Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

“Brilliant, Word. And generous. You see?” Magnus said to Eleanor. “It’s settled as easily as that.”


“Northword Hill is at your complete disposal.” Crispin looked to Magnus. “You are not to be out of pocket for this, do I make myself clear? Whatever staff you hire will be employed by me. My valet will be more than happy to assist with the arrangements. I know Mrs. Temple will manage everything beautifully, and I shan’t have to worry about a thing. Nor will Portia.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Portia said. She smiled with pure relief. “That is very kind of you to offer your home.”

He waved a hand. “It’s the least I can do.” Then he gazed at Portia. “I look forward to meeting Mr. Stewart.”





Chapter Ten





Three days later

PORTIA STOOD IN FRONT of the lavender, scissors in hand. The rowan tree was to her right, leaves no longer drooping, just as Hob had foretold. She broke off one of the forming lavender blossom heads and rolled it between her fingers. Even this early in the season, the scent was lovely. Her heart pinched at the thought that she would not be here to see it in full bloom. Nor any of the rest of the garden.

Jeremy and his mother had arrived several hours ago and after much ado, Mrs. Stewart was resting upstairs. Jeremy, Magnus, and Crispin were ensconced in the back parlor while Eleanor was driving the servants to distraction overseeing preparations for her and Magnus’s departure for Brighton. Portia had escaped the chaos at the first opportunity.

Boot heels clicked on the stone steps. Not her sister-in-law, thank God. Too fast to be Magnus. Her brother never walked when he could stroll nor hurried when he could walk. Hob never moved that quickly either. Those footsteps came too quickly for anyone but Crispin.

She turned and saw him striding toward her in his tasseled Hessians and snug breeches. The lawn was muddy from the most recent rain, and he had to slow down, not much, but some, when he left the path to head her direction. When he reached her, she curtseyed and then, from deviltry, added, “Good afternoon, my lord.”

He stopped in front of her seconds before she would have been required to move, if only to avoid being run over. He ended up too close. He’d walked out without a hat, which she found absurdly thrilling despite it being obvious he’d come here with his annoyance in tow. She stood her ground. Besides, two steps back, and she’d be standing in the lavender.

“Is that woman somewhere near?” He lifted a warning hand. “You know who and what I mean. Can she see or hear us right now?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Then don’t curtsey.” His mouth thinned. “It’s not necessary. Not when it’s just the two of us.”

“You think not?”

“That hasn’t changed.” He jammed his hands into his coat pockets. He was splendid in high passion, and it made her sorry for the anger that zinged between them. “She isn’t here to cry mock tears and convince us all she mustn’t be upset lest she melt away in a puddle of grand emotion.”

She crushed the bits of lavender in her free hand and let the bruised and torn pieces fall to the ground between them. “Why are you here?” She waved a hand. “Out here, I mean. Glaring at me as if I’ve gone into your room and mixed up all your papers. Or poured ink on your best shirts.”

His mouth twitched down. “As if you couldn’t guess.”

“I can’t.”

He worked his jaw, and she was tempted to take a step back. She didn’t though. “What the deuce, Portia?”

“Don’t scowl like that.” Never mind that he was glaring at her, he was all bluster. Eleanor was inside the house and could not see them. With the side of her thumb, she smoothed away the furrow in his forehead. She had the private pleasure of seeing him struggle to master himself, and it made her feel better, knowing that he might be feeling as to sea as she did. “Did no one tell you your face will freeze in that expression?”

He took her hand and held it. “You can’t be serious about this fellow.”

She pasted on a smile, but that did nothing for the lurch in her chest. “I like his mother.”

“A delightful woman, I grant you that.” He’d always been scrupulous in that way, honest even when it would have been easier not to be. “I can’t say I find her son equally delightful.”

“Stop.”

“Your face will freeze like that,” he said.

“If it does, at least I won’t spend the rest of my life with an ogre’s glower.”

He burst out in laughter, and she tried not to and failed. “Imp.”

“The largest imp there ever was.” She curtseyed to him, and she almost, almost, felt as if all was well between them. It wasn’t. It never could be, no matter how many times they fell into sin or avoided it.