Page 1 of The Earl That Got Away (Sirens in Silk #2)
Chapter One
Yorkshire, England
Y ou are next,” Auntie Majida murmured in Arabic. “ Inshallah , God willing, we will find you a very nice husband.”
Naila Darwish resisted the urge to roll her eyes. If she had a dollar for every time Auntie talked about finding her a husband, she’d be independently wealthy. “I doubt that’s going to happen.”
Auntie Majida was not easily deterred. “ Laish let? Why not?”
“You know why.” Naila fiddled with the stack of thin gold bangles adorning her wrist, her finger circling the single pearl adornment on one bracelet. “Because I’ve already had my chance.”
“You had your chance?” Auntie Majida tsked dismissively. “ Hakki fathee. Stop with the empty talk.”
“Why? It’s the truth.” At twenty-seven, Naila was an old maid by any standard. “I did not seize the opportunity when offered.”
“That boy was a stranger,” Auntie said impatiently. “We didn’t even know if he was ibn il nas , the son of respectable people. You were jahla , a silly young girl who didn’t know better.”
Maybe, but eight years later, Naila still hadn’t outgrown the ache in her chest whenever she thought of his devastated expression when she ended things. The disbelief in his hollow eyes, the grim flat set of his mouth. She might as well have sliced his chest open and plucked out his beating heart.
Her penance was to spend her life sitting on the sidelines watching others find the joy in life that she’d carelessly tossed away.
That’s why she was seated beside her aunt in her usual wallflower position while her sister twirled across the dance floor in the arms of her betrothed, a handsome duke with dark golden hair and an aristocratic profile.
It was hard to believe that in two short weeks Raya would become a duchess and the mistress of Castle Tremayne.
The evening’s prewedding festivities were taking place in the castle’s Great Hall, a cavernous chamber with stone walls, mammoth windows and soaring ceilings.
The Darwish family contingent had sailed from Brooklyn, arriving two weeks earlier.
Some of the Arab relatives who came for the wedding found Tremayne disappointingly dreary and rundown.
But not Naila. She was enchanted. Anyone with an appreciation for construction and design could see that the castle was an architectural masterpiece.
The duke escorted Raya off the dance floor. Her sister, a vision in white, was radiant, her happiness more vibrant than a thousand burning candles. Would Naila know the same joy if she’d been brave enough to follow her heart?
Instead, she’d relegated herself to being a supporting player in other people’s lives.
The aunt who looked after her older sister’s children.
The person the family automatically turned to when an elderly relative required care or companionship.
How had she, a girl who once craved excitement and adventure, settled for such a tedious life?
Naila sighed and tilted her head upward, inspecting the intricate stained-glass designs adorning generous arched windows.
At least she had her study of architecture to distract her.
Otherwise, she’d die of boredom. Or remorse.
Fortunately, with its great old castles and country houses, England was the perfect place to indulge her passion.
Auntie scanned the crowded Great Hall. “Maybe there is a widower in his forties who will need a wife to take care of his children.”
“That sounds delightful,” Naila said under her breath.
“ Shatra .” Missing the sarcasm in Naila’s voice, Auntie nodded approvingly. “Smart girl. An older man with money and a good family is worth everything.”
Auntie did not believe in romantic love, but Naila knew better. The bridal couple approached, Raya wearing a beatific smile while her betrothed beamed like a man who couldn’t believe his good fortune.
“Auntie Majida must dance with me,” the duke proclaimed with a twinkle in his eye.
The older woman flushed and fluttered her sparse lashes. “ Malaya minuck. Don’t be silly,” she said, clearly delighted to be singled out.
Naila watched the interaction in astonishment. Up until that moment, she’d been certain Auntie Majida was uncharmable.
“Take Naila,” the older woman said.
“What?” Now it was Naila’s turn to flush. “Oh no, that’s not necessary.”
“Naila never dances.” Their elder sister, Nadine, appeared. “But I am an excellent dancer. Everyone says I am graceful enough to be a ballerina. I took lessons when I was young.”
“It shall be my pleasure to dance with Mrs. Habib,” the Duke of Strickland said, gallant as ever. “As long as Miss Darwish will consent to dance with Hawksworth.”
Naila glanced around. “Who?”
“That’s an excellent idea!” Raya said. “The Earl of Hawksworth is one of Strick’s oldest friends.”
The duke tapped the sleeve of a wide-shouldered man in a perfectly tailored black evening suit standing with his back to them talking with a guest. The man turned to face them.
“May I introduce the Earl of Hawksworth?” the duke said.
The earl’s eyes met Naila’s. Deep lines framed a steely gaze and a jaw cut so sharp it could do bodily harm. Naila’s heart seized as she tumbled into the past, staring into the face that had haunted her for almost a decade.
“Hawk,” the duke said, “this is Miss Naila Darwish, my intended’s lovely sister.”
The world came to an abrupt halt. All movement in the ballroom—the dancing couples, chattering guests and roaming servants proffering refreshments—froze in place. Everything, that is, except for Naila’s plummeting stomach.
Basil.
His eyes widened, joy lighting them ever so briefly.
For a fleeting unguarded moment, they were them again, connected, invincible, their hearts melded.
Hope and possibility blossomed between them.
But then a cold mask slid into place on Basil’s face, and a stranger, absent of all warmth, inhabited the man she’d once adored.
Still adored.
“We have met.” Time had deepened Basil’s voice, seasoning it. But those cut-glass tones were still sharp enough to stab her heart.
“You have?” Both Raya and Strickland spoke in unison.
“Many years ago.” His gaze slid away from Naila. “In Philadelphia.”
“Philadelphia?” The duke’s brows rose. He looked from Basil to Naila and back again. “This is—?” His mouth fell open. “What are the chances?”
“You are already acquainted?” Raya exclaimed with obvious delight. “It truly is a small world.”
“Unbelievably so,” Strickland muttered.
Nadine stared at Naila. “You met an earl when you visited Philadelphia?”
Stricken, Naila did not answer. Her lungs were paralyzed. After all these years, Basil Trevelyn had become more of a dream than an actual person. Yet the beautiful man standing before her, vibrant and alive, his wide shoulders filling out tailored evening clothes, was achingly real.
Strickland recovered himself enough to introduce Majida. “And this is the young ladies’ aunt, Mrs. Kassab.”
“We have also met.” Cynicism laced Basil’s words. He dipped his chin. “Ma’am.”
Auntie Majida narrowed her eyes at him. “Isn’t this the boy from Philadelphia?” she asked Naila in Arabic. In English, she said to Basil, “What does it mean? Earl?”
His eyes were gray ice. “It’s simply a title. One that is not as high as a duke.”
Raya interjected. “But an impressive and important noble title, nonetheless,” she explained. “Among the highest in the land.”
Majida ran an assessing glance over Basil. “Highest?”
“I assure you that I am the same man.” Scorn iced his words.
Disbelief spun through Naila. How was this happening?
Surely the chances of running into the love of her life in a far-flung English castle were as remote as being crowned queen of England.
And how was it possible for Basil to be an earl?
That was one of England’s highest titles.
She wasn’t overly familiar with how nobility worked but she knew titles were inherited and Basil’s father wasn’t an earl. Nor were any of his uncles.
The musicians struck a chord. Strick’s glance bounced between Basil and Naila before he offered his arm to Nadine. “That is our cue,” he said to her. “Shall we?”
Nadine beamed. “If you insist.”
“And Hawk will dance with Naila,” Raya said cheerfully, somehow missing the thick undercurrent of tension congealing around them. “Go on, you two.”
Basil hesitated before offering his arm. What choice did he have? To refuse would be unthinkably rude. “Miss Darwish.”
A hint of derision laced the way he spoke her name. Naila didn’t blame Basil for despising her. A truly loyal woman, a person of courage and substance, could never be persuaded to abandon the man who owned her heart. She’d bitterly regretted her decision every single day since sending Basil away.
For years, Naila had dreamed of seeing him again, yearned for a chance to set things right. But now that Basil stood before her in the flesh, her first instinct was to flee. Anything to avoid the tumult inside her. And the faint mockery in his eyes.
“Naila.” Nadine turned away from Otis, the footman who’d brought her a note. “Malik is feeling sick. He’s insisting that his auntie Naila tuck him into bed.”
“That can wait,” Raya said, clearly annoyed. “Naila is about to dance.”
“She doesn’t even like to waltz.” Nadine looked to Naila. “Do you?”
Fidgeting with the gold bangles on her wrist, Naila avoided Basil’s gaze. Yet again, when it came to him, she opted for the coward’s way out. “I will go see to Malik,” she said. “If you will excuse me.”
“Naila—” Raya started.
“Perfect,” Nadine said brightly before turning to the duke. “I am ready to dance.”
Naila didn’t look Basil’s way, but as she hurried to attend to her nephew, she felt his disdain burning through the back of her embroidered silk gown.