Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

Her eyes widened, and not in recognition of his good sense. She was magnificently furious. “Let me alone, Crispin Hope, you booby-headed jackass.”


He kept his grip on her arm. “Use your intellect, if you haven’t let it be worn to a blunt by listening to your sister-in-law prattle on about gowns and London and the proper forms of address. You know as well as I that you’ll freeze out here.” He pointed toward the dark gray stones of his childhood home. “Wordless is nearer than the Grange. Let’s go there and wait out the rain.” He brought her closer to him, and he forgot everything that had gone wrong between them, the wrongs they’d done each other. Whatever else had happened, he could not bear to see her unhappy. “You can tell me everything that’s made you so miserable. Will you do that much? Please?”

Something of what he was feeling must have transferred to her, for she wiped water out of her face and nodded. “How long have you got?”

“As long as we need. You know that.” He ached to touch her, to console her, but didn’t dare. She was too angry. And he was too much on edge. “Out of the rain, if you please.”

She nodded again.

“Thank you.” He didn’t give her time to change her mind or form an objection. He swung her into his arms and bodily lifted her over the fence. From the awkward way she reacted, he knew she hadn’t expected to find herself in his arms. Nor had he anticipated doing so until it was done.

When she was safely down and steady on her feet, he stepped over the fence himself. He shrugged out of his greatcoat and put it around her shoulders. One did such things for ladies. As an afterthought, he clapped his hat on her head, too.

“Come along then.” He managed a smile that at long last did not feel false. “Before we drown or are killed by hail.”

He marched them toward the house and around to the front. He remembered the days when he had run up those twenty front stairs, often with Magnus and Portia in tow. He could see the house as it had been then—the servants, now long moved on to other positions, the interior of the house. How strange to think of those rooms as empty and dark. Rooms where his wife had never been and where she had left no mark.

No great surprise, the front door was locked. The groundskeeper lived in West Aubry and had no need for access to the house. His steward visited but twice a year to see to any interior maintenance that might be required.

Rain beat down while they tried every other entrance and found each door locked and barred, every shutter closed. Short of breaking a window or kicking in a door they weren’t getting inside. In the abstract, he was pleased that Wordless was so well protected, but at the moment, he was inconvenienced at being denied entry to his own damn house. Both of them were shivering now, with no sign of the rain letting up and the cold getting sharper.

“The stables?” Portia said.

He nodded and took her hand while they dashed along the gravel drive that led to the stable block only to find the grooms’ quarters locked up as tight as the house. They took refuge in the long stone archway of the stables, eight stalls on each side. The block emptied onto a courtyard with the carriage house at the far side. That was locked tight, too, he discovered.

Back in the archway between the two rows of stalls, they stood side-by-side, dripping water onto the paving stones. He stamped his feet and made a largely futile attempt to brush water off his coat and out of his hair. “At least we’re out of the wet.”

“Yes.” She stared at the rain beating down on the courtyard and cascading from the gutters.

“Tell me why you’re so unhappy?”

“I shan’t. Not more than you’ve guessed.” She shook her head. He’d give anything to have her look at him. “You’ll only think less of me than you do already.”

“She rubs my nerves raw, too, sometimes.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “Awful man.”

“True.” In the silence he stamped his feet some more and managed to dislodge some of the mud that clung to his boots. “It can’t come down like this for much longer.”

“Yes, it can.”

He’d lived here long enough to know it could rain like this until tomorrow. “Listen to us.” He rolled his eyes even though she wasn’t looking at him. “Talking about the weather like two old ladies.”

She shrugged, but halfway through the motion, she shivered. Without thinking, he put his arms around her. She didn’t come close.

“Take pity on me,” he said. “I’m cold.”