Page 5 of His Wicked Embrace
“Thank you.” The madam collected the note and waved a hand at him in dismissal. It was obvious he merited no more attention than it took to process his purchase. The White House was vastly different from the Midnight Garden—no warm embrace of Madame Chanson as she greeted guests to be found here. She ran her house entirely on referrals and only hired ladies and gentlemen who were professionals, not those desperate for coin. They were truecortigiane oneste, skilled in far more than matters of the flesh. London’s elite chose the Midnight Garden when they wanted their pleasures clean and without what Lawrence called “sullied waters.” This was not in reference to the ladies, but rather the men who frequented those establishments and the diseases they oftenspread.
Lawrence exited the madam’s office and spotted the dirty-haired blonde who had escorted his woman to thestage.
“Excuse me, miss. Could you please take me to the room of the woman I…” Again he swallowed the distastefulwords.
“Bought?” the woman supplied with a knowing grin. Lawrence frowned, butnodded.
“This way, lovey. She’s arealbeauty, that one. But keep your knives and pistols out of reach, if you know what I mean. She’s got a fire in her eyes. She’ll likely try to slit your throat the moment you fallasleep.”
Lawrence unconsciously reached up and fussed with his cravat as they came to a door at the end of the hall. The woman slipped an old brass key into the lock, turning it until it clicked, and then she stepped back out of the way, allowing him entrance. He closed the door behind himself and spotted the woman on the opposite side of theroom.
She had placed the bed between them. Her hands were slightly raised, as though she would strike out in self-defense at any moment. He was torn between disappointment at her fear and admiration for her fire. A woman who fought for herself was a woman to berespected.
He lifted his own palms. “Be at ease, darling. I’m not going to hurt you. I didn’t even plan on…” She stared at him, her blue eyes so striking that he lost his train of thought. He recovered himself. “What is your name?” heasked.
The woman was silent for a long moment. “ZehraDarzi.”
“Miss Darzi, I am Lawrence Russell.” He took a step closer, and she stepped back like a skittish colt, but her eyes promised danger if hecontinued.
“As I said, I have no desire to harmyou.”
“So you say.” She spoke English well, but she also had a rich accent he couldn’t quite place. The foreign touch made her voice enchanting andmysterious.
“Rest assured, my word is my bond. I bought you to save you from the other men. I will not take advantage of you. Now orever.”
Zehra raised a dark brow. “A hot-blooded man with an angelic face wishesnotto take me to bed? I do not know if I believe you. Beautiful men such as youalwayswish to bedwomen.”
He couldn’t resist grinning. “You think I’m beautiful?” He knew of his appeal to the fairer sex, but to hear it from this woman felt like more than justflattery.
“You know you are, Mr.Russell.”
He tilted his head, studying her. “With hair dark as a raven’s wing, and eyes like polished moonstones, she sweeps me away on dreams of morning mists.” He quoted an old poem, one he barely remembered except for that singleline.
“‘The Raven Lass’?” she asked. “William Helms. An obscure poem, is itnot?”
“Indeed,” he said, stunned she would even know it. “One of my mother’s favorites. She often recited it to me as a boy, but I’ll be damned if I can remember any more ofit.”
“My mother also taught me this poem,” Zehra murmured, her enchanting blue eyes darkened as she stared athim.
“Oh? What a curious thing.I—”
Whatever he’d planned to say was cut short by the sounds of a commotion outside. He opened the door and saw several prostitutes fleeing down the hall. One of them was the blonde who had brought him here. He caught her arm as she ranpast.
“What’s thematter?”
“Bow Street Runners! They’re raiding the house. You’d best get out right quick. They’ll send your woman back on the boat if they find her here.” The woman ripped free of his grasp and fled down thehall.
“About damned time!” Lawrence muttered. The Runners would find them, and he could return Zehra to her home—or at least, they would see her back onto a ship that would take herthere.
“Please.” Zehra’s voice came from directly behind him. As he turned around, her hand caught his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Please, do not let them send me back. I will go home with you.” Her imploring gaze was nearly impossible todeny.
“But you will be safeand—”
She shook her head. “No, I will not. I must stay here. Withyou.”
There was more shouting from outside their door. Lawrence had only seconds to decide what he was going todo.
“You won’t be safe goingback?”
