Page 11 of His Wicked Embrace
Later she could move again, and then she was sprinting down the corridor, coughing as the home she’d cherished burned aroundher.
“The princess!” someone shouted in Farsi. Terror seized her heart, but she didn’t stop. She had toescape.
As she reached a large open window that led to the gardens, a dark figure stepped into her path. She ran into him, and he gripped her body with one arm and clamped a hand over hermouth.
“It’s Al-Zahrani, my princess. I’ve come to rescue you. Come with me,quickly.”
She followed him out of the window into thenight.
Zehra shoutedas she jolted upright. The night still held on to the world outside. Had she only been asleep an hour before the nightmare wokeher?
Lawrence leapt from his chair by the fireplace, snatching a fire poker and wielding it like a saber. “What is it? What’s the matter?” He seemed braced for a fight, legs spread in a crouchedstance.
Zehra’s blood roared in her ears as she struggled to calm. No, she was not in Persia. She was safe. Wasn’tshe?
“I…” She swallowed thickly, her throat raw from the scream. “I had a baddream.”
Lawrence relaxed and walked over to the washstand by the bed. He poured her a glass of water from a pitcher next to the porcelainbasin.
She accepted the glass, drinking deep until it was empty. Her body was covered in a sheen of sweat, and she lifted her hands, examining them for blood. She knew it wouldn’t be there, but she felt it all thesame.
“What are you looking for?” Lawrence filled her glassagain.
“It’s nothing. I’m so sorry I woke you,” shewhispered.
Lawrence leaned over the bed. She was surprised that she did not instinctively shy away fromhim.
“Sweetheart, something terrible has happened to you. I see it shadowing your eyes—there’s a ghostly glimmer of pain behind them. But if you won’t talk to me, I cannot help you.” He cupped her face with one palm, and his warm hand felt so good against her skin. There was something about the way he touched her, spoke to her, as though he was too close, yet not close enough. She felt suddenly cold beneath the thin fabric of the chemise and longed for him to wrap his arms around her and warm her. It was madness, craving a stranger in this way, yet shedid.
“Perhaps one day I can tell you,” she said. “But nottoday.”
His lips curved down into a frown, but he nodded. “I understand. Tell me what can I do. There must besomething.”
Zehra looked away from him, her eyes studying the plasterwork of the ceiling. Golden light, with painted roundels depicting scenes she recognized from classical mythology. She was more used to geometric patterns than depictions of people and was arrested by the sight of the art she saw above her now. Such beauty in the home of such a roguish bachelor. It wasunexpected.
“Zehra?” He spoke her name with tenderness, and she finally met hisgaze.
“Would you…hold me?” She knew it was improper, whether in England or in Persia, but being held was what she needed most. Whenever he touched her, the pain and fear of the past seemed to fade to a distant, hazy memory. She knew it was only a temporary solution, but she clutched at any chance, however small, to ease her memories andforget.
Lawrence’s eyebrows rose. “Hold you? Are you quitesure?”
“Quite sure,” sheechoed.
“Er…right.” He removed his boots, then eased down onto the bed beside her and opened his arms. Zehra was flooded with a rush of emotions as she slid into his embrace. She was asking so much of this man, a total stranger, and she could give him nothing in return. Her eyes filled with tears, and she buried her face against his chest. His scent enveloped her, and she relaxed almostimmediately.
“Better?” he whispered. His warm breath fanned the crown of herhair.
“Yes.” Zehra was silent a long moment. “I am not a weak woman.” She wasn’t sure why she needed him to hear her say that, but shedid.
“I know, sweetheart. I think you may be thestrongestwoman I’ve evermet.”
The tension in her body eased a little, and she let out a breath slowly. Could she share part of it with him? Perhaps alittle…
“My parents were killed. I found them, their bodies, before I escaped from my home. It was…” There were no words, not ones strong enough to express her grief andpain.
His arms tightened around her. “My God. What happened? Why were theykilled?”
Zehra curled her fingers into his shirt, desperate to hold ontohim.
