Emily St. Laurent, the Duchess of Essex, sat in the drawing room of Lord Denbruck's townhouse in Mayfair, sipping tea. Beside her, Horatia and Audrey were also holding teacups. Lord Denbruck, an older man who still bore the vestiges of his handsome features, had been delighting the ladies with tales of his youth."My lord," Emily said at an appropriate lull in the conversation. "The portrait behind youmay I ask who that is?" She nodded politely at a beautiful woman with blonde hair painted in a green gown, leaning against a pillar covered with English ivy. The woman was Zehra's mother, Joan, she was sure of it. The resemblance in the eyes was uncanny. Even though Zehra was dark-haired and olive-skinned, there was no mistaking those eyes."That's my daughter, Joan." Lord Denbruck gave a world-weary sigh. "I have two other children, Elizabeth and Archibald. Joan was my eldest." He chuckled, though it held more sorrow than humor. "I swore never to have favorites, but damned if she wasn'
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."Lawren
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.
BOOK SIX: The Earl of PembrokeGillian Beaumont knew the day was bound to be full of trouble. As she worked to tame the curls of her mistress's hair, she fretted over the wicked gleam in Audrey Sheridan's eyes. Gillian was used to this mischievous glint, but today it seemed doubly intense, and the way her lips curled at the ends in a little smile added to Gillian's worry even more. The last time she had looked that way, Audrey had been chasing a rogue around a sofa, demanding to be kissed."There you are, my lady." Gillian finished putting the last pin in her mistress's hair.Audrey's brown eyes twinkled as she met Gillian's gaze in the mirror. "Perfect. I have to look my best today. The League is coming over for tea in an hour and" A delicate blush bloomed in her cheeks."And Mr. St. Laurent will be there?" "Er I suppose so," Audrey replied vaguely. Gillian was all too aware of how her mistress felt about that particular gentleman. He was a fine man with green eyes and sun-kis
James Fordyce was under a spell. It was as though some enchantress had stepped into Madame Ella's dress shop and cast a glittering web of light over him. The moment he accidentally pulled back the dressing room curtain and saw her, it was as though no other woman had ever existed before or after in his mind. He was an admitted rogue who'd done things that would make his father blush were the man still alive, yet this woman had made him feel like a lad of seventeen, giddy and gawkish as he gazed at her like a moon-eyed calf.He'd lost all rational thought when he glimpsed her bare shoulders and back. Pale creamy skin was exposed by the open gown from her neck down to just above a delightfully rounded derrière. He'd had to restrain his baser instincts to grip her hips and pull her back against him.Once he'd caught sight of those soft gray eyes, he was lost. They were as pale as morning mist covering a field of bluebells. When he gazed deep into her eyes, he had the strangest feeling h
Gillian couldn't breathe. James was reading a torrid part of a novel in public, and she was mortifiedand she didn't want him to stop. It had nothing to do with the story and everything to do with his hypnotic voice. Her heart was racing, and she could only stare at James's lips in utter fascination. So this was what it felt like to long for a manand it was indeed a longinga wicked one."Shall I continue?" he asked again, moving closer. Gillian glanced around the little bookshop. They had wandered into a dim corner as they talked where no one could see them. Her heart gave another wild set of beats as she licked her lips nervously."You shouldn't do that," he cautioned her gently as he closed the book and set it on the shelf ledge by his hip."Do what?" She tried to back up, but her bottom hit a shelf behind her."Lick your lips. It makes a man wonder how you taste, how you feel" He reached up, cupped her cheek, and stroked the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. The touch burned
James stood beside his carriage, watching Miss Beaumont walk away. As the distance between them lengthened, his heart grew heavier, he realized something had been taken from him. She had seemed so lost as she'd pulled away from him. There had been a glimmer of tears in her eyes that he didn't understand. He wanted to go after her. There was something wronghe sensed it. He would escort her home, even if she protested. Whatever was in that letter had upset her greatly, and she shouldn't have to return home alone. James told his driver to wait for Letty and take her home. He would hire a hackney once he'd seen Miss Beaumont safely to her residence.When he turned back to the street, he saw the distant figure of Gillian as she reached the end of the street. Suddenly, a man came toward her and grabbed her arm. Panic flared inside him. No gentleman would grab a lady's arm like that, and out of nowhere, no less. James frowned. Did she know the man? The intimate stance indicated that she di
London in the day was a bustling city with carriages speeding along the cobblestoned streets and women selling flowers in heavily perfumed baskets while the crowds perused the shops and paid calls on friends. But as darkness fell, shadows could play tricks on the eyes of those foolish enough to walk the streets after the sun dropped beneath the horizon.And I am one of those fools.Gillian Beaumont squinted at the nearest alley, swallowing hard and holding back a scream of fear every time she thought she saw something fluttering in the mews like a bat's wings. The coach she had taken to the Temple Bar district was already rattling away, leaving her alone. The leaves of the early fall scuttled along the ground, tangling in her skirts like brown spiders, making her jump. She gripped her gown below her knees and gave the fabric a shake, trying to loosen the dried leaves from her dark purple satin gown. Then she faced her surroundings. She stood on the street close to the Royal Courts of