Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

But he’d made even her revenge feel flat. It wasn’t just that he was handsome. It wasn’t just that once he’d shed his jacket, the muscles of his arms were visible through his shirt. She could easily imagine him as a mountaineer, holding onto a bit of rock and pulling himself up with one hand. But as strong as he looked, when he had been tied up before her, she’d felt full-blown want. She could have touched him anywhere, done anything to him—and he couldn’t hurt her back. A dangerous thought.

An illusion, too. He’d never made her fear any physical danger—not even tonight. No, the danger in him was precisely the opposite: that he made her want to trust him, want to believe in him. But he was her enemy. And when tomorrow came, he would be angry and more implacable than ever.

On the morrow, her mother was supposed to deliver a lecture on comets. What would he do about that?

“We can leave,” her mother said. “It would just be a day early.”

She could flee.

But no. Elaine took a deep breath and set her hands on her mother’s shoulders. “We’ll stay. You will face them all, and you will tell them about your comet. I shall applaud you in all sincerity.” If nobody else clapped, she would cheer loud enough for everyone. What was the worst that could happen?

Westfeld could ruin her if he told anyone she’d been in his chambers alone. But at this moment, the thought of being cast out of polite society seemed more blessing than curse.

Her mother’s arm tightened about her. “If you want me to do it,” she said, “then I shan’t care about anything else.” And so for the second time that evening, Elaine was kissed—this time, just the dry touch of her mother’s lips against her forehead, sweet and without complication.





IT WAS AMAZING HOW DIFFERENT THE WORLD LOOKED to Elaine when she stopped dreading the future. She didn’t have to pretend to join the ladies at breakfast—although the conversation she overheard was sadly devoid of gossip about a certain earl being found tied to his bedposts. She went walking with her mother in the morning; in the afternoon she helped her prepare for her lecture. When evening came around, she sat in the front row.

The chairs had been set up in the ballroom, but tonight Elaine had no desire to contemplate the walls. Instead, she took pleasure in hearing the brilliant Lady Stockhurst speak. Everyone else might giggle at the light that came into her mother’s eyes, or the excited way she jumped from topic to topic. But Elaine drank in the sight.

Still, she was all too aware of Westfeld, sitting a few chairs behind her. He was close enough that she could imagine the heat wafting from his body, could almost feel the echo of his kiss on her mouth. She’d given herself leave not to care if he insulted her. But aside from sketching her a tiny bow from across the room, he’d not made the slightest attempt to seek his revenge. That seeming benevolence made her nervous. After last night, his vengeance would come. It had to.

And sure enough, when her mother had come to a breathless halt, and she asked if there were any questions, he was the one who stood.

He could not hurt Elaine. But if he hurt her mother, she would claw his eyes out in front of the entire crowd.

“Lady Stockhurst,” he said, and Elaine cringed—the respect in his voice must have been false. “In your calculations of the periodicity of the orbit, you assumed it was purely elliptical. What effect does the gravitational pull of the larger planets have on your calculation?”

Was that an insult? Did it hurt? Elaine held her breath and frowned.

But a sunny smile burst over her mother’s face. “What an excellent question! I have been calculating second-order perturbations since February, and…”

And she was off, bubbling over with excitement and mathematics that Elaine scarcely comprehended.

Westfeld simply watched. He was still standing; instead of exchanging looks with his cousin, he nodded as she spoke. His civility made Elaine feel uncomfortable. What was he planning?

Her mother’s explanation had devolved into one of those uncomfortable moments where she simply listed the formulae in her head—she could perform derivations aloud almost as easily as on paper. This was often the point when people started laughing into their hands. And when Lady Stockhurst started in on a string of x-noughts, Westfeld finally did look away: he glanced at Elaine. She saw no mischief brimming in his eyes.

The worst possibility of all occurred to her.

What if he wasn’t planning anything? What if he had meant it when he’d apologized to her? What if…what if he’d kissed her because he wanted to do so?

Those thoughts started a nervous flutter in her belly.

And then Lady Cosgrove yawned audibly and stretched. “Goodness,” she said, “How we do indulge our elders in their foibles.”

Lady Stockhurst stopped mid-phrase and glanced uncertainly at Elaine.

“Don’t be rude, Diana,” Westfeld said mildly. The expression on his face hadn’t changed, not one bit, but Elaine felt her stomach knot. “I was hoping that Lady Stockhurst would be so kind as to forward me a copy of her remarks. I have a friend who might have some interest.”

In response to this, her mother gave a gracious nod.