Page 7 of His Wicked Embrace
“Please, tell me what you meant to say.” He wanted her to speak. That soft voice of hers was heaven-sent, and he could’ve listened to her talk for hours. He usually liked to hear women sigh or moan his name, but from Zehra he wanted conversation. He sensed that anything she said would havemeaning.
“It’s so cold and harsh here. My home was warm andcolorful.”
“Where is your home?” he asked, half afraid she wouldn’t tellhim.
“Persia,” she repliedsoftly.
He blinked. “Wait, the auctioneer wasn’t lying? You really are from Persia?” She nodded, and he smiled. “Does that mean you are a princesstoo?”
“Perhaps,” she replied, a soft twinkle in hereyes.
She seemed so afraid,so hesitant around him, but he understood. She was a brave woman facing a life as a slave if she couldn’t trust him. He was about to ask her why she wanted to stay here with him, but the coach rolled to a stop and the driver announced his address. He moved to get out first and relished lifting her down from the coach. Nothing seemed more wonderful than holding her close in his arms, and he hated having to set her down on the ground and letgo.
With a furtive glance about, he saw the street was empty, so they rushed up the steps to his door. His butler, Mr. MacTavish, was waiting for him. The old stout Scotsman’s eyes widened at the sight of Zehra, but he did not question her presence. Lawrence had kept a fair number of mistresses in recent years, which meant a lady after midnight was not completely unexpected. They didn’t usually stay for more than a night, so MacTavish would likely be surprised by Zehra stayinglonger.
“MacTavish, this is Miss Zehra Darzi, and she is my esteemed guest. Please have a chamber prepared forher.”
The old Scotsman blinked in momentary confusion. “Not your room?” he queried, his tone polite andcareful.
“No. Miss Darzi will have her own chambers. She will advise you what her needs are with regard to meals and anythingelse.”
Lawrence paused at the base of the stairs, Zehra at his side as he looked at her. “You do not have a maid… I’ve only just realized you must have nothing. How foolish ofme.”
Zehra shook her head. “I had a maid back home, of course, but she was…” Her words trailed off. She seemed to consider her next words carefully. “She is no longer withme.”
MacTavish interjected. “Er… Shall I make inquiries first thing in the morning to procure a maid for thelady?”
Lawrence replied, “Yes,” at the same time Zehra said, “No.”
“You will have need of a maid while you remain here,” Lawrence explained. “I can’t ask my upstairs maids to spend time away from their duties to assist you. I would much prefer you have a maid ready to see to your every need, not to mention your changes ofclothes.”
Her cheeks pinkened, and she glanced away. “I have only this gown. A maid shall not beneeded.”
Lawrence gaped at her. “Zehra, you wound me.” He was teasing, but the flash of panic in her eyes made him move on hastily. “You have met me under theleastreputable circumstances, I know, but rest assured you will be treated properly under my roof.” He stroked her cheek, loving the way her eyes dilated. “That means, I’m afraid, that you must endure a newwardrobe.”
Zehra stared at him in disbelief as he led her upstairs. Below them, MacTavish called for servants to attend tothem.
“You may rest in my chambers for now until they have your room prepared.” He escorted her to his own room and ushered her inside. A fire was lit, and Lawrence knew a tray of food would soon be sent up, but for now at least, he could get Zehra settled. She lingered by the door, her elegant fingers twining in the silk of her gown. Lawrence longed to reach out and touch those hands again, to reassure her that all was well, but he feared she still did not trusthim.
“Please, sit. I can offer you wine or a bit of brandy?” He started toward the decanters on his side table, then his face turned a ruddy red. “I suppose you don’t drink spirits do you? I apologize if I caused anyoffense.
“No, it’s fine. I do drink occasionally. My mother wasn’t Persian and I was raised in two different cultures. I would like a glass of wine please,” Zehra replied as she seated herself in the first chair by the fire. He poured her a glass and handed it to her, then sat in the chair watching her. She gulped heavily. Her father would have disapproved but her mother had often let her have a glass of wine in secret when it was just the two of them and Zehra was quite partial toit.
“Did they provide you with enough sustenance at the WhiteHouse?”
“The White House?” she asked,confused.
“Yes, the brothel whereyou…”
“Oh.” Her cheeks turned dark red. “A little. I had a glass of water and a piece of bread aroundmidday—”
“God’s teeth!” Lawrence cursed. The poor woman had been starved. She jumped at his outburst. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that the more I learn of this place the more furious it makes me.” That wasn’t nearly a strong enough word, but he wasn’t about to tell this poor frightened woman he wanted to go back and raze the place to theground.
Zehra sipped her wine more slowly, her eyes locked on his as though seeking to ascertain if he was still a threat. She ought to have a minute alone, even from him. It might give her time to adjust and feelsafer.
“I think I’ll go down and have some extra food brought up. Please stay here and warm yourself by thefire.”
He left her alone, feeling she could do with a bit of quiet after the horrors she’d suffered. It was clear from her speech that she was a highborn lady and not used to the treatment she’d endured. Not thatanywoman should be used to it. MacTavish was in the hallway waiting for him, his dark brows drawn together inconcern.
