother Lucien taught me the value of climbing trellises in my youth.”
“Oh? And was this to make it easier to seduce the young ladies?” she asked.
“In this case, one particular lady.” He waved to the bath. “It’s nice and hot. I thought after tonight you might need it to relax.”
“It’s a wonderful idea. Will you join me?” She turned her back to him so he could unbutton her gown.
“If you wish me to.”
She smiled impishly. “And if I wish for you only to watch?”
He leaned down to nibble her bare shoulder. “Then I will suffer the sweet agony of only watching.”
“Lucky for you, then, that I do not wish you to suffer agony.” She let her gown drop to the floor at her feet. “Today.”
Soon they lay in the large tub together. She leaned back against him, their hands playing with the petals. Zehra lifted one orange petal up, examining the colors closely.
“Where did you find these? They are not English roses.”
“When you told me about the roses from your home, I hunted every florist in the city to find a way to acquire some Persian roses. I’m now in possession of several plants at a hothouse in my garden. They will soon be yours.”
She had to take a moment to collect herself. “You brought part of my home here?”
&n
bsp; “To make your new home as close as I could to your old one,” he answered, nuzzling her neck.
“How did I ever deserve to find a man like you?” Zehra asked.
“Sometimes, two people find their way together. Fate gave us our chance that night I stepped into the White House. I thought I was trying to save you to make up for mistakes I made in the past, but I was wrong. I didn’t know then that you would be the greatest gift in my life.”
Zehra turned around on his lap, straddling him. The colorful petals rippled around them on the surface of the water, their perfume making her dizzy in the most delightful way.
“And you, my wicked rogue, are the greatest gift in my life. My rescuer, my lover, my partner in life.” She leaned into him, kissing him with the passion and love that burned like an eternal flame in her heart, and he swept her away in his wicked embrace.
About Lauren Smith
USA TODAY Bestselling author LAUREN SMITH is an Oklahoma attorney by day, who pens adventurous and edgy romance stories by the light of her smart phone flashlight app. She knew she was destined to be a romance writer when she attempted to re-write the entire Titanic movie just to save Jack from drowning. Connecting with readers by writing emotionally moving, realistic and sexy romances no matter what time period is her passion. She’s won multiple awards in several romance subgenres including: New England Reader’s Choice Awards, Greater Detroit BookSeller’s Best Awards, Amazon.com Breakthrough Novel Award Quarter-Finalist and a Semi-Finalist for the Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Award. To connect with Lauren, visit her at www.laurensmithbooks.com or twitter at @LSmithAuthor.
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Also by Lauren Smith
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His Wicked Seduction
Her Wicked Proposal
Wicked Rivals
Her Wicked Longing
His Wicked Embrace
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His Wicked Secret (coming soon)
The Seduction Series
The Duelist’s Seduction
The Rakehell’s Seduction
The Rogue’s Seduction (coming soon)
Standalone Stories
Tempted by A Rogue
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The Gilded Cuff
The Gilded Cage
The Gilded Chain
Her British Stepbrother
Forbidden: Her British Stepbrother
Seduction: Her British Stepbrother
Climax: Her British Stepbrother
Paranormal
Dark Seductions Series
The Shadows of Stormclyffe Hall
The Love Bites Series
The Bite of Winter
Brotherhood of the Blood Moon Series
Blood Moon on the Rise (coming soon)
Brothers of Ash and Fire
Grigori: A Royal Dragon Romance
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THE SECRET SCOUNDREL by Kristin Gabriel
CHAPTER ONE
September 3, 1822
Pembury, Wiltshire, England
Miss Diana Harwood was horrified to find herself swaying gently to the music the string quartet played in the ballroom. The waltz was her favorite dance and she’d always been partial to Mozart, so had lost herself for a moment.
Glancing around her, she saw more than one pitying gaze cast in her direction. A hot flush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. Even worse, bright pink splotches spotted her skin just above the décolletage of her light blue gown.
She stood very still, took two calming breaths, then opened her fan and waved it slowly in front of her, hoping to conceal the only physical manifestation of her embarrassment.
No doubt the assembled guests viewed her as an aging wallflower pining for a dance partner. And why not, since she’d been hugging the walls all evening. At five-and-twenty, she found these country dances so dull. There was no enlightened conversation, only gossip and silly games of flirtation.
Not for her, of course, because Diana had no beaus.
And she preferred it that way.
If only someone in the parish had been sickly, she could have gone and tended to them. Wiping a fevered brow or putting a sickroom in order was more to her liking. Then she reminded herself that this ball was different, and that family duty demanded she be in attendance.
A smile curved her mouth as she watched her younger sister, Fanny, dance in the arms of her betrothed, the Honorable Bertram Farley, son and heir of the Earl of Marwick. The ball had been arranged in their honor to celebrate their impending nuptials.
Fanny looked even more beautiful than usual, her blue eyes shining with pure joy as she gazed up at Bertie. Their younger sister, Louisa, waltzed too, in the arms of a soldier. Always the belle of any ball, Louisa’s dance card had been full within moments after their arrival.
Diana waited until the waltz was over, then with calm deliberation made her way to the punch bowl, hoping to escape attention. That had been difficult ever since her fourteenth year, when she’d shot up to the very unladylike height of six feet.
Compared to her younger sisters, she stood out like a lone thistle weed among a pair of delicate roses.
In their neighborhood, she was known as the plain Harwood sister, and it was true. Her shoulders were too wide in proportion to her narrow waist, her chin too square, and her thick, unruly black hair was always escaping the numerous hairpins she used to tame it.
Worst of all, she was taller than most men, so they’d been diligent in their efforts to avoid standing next to her whenever possible. And if they couldn’t avoid it, their gazes were always fixed on her generous bosom so they didn’t have to crane their necks to look up at her face.
Since her coming out at eighteen, Diana had spent the past seven years in too many ballrooms to remember, and with too many men slinking away from her. She could count on one hand the number of dance partners she’d had under the age of fifty.
No matter. She’d accepted her wallflower status long ago, and embraced it now. The only men who had shown any interest in her meager dowry were old enough to be her grandfather. She’d scared most of them away with a scathing remark or, for the more brazen, a sharp rap of her fan on their bony, groping fingers.
After those experiences, Diana was most decidedly not pining for a beau, much less a husband. If only her Aunt Sterling, who had cared for Diana and her two younger sisters since their parents’ death in a carriage accident ten years ago, would come to accept it too.
Mrs. Minerva Sterling had survived three husbands and had made no secret of the fact that she looked forward to pursuing husband number four once her three nieces were married off.
Diana dearly loved her aunt, but knew she was doomed to fail at finding a husband for her. Or worse, she’d find a match that Diana abhorred. And the thought of a loveless marriage—or spending the rest of her life moldering away in Wiltshire—was more than Diana could bear. She didn’t need a man when she could create her own happily ever after.
She took a sip of her punch, letting her gaze move around the ballroom. Most of the faces were familiar, people she’d known her entire life. And yet, so many of them seemed like strangers.
“There you are,” a voice said behind her.
She turned to see Aunt Sterling reaching for a chocolate écl
air. “Have you been looking for me, Aunt?”
“Indeed, I have.” Aunt Sterling closely examined the éclair, frowning at it, before placing it back on the silver salver.
Then she examined Diana, holding up her lorgnette for a closer look. “There are pink roses blooming on your cheeks, my dear girl.” She lowered the lorgnette and frowned. “And all over your neck and chest. Are you ill?”
Diana swallowed a sigh, wondering why she’d taken so much time and trouble with her hair and gown. “Not at all, Aunt. I am quite well.”
“I am relieved to hear it. We can’t have anyone in the family falling ill before the wedding. We leave tomorrow morning for Marwick Manor, and I look forward to seeing my plans come to fruition.” A twinkle gleamed in her hazel eyes. “Lady Fanny. How fine that sounds!”
“Fanny is happy, isn’t she?” Diana said wistfully, as more people milled around the refreshment table.
“Happy and soon to be very rich, my girl,” Aunt Sterling said, her voice low enough for only Diana to hear. “The first to fly the nest, but I believe you will soon follow.”
Diana smiled, despite not hearing much conviction in her aunt’s voice. But she was absolutely right. Diana did plan to leave the familial nest, and much sooner than anyone realized. “I appreciate all your efforts, Aunt, but I am quite resolved to remain unmarried.”
“Don’t give up so easily, Diana,” her aunt said. “Your time will come.”
Diana nodded. “I believe it will.”
Aunt Sterling patted her arm, then headed toward the tray of pastries at the other end of the table.
Diana set down her cup, anxious for the evening to end. She had a plan of her own that she hadn’t revealed to anyone. Once the wedding was over, and she’d done her duty as a sister, she’d be off to follow her own dreams.
Away from her family. Away from Wiltshire. Away from the tedious life that awaited her if she stayed in England.
Her plan had been a year in the making. She’d been sending letters of inquiry to any ladies advertising for a companion. Diana’s only stipulation was that the position must take her away from England to a land of adventure. She’d been especially partial to India or the West Indies..
