“Well, where is she? Your slave?”
“What slave?” Lawrence said. He saw no point in making this easy for him.
“The one you paid seven thousand bloody pounds for! That slave!” Avery’s last two words dripped with a quiet outrage that shocked Lawrence. Lawrence was a bit of a bounder, he knew. Arguably the worst-behaved of the siblings now that Lucien had settled down. But surely Avery didn’t honestly think he would actually stoop to buying a slave?
“She’s not a slave,” Lawrence growled. “I saved her. Your damned men arrived late—the blasted auction had already started. I couldn’t let any of those men take her away. She would’ve been…” He refused to complete the sentence.
Avery’s anger seemed to ebb. “Wonderful. So you took her to the Bow Street offices after you secured her safety?”
“No, but wait—”
Avery was on his feet and already on top of Lawrence. Avery shoved his brother hard against the wall.
“Where is she?” Avery bellowed.
The ease with which he had been subdued reminded Lawrence just how dangerous an agent of the Crown could be. He wasn’t used to seeing this side of his brother, but after a moment of shock he recovered.
“Get your bloody hands off me or so help me—”
“You’ll what?” Avery challenged, menace layering every word. Again, Lawrence was struck by this change in his brother’s tone. He was like a damned vengeful god.
“Avery, what the devil is the matter with you? You know I’d never hurt a woman or…”
Avery hissed but let go of him and stepped back so he could pace the length of the study.
“I’m sorry, Lawrence. It’s just…after what I’ve been through last night…” Avery’s face changed, sorrow carved in his features. “We found bodies floating in the harbor. That was in part what caused our delay. They must have been the ones who died before the ship docked. The tides at the port have been washing them in. I can’t close my eyes without imagining those poor women in their final hours…”
Grief and rage mixed in Avery’s eyes as he focused again on Lawrence. For the first time, Lawrence allowed himself to feel the depth of the awfulness of what had happened to Zehra. The things she must’ve seen, things she must have suffered. His stomach turned. It had been worse than he’d even imagined.
“Where is she?” Avery’s tone was quieter.
“Upstairs, having a hot bath. I’ve been seeing to her care, nothing more. I swear it.” He may have been a damned rogue, but his mother had taught him one thing above all else—when you came across a woman in need, you played the hero as best you could.
Avery sighed and raked a hand through his hair, which was more sun-kissed than their other siblings’ darker red hair.
“She will have to go back. You know that, don’t you? She cannot stay here. There’s no place for her. If it were to come out, it could ruin the peace talks and trade negotiations we’re attempting at the moment with Persia. Relations are strained enough with them as it is. If they discover we are allowing the sale of their people as slaves, it could kill those negotiations, and we might end up in a war.”
Lawrence swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat. Send her back? She wouldn’t be safe there.
“I gave her my word that she could stay with me if she wished it,” Lawrence said. He wasn’t sure if it was his place to mention the peril she might be put in, not yet.
“And that was generous of you, but you can’t. What will she do in London? She has no friends, no purpose except to entertain you. I know you, Lawrence. If she’s anything like the other women we saved from the White House auction, she must be stunning, and we both know you’ve had little, if any, self-restraint when it comes to women.”
Lawrence growled. “That’s not fair.”
“Remember Horatia? You got carried away with our own brother’s future wife and kissed her, quite against her wishes.”
Lawrence groaned. “That was at Mother’s insistence. You were there! She told me to seduce Horatia to make Lucien jealous. I only kissed her…” Even still, he had felt like a cad for it. Horatia Sheridan had fought him off like he was some wild pirate trying to ravish her. He’d only wanted Lucien to see them together so that he would be jealous enough to claim Horatia as his own.
Mama and her blasted matchmaking schemes…
“Please don’t make me take her to the docks, Avery. I believe she’d fit well in England with enough time.”
“She’s not a lost puppy, for God’s sake, Lawrence.”
“Blast it, brother, stop twisting my words. She speaks English fluently. I could introduce her to Horatia, perhaps even Emily and the other ladies…”
Avery scoffed. “Introduce a common woman from Lord-knows-where in Persia to a duchess? Lawrence, you’ve lost your mind.”
“She’s not common, Avery. She’s a princess, or some such thing.”
Avery shook his head and leaned a hand on the nearest armchair. “You’re naïve. Let me hazard a guess—that is what the auctioneer at the White House told you?” Lawrence didn’t answer. “They say things like that about all of those women. It makes them more exotic and desirable to the bidders. She’s not special, Lawrence, she’s just like the other women they brought here. Scared women ripped from their homes, deserving of respect and repatriation. We’re doing our best to help them and see them returned.”
“She won’t be safe there—” Lawrence began, but Avery cut him off.
“You’ve developed a silly notion of playing the hero for her, but I won’t let you ruin your life or hers by letting you get attached. She is not some convenient plaything.”
Fury shot through Lawrence, and he reacted without thinking. His fist caught Avery right in the eye, causing him to stumble back, cursing, before he could raise his fists in defense.
“You really want to do this before breakfast?” Avery snapped. “You know how it will end. And then what would Mother say?”
“Mother would say, you had better not!” a feminine voice declared. It came from the doorway of Lawrence’s study. Both he and Avery turned to stare in horror at their mother, who was glowering at them. Lady Russell had arrived.
Chapter 5
Jane Russell was a stunning woman of fifty-two years with dark-red hair and hazel eyes. Lawrence wasn’t fooled by his mother’s beauty, however. He knew she was one of the fiercest matriarchs in all the ton when it came to schemes, especially those of a matchmaking nature. She also had the uncanny ability to appear in the lives of her children when they least expected. Like right now.
“Does everyone just walk into my house without knocking? Where the bloody hell is MacTavish, and why isn’t he doing his bloody job?” Lawrence flexed his throbbing hand, and Avery rubbed his sore eye, each shooting glares at the other.
“A good butler knows better than to stop a man’s mother at the front door.” Jane pulled at the tips of her gloves, removing them while she stared at her sons, one reddish brow arched in disapproval. “What are you two quarreling about?”
Lawrence and Avery shared a look. Avery gave Lawrence a jerk of the head so slight their mother would miss it.
Be silent.
He quite agreed. Their mother could not know what they were fighting about.
“A bit of brotherly nonsense, eh, Avery?” Lawrence asked, his tone casual.
“Yes. Brotherly nonsense,” he said, emphasizing the word, and then with his back to their mother he mouthed five more. “One week and she’s gone.”
One week? He couldn’t let Zehra go back—not to Persia, at any rate. Her parents had been murdered in front of her very eyes. She would never be safe there. She would end up back on an auctioneer’s platform somewhere else, and he wouldn’t be able to help her. He’d have to explain to Avery the danger Zehra faced, but now was not the time, not with their mother staring at them.
“Lawrence, stop scowling—it ruins your good looks. You’ll never catch a wife with a sour expression like that,” his
mother snapped. “Now, I’ve brought good news, and I’d like to share it with you over breakfast.” Jane turned and left the study, clearly expecting her sons to follow.
Avery and Lawrence waited until she was out of earshot.
“You give her back to me in one week. I’ll make sure she has the funds and the means to return home safely,” Avery whispered.
“That’s just it,” Lawrence shot back. “She has no home. Her parents were murdered by a man they trusted. She barely made it out of there alive, only to be kidnapped and sold. That’s not a place she can safely return to. She’ll end up being sold somewhere else, if not killed.”
Avery placed a hand on Lawrence’s shoulder. “I understand. You’ve acted surprisingly noble, brother.” Lawrence flinched at his brother’s tone. He wasn’t a damned hero, but he wasn’t a bastard, either. Avery didn’t notice his reaction and continued. “But your duties are at an end. The ring that brought her here has been smashed. I assure you, she will be safe now. It’s not as though my people don’t have connections in Persia. I promise to see her safely settled and looked after.”
Lawrence didn’t trust those connections. He felt responsible for his Zehra. Letting her leave sounded like a terrible idea.
“You hear me, Lawrence? I’ll be forced to come and get her if you don’t bring her to me.”
Avery stared his brother down, but Lawrence didn’t respond, let alone flinch. Avery might be a spy, but Lawrence was still the older brother. He was not about to lose this silent war.
“Tell Mother I’m sorry to miss breakfast.” Avery walked away, leaving Lawrence standing there, hands balled into fists. He took several slow breaths before he felt calm enough to go into the dining room. His mother was already seated at the table, eating a poached egg and a few pieces of toast with marmalade.
“Come and sit, dear.” She patted the chair beside her.
“Mother, you know how much I love to see you, but—”
Jane chuckled. “I’m certain I am interrupting something, possibly a tryst with a mistress, but she can wait. You will sit and dine with me while I explain to you what news I have.”
Lawrence flung himself into a chair with a groan, but he did not eat. He would wait for Zehra.
“Well, what news do you have?”
His mother looked down her nose at him, as though tempted to remind him of his place, but she didn’t. “Your brother Lucien is settled and happy with a babe on the way. I want that for all my children.”
“Let me guess. You found some young lady who would be perfect for me?”
“Exactly.” She flashed him a winning smile. “She’s lovely and smart, quite a dear.”
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “I’m sure this woman is lovely, Mother, but I’m not ready to settle down.”
“So said your brother.” Jane took a sip of tea as though she were trying to hide a smile.
“Lucien was already madly in love with his future wife. He simply refused to acknowledge it. I’ve never felt that way about any woman.”
He toyed with an empty teacup, his gaze unfocused as he traced the thumb of the blue-and-white pattern on the porcelain. If I take Zehra and run off to Brighton or somewhere far away, we wouldn’t have to be bothered with this nonsense. The idea of taking Zehra somewhere where they could be alone was so tempting at the moment, he had to force himself to remain in his chair.
“You cannot find a future wife by pining away like this.”
“I’m twenty-nine, Mother. A man my age does not pine. Besides, I have plenty of luck with the ladies.”
“Luck? Heavens, dear, being a bachelor and having mistresses isn’t luck. Any decent woman with two eyes in her head would want you. You’re attractive and well off, but that’s not what I want for you. You should be happy—”
“I am!” Lawrence growled.
“You’re not. You wouldn’t be growling like a grumpy old spaniel if you were. You’re pining away, and you just don’t wish to admit it.”
“Pining implies there’s a woman I love whom I cannot have, and that is certainly not the case.” Even as he said this, he couldn’t help but think of Zehra, a woman he wanted desperately. But he knew well enough not to confuse that with love.
“Well, perhaps you should be. Men are always improved when they marry. A wife settles you, gives you a purpose and joy.”
He chuckled. “Only to some. You were lucky when you married Papa. Others are foolish enough to marry for money or social advancement. You cannot find a woman at Almack’s after just one dance and know that she is the one you want to spend the rest of your life with.”
“You certainly can. That’s exactly how I met your father.”
His father. The perfect husband, the perfect father—the shadow he left over his sons was too large for any to escape.
“Mother, not all of us will live up to your standards. We can’t all be just like him. I’m not even your favorite, so why waste your time on me?”
The sharp rattle of a teacup clattering on its saucer made him look her way. Her eyes were narrowed.
“I do not have favorites. How can you say that?”
Regret stung him. “I’m sorry, Mother. I’m just… I had very little sleep last night. Why don’t we have tea tomorrow?” He offered her an olive branch, hoping she would accept. He did adore her, even when she was constantly interfering in his life.
Jane smiled. “Tea?”
“Or dinner, or whatever you wish.” He rubbed his temples as a fresh headache began to pound behind his eyes.
“Well, you could come to Lord Raleigh’s ball tonight and meet this young woman. Her name is Miss Hunt.” The scheming gleam was back in her eyes, and he knew better than to resist.
“Very well. I’ll come. But one dance, do you hear? If Miss Hunt proves uninteresting, that should be the end of the matter.”
“Of course,” she agreed. “Now, what was really going on between you and Avery?”
He tsked and waved a finger at her. “You only get one favor from me today, Mother. I shall not be telling you anything else.”
“So be it. But take care, Lawrence. The bonds of brotherhood should be forever. If you mistreat yours, you might lose him.”
“The same should be said to him,” Lawrence grumbled.
“It will be.” She drank the remnants of her tea and then collected her gloves and stood. Lawrence got to his feet and leaned in to kiss his mother’s cheek.
“See you this evening. Don’t be late.”
“Yes, Mother.” He escorted her to the door and watched her leave. Only after her coach carried her far away did he rush back upstairs to his chambers with a tray of food.
Zehra was reading again, wearing that awful gown from the brothel. Well, it wasn’t awful, but it was far too tempting in all the wrong ways. She needed new clothes fit for a princess, not a lightskirt.
“Zehra, I was planning to have the modiste come here to fit you for gowns, but perhaps you should like to go out, get a bit of fresh air?” he placed the tray on the table and walked over to her.
Zehra’s eyes flashed with excitement. “Could we?” She set the novel down and was on her feet in an instant. The smile made his heart swell against his ribs. Was it possible to feel too happy?
“Yes, I thought it might be nice to spend the day out on the town, buy you whatever you need. I’m afraid I’ve got to go out tonight, but…” At least I could spend the day with you.
“Thank you, my lord.” She rushed over to him and curled her arms around his neck. For a moment, he was stunned, unsure what to do or say. It was an innocent embrace, yet it was a wicked temptation to him as well. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close. Her hair carried a soft floral scent, and he longed to bury his nose in those silken tresses.
“Why don’t you have some breakfast, and then we’ll take my coach to Bond Street when you’re ready.”
Zehra released him and he did the same, hating that he had to let her go. It
was so unlike him. He wasn’t the sort who clung to women, and he certainly didn’t like women hanging on him, but with Zehra, he was discovering his usual preferences were no longer applicable.
She seated herself in the chair by the fire and ate her breakfast. Lawrence intended to join her in the companion chair.
“Was that your brother?”
He froze at her question, his hands holding the book he’d retrieved from the chair before he sat down.
“Er…yes. How did you know?”
She tilted her head. “I was worried when you didn’t return. I came down the stairs a little and heard you quarreling…over me.” Rather than look embarrassed, she met his gaze with a flinty resolve.
Lawrence knew he had to tell her the truth. “My brother is…well…he is involved in services for His Majesty, and it was he who sent me to the White House. I was not supposed to bid on anyone, only observe. He was to come later with the Bow Street Runners and a magistrate to catch both the slavers and the buyers together.”
“And he is angry because you bought me?” Those eyes of hers were haunting, so steady and sure.
“Yes, he’s quite furious with me.” Lawrence stroked the spine of the novel in his hands. “Our tempers got a tad out of hand.”
Zehra made a soft sound that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.
“You don’t have any siblings, do you?” he asked.
She nibbled on a piece of toast and shook her head. “My mother had a second child, a son, but he died of a fever at six months. He was a beautiful baby, and even though I was only four years old when he passed, I adored him. I still remember his brown eyes, warm and bright like my father’s.” Her voice became raw with emotion. Lawrence shifted in his chair beside her, amazed at how easily he could sit and talk with her, even of painful things.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. As you would say, he is with God now, and I am sure he is happy.” She raised her eyes to his again, and he loved the way her dark lashes framed those bright-blue eyes, almost the color of turquoise.
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