Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

“It was early, and I did not make the news known.” She had feared word of the babe would bring Jamie home, when his wife could not. And in the next breath, she had feared even a child would not make him return.

He reached out to touch her. His hand hovered over her knee, then pulled back. “Was there pain?”

“Some.” The heartbreak had been worse. The feeling of being emptied out, the unnameable grief. Even now, tears prickled her eyes with their sharp thorns. She blinked them away.

“Do you think…? Could my absence have caused…” He cleared his throat.

“I was never ill. The doctor said I should have been ill, had the babe been healthy.”

She could only glance at him beneath her lashes. “I’ve never told anyone, Jamie. Not even my brother.”

There was so much shame wrapped up in that time. So much failure. Still, she could not understand why this had happened to her. What had she done to deserve such a sad fate? She told herself it was natural. She told herself many women experienced the same thing. But it only helped a bit. She had cherished that baby.

She had failed as a mother. Failed as a wife. Failed as everything she had been raised to be. Lost everything she had most hoped for.





THE TALL OAK SIGHED with the wind. Jamie stared at the play of shadows across the glen.

Cat had been with child. He’d almost been a father.

Joy and pain and disbelief knotted within him. So many years ago…the babe was long from this world, a distant memory to the ancient oak. But it was new to him.

He’d almost been a father and not even known it.

With a hard motion, he scrubbed a hand through his hair, felt the pull of his roots against his scalp. He did not know how he should feel. How did one manage such news? A baby. His child.

He dropped his hand, hammered a hard fist against the earth. Dammit, he should have been there. He never should have stayed away so long.

“I wish I had been there with you.” His voice was quiet. The same quiet one uses in a house of God. The hot knife of loss made his chest ache. Made his breath tight.

“Yes.” Cat said the word on a swallow, as if she could not hold it back.

She’d always wanted children. Had often talked of the large family they would have together. And she’d gone through the loss of the baby alone. “I am so sorry.”

She did not look at him. Simply removed the braided wreath from her hair and turned it in her hands.

He wanted to scoop her up. To carve out her sorrow and bear it himself. She had carried this burden alone for too long.

“Thank you for telling me.” He contented himself with pulling her back against his chest. He buried his face in her hair, smelled the hope of late-summer roses. “One thing I know to be certain, you deserve to be happy.”

He hoped he could be the man to make her happy. He’d done so once. Certainly he could do so again.

He would do his damndest to try.





Chapter Seven





LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Cat received a note from Jamie requesting the honor of her presence at dinner that evening. She took her time with bathing and dressing. Discarding gown after gown, she chose a dress she knew would delight her husband. Cut low off the shoulder, the elegant peacock blue silk shone against her pale skin while a satin sash emphasized her waist. Long earbobs of sparkling sapphires were her only adornment.

Something had changed between Jamie and her that afternoon. Something she did not expect. It was as if she had removed a corset and breathed deep, full breaths. She had not recognized the burden her secret pregnancy had been.

Turning this way and that, she checked her appearance in the long mirror. Excitement curled low in her belly, tingled up her spine. When was the last time she had dressed for a man? She had forgotten the naughty thrill of it.

Jamie waited for her. Jamie, who desired to have a future with her again.

Jamie, who wanted her in his bed.

Her hands shook as she pulled on her long white gloves. She was a fool to do this, to allow him back into her heart.

So true a fool is love.

She took a deep breath and went to meet her future.

He was standing in the drawing room, as handsome as ever. His dark hair was swept back from his forehead, his tanned face clean-shaven and relaxed as he considered a portrait of his mother. Soft shadows settled beneath the hard edges of his cheekbone and jaw, under the curl of his lower lip. A tumbler of amber liquid, brandy most likely, dangled from his fingers.

Turning at her footsteps, Jamie swept his gaze over her. His impossibly blue eyes met hers. He smiled and something hot pulsed through her blood. It felt true and easy, the smile she gave him in return.

Her husband put down his drink and crossed the room to bow over her hand, as courtly as any suitor. “I am humbled before your beauty, Lady Forster. You steal my thoughts like fine wine.”

“You flatter me, Lord Forster.”

He straightened, but did not let go of her hand. “No, I would like to flatter you, but I cannot recall the simplest bit of poetry.”