Lawrence woke to the chiming of the grandfather clock in the corridor outside his bedroom.

Half past seven. It was still early, and they had gone to bed in the wee hours of the morning.

He shifted, feeling the welcome weight of Zehra in his arms. Her head rested on his chest, and their legs were entwined. Her chemise had ridden up, and he had one hand on her left thigh. She had one hand in his hair, as though she'd fallen asleep stroking her fingers through the ...