“I am.” He squeezed her hand. “I ought to have been here all along.”

Suddenly he went down on one knee, and her heart gave a jolt. She equally yearned for and feared what he was going to say next.

“Lady Sara Ashford. Syrine. When I came to England, I never anticipated I would fall in love. But I did. With you. And now I can’t envision returning home without you. Would you consent to marry me?”

She closed her eyes as the top in her head careened about. How very strange that she was, in fact, being proposed to in the gazebo after all.

Just by the wrong man.

For years, she’d worked so hard to maintain Society’s rigid principles. How could she marry Tarek—a man that everyone would whisper about, a man who challenged her notions of propriety over and over, until she scarcely knew how to behave, herself?

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes again. He was staring up at her with a look of hopeless desperation.

“How can I marry you?” she asked. “We scarcely know one another.”

“That didn’t seem to be an issue where Lord Whitley was concerned.” His voice held a bitter edge. “I would venture to say that you and I know far more about each other than you and the viscount ever could, yet you were fully prepared to leap into matrimony with the man.”

“This is different.”

“Because I’m not a pompous English lord more interested in chasing skirts than finding a lasting love? Because I’m too dark-skinned and foreign to be deemed suitable by your precious Society? Because I challenge the adventuress inside you to cast off the shackles of respectability and live your life to the fullest?”

Every question cut into the heart of all her assumptions, and she winced at each one.

“I can’t imagine a life with you, Tarek,” she said.

“And I can’t imagine one without you.” His look softened. “I think you’ve spent years trying to envision a future too perfect to possibly exist, and denying the one you truly want. Is it really so difficult to think of what our life together might hold?”

Hot moisture pricked her eyes.

“Ever since Father died, I’ve tried to be good,” she said. “To be the very best, the most proper girl ever, so that Mama would be proud of me. So that she might return, and never go away again.”

A tear escaped to trickle down her cheek. Tarek sprang up and gently wiped it away with his thumb.

“You are the best girl ever,” he said softly. “And I never want to leave you.”

His words were like a warm blanket around her heart—but could she trust that they would remain true?

“Would you stay in England?” she asked.

A pained expression crossed his face, but his gaze never wavered from hers. “If that is what’s required for your happiness, then yes, I will stay.”

She pulled in a trembling breath. “And would you take me to France, and to Tunisia, to meet your family?”

That dazzling smile broke across his face. “In an instant, Sara. I would take you anywhere you wanted to go. London, Burgundy, Tunis. The world is ours to explore.”

“The world might be,” she said. “But I’m not certain where home is.”

“With me,” he said, and opened his arms.

Something turned inside her, a key unlocking a door. Could it, after all, be truly that simple?

Yes, her heart answered.

“Then take me home,” she said, and stepped into his embrace.

Their lips met, and the whirl of her emotions coalesced into a surge of light that warmed her whole body. She felt as though she could melt into him, and for a mad moment she wondered how her bare skin might feel against his. The thought sent a shiver of desire dancing along her nerves.

His arms tightened about her, and then his tongue met hers in a dazzle of sensation.

“Ahem,” Aunt Eugenie said in a loud voice. “I’m coming in now.”

Tarek ended their kiss, but he did not let her go, and she was glad of it. Aunt Eugenie stepped into the gazebo and gave him a narrow-eyed look.

“Have the two of you reached an understanding?” she asked.

Tarek looked down at Sara, one eyebrow lifted. “Have we, Lady Sara? Will you consent to be my wife?”

This time, there was no hesitation.

“Yes, Tarek Zafir Remy, Comte du Lac. I will marry you.”

“Thank the stars!” He picked her up and whirled her around. She held tightly to his shoulders and laughed aloud, her heart as light as air.

“I brought a ring,” he said, setting her down.

“You did?”

“Did you?” Aunt Eugenie echoed. “How very presumptuous.”

Tarek ignored Aunt Eugenie, and pulled a beautiful square-cut emerald ring from his pocket.

Sara caught her breath. “That’s Mama’s engagement ring. I came across it once when I was going through her jewelry. She looked sad and put it away again when I asked about it.”

“Yes,” he said. “She gave it to me to bring today. Along with her blessing.”

“Your mother loved your father with all her heart,” Aunt Eugenie said. “Sometimes I wonder if she travels so much because England is still too painful. In faraway lands, she can escape the shadow of what they had together.”

Sara stared at her aunt, the thought spreading like healing ripples through her. She’d always assumed Mama stayed away because Sara was not the right kind of daughter. But perhaps there was more to it. Far more than she, as a child, had ever guessed.

Another weight lifted from her soul, and she turned back to Tarek. “Do you think Mama could accompany us, from time to time?”

It had never occurred to her before, but perhaps Mama was lonely, returning to England only when she could bear it no longer, and then fleeing once the memories became too heavy.

“It would be a pleasure to travel with Lady Fulton,” he said. “Now hold out your hand, you distractible woman. I’m trying to become engaged to you.”

She swallowed a laugh and obediently spread her fingers so that he could slip the ring on. It fit perfectly.

Aunt Eugenie sniffed, not with disapproval this time, and fished her kerchief from her sleeve. “You’ll be the Comtesse du Lac now. I suppose that’s not so dreadful a thing.”

“And Hanimefendi Syrine Zafir,” Tarek said, a twinkle in his eye. “But most of all, I think I shall call you wife.”

“That will do very well,” she said. “And I shall call you habibi in return.”

“Ah! You are too clever for me.” He grinned with delight. “When did you learn the Arabic word for beloved?”

“It was in a book of poems Mama brought back from Persia some years ago. I memorized it, thinking it might prove useful one day.”

“And so it has.” He sobered and gazed deeply into her eyes. “Perhaps you were waiting for me all along.”

The thought made her shiver, it felt so true.

“Perhaps I was.”

Ignoring the fact of Aunt Eugenie’s presence, she twined her arms around Tarek’s neck once more and pressed her lips against his. After another long, dizzying kiss, she pulled away.

“There is one more thing I must tell you,” she said, trying to catch her breath.

“You may tell me anything, Syrine,” he said. “Anything at all. What is it?”

It was difficult to speak, but she must trust her heart. And trust Tarek.

“I love you.” She whispered the words at first, they felt so fragile. So new.

“Beloved.” He kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, then her lips.

“I love you, Tarek.” Her voice was stronger this time.

“And I love you.” There was no doubting the sincerity in his eyes.

Sara glanced around the gazebo, to see that Aunt Eugenie had gone outside and was admiring the blaze of sun on the white and orange petals of the lilies. The pond sparkled like diamonds, and the creak of a frog added a commonplace note to the scene.

She could not quite believe that an afternoon which had begun so wretchedly had ended in this quiet, soul-shaking perfection.

“Shall we go find your mother?” Tarek asked. “I’m sure she’s anxious to know how our afternoon went.”

“Yes.” Sara laced her fingers through his and smiled at him as they stepped out into the light. Together.

The End

More from Anthea Lawson

Find all Anthea’s books at anthealawson.com

Discover more passionate Victorian romantic adventure from Anthea Lawson in the Passport to Romance series.

FORTUNE’S FLOWER

Passport to Romance Book 1

Miss Lily Strathmore has made a desperate bargain. One last adventure abroad with her botanist uncle and his family, and then she will do as her parents bid and wed the proper (and boring) viscount her mother has selected as Lily’s ideal husband.

James Huntington is on a mission. Retrieve his grandfather’s lost journals from the wilds of Tunisia, and win the estate and fortune he so desperately needs. This quest will be the making of him—or his ruin.

Thrown together on a botanical expedition, James and Lily’s attraction is immediate, and impossible. Despite every reason to keep their distance, the two find themselves inexorably drawn together as they race to reach a hidden valley before their enemies can bring all their dreams crashing down.

"A lush, exotic tale of romance and adventure." - Sally MacKenzie, USA Today bestselling author

~NOVELS~

Sonata for a Scoundrel

Mistress of Melody

Fortune’s Flower

To Heal a Heart

~COLLECTIONS~

Kisses & Rogues

Regency Sweets

Music of the Heart boxed set

~SHORTER WORKS~

To Wed the Earl

A Countess for Christmas

A Duke for Midwinter

Five Wicked Kisses

Maid for Scandal

The Piano Tutor


About the Author

~USA Today bestselling author and two-time RITA nominee~

Anthea Lawson's books have received starred reviews in Library Journal, and in Booklist, who named her "one of the new stars of historical romance." She lives with her husband and daughter in the Pacific Northwest, where the rainy days and excellent coffee fuel her writing. In addition to writing historical romance, she plays the Irish fiddle and pens award-winning YA Urban Fantasy as Anthea Sharp.

Visit her at  http://anthealawson.com and join her mailing list for all the news about upcoming releases and reader perks!


LORD OF CHANCE

by Erica Ridley


Love romance? Have a free book, on me!

Sign up at http://ericaridley.com/club99 for members-only exclusives, including advance notice of pre-orders, as well as contests, giveaways, freebies, and 99¢ deals!

ISBN: 1943794030

ISBN-13: 978- 1943794034

Copyright © 2016 Erica Ridley

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

Chapter 1

Scotland, 1817

Mr. Anthony Fairfax might not be the lord of a manor, but he was king of the gaming hells. Or had been. He should resume his throne at any moment. His luck was already turning back around, right there in a humble inn on the Scottish border. Anthony slid another look toward a certain young woman seated alone in the shadows.

Making her acquaintance was almost as tempting as winning the next hand of Speculation.

To feign disinterest in the twitches and tells of the other three men at the card table, Anthony lifted his untouched glass of brandy to his lips and leaned back in his chair. Careful to keep a watchful eye on the other gamblers, he glanced about the inn while he waited his turn.

This particular inn was a bit dear, given the unpredictable condition of Anthony’s purse, but he’d chosen it for that very reason. Rich guests meant higher profits at the gaming tables.

Bored gentlemen—after all, who stopped at a small village on the border between Scotland and England save those on a long, dusty journey?—meant virtually every soul present had wandered into the guest salon after supper to be entertained for a moment or two.

For Anthony, the most interesting of all was the intriguing woman in the corner. She drank nothing. Spoke to no one. Seemed uninterested in the bustle of life about her. Yet she was not.