Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

Leigh LaValle, a RWA Golden Heart? finalist and Amazon Bestselling author, pilfered her first Historical Romance novel off her mother’s bookshelf and quickly developed a lifelong love affair of rogues, rakes and rascals. When she is not writing, mommying, or reading, she is rarely seen cleaning, and more often found hiking or, when she is really lucky, in the white powder of the ski slopes. Leigh is also a devoted yoga practitioner and instructor. She currently lives in the Pacific Northwest with her family, and is hard at work on her next novel.

Follow Leigh LaValle on twitter at @Leigh_LaValle, friend her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/leigh.lavalle, or visit her website at http://www.LeighLaValle.com.





Other Books by Leigh





The Nottinghamshire Series


The Runaway Countess



The Misbehaving Marquess



The Rogue Returns





The Runaway Countess

During a hot and thunderous Nottingham summer, a lady thief steals from the rich to give to the poor. Captured by a handsome lord, she resists his interrogations but not his tempestuous kisses. Right and wrong turn inside out as she finds herself falling in love with her mortal enemy.

The Rogue Returns

With siblings to protect and creditors at her door, an intrepid lady has no recourse but to seek a fabled fortune buried years ago. Forming an uneasy alliance with a silver-tongued rogue, she adventures through the high peaks of England, battling treasure hunters, violent storms, and dangerous terrain. But can she escape the growing passion that threatens to steal her heart?





To Catherine Gayle, for putting up with me and my endless questions.



And for Kirk, even though you’re entirely too nice to ever be a decent rake.





Prologue





“NICOLAS, SAY HELLO to your new cousin.”

Eleanor Abbington glanced up sharply at her new aunt’s statement. How had she been singled out? With the entire family gathered in the courtyard of Malcolm Manor to meet Uncle Robert’s new wife and her son, it didn’t seem fair that Eleanor should find herself the center of attention.

Aunt Lavinia smiled as she glanced back and forth between them, her golden eyebrows raised in two perfect arches of expectation. “Eleanor is closest to you in age, only two years your senior.”

Only two years? That was more than a quarter of the boy’s lifetime. For some reason it annoyed her that a seven-year-old was nearly as tall as she. He looked rather like a giraffe, actually, with his long and spindly limbs. Sighing, Eleanor waited for him to say something, to get these forced niceties out of the way. But he didn’t. Instead, he just stood there, staring down at his shiny brown shoes and letting the silence stretch.

Tittering like a squeaky field mouse, Aunt Lavinia turned to Eleanor. “I think he’s shy with all these new people. Be a good girl and give your new cousin a kiss.”

A kiss? Eleanor tried not to make a face, but it wasn’t easy. She couldn’t possibly expect her to kiss this strange boy. Just because Aunt Lavinia had called him her cousin, didn’t make it so. She had overheard Mama talking to Aunt Margaret; she knew that Aunt Lavinia was just a silver-tongue widow—though her tongue looked quite pink to Eleanor—who had somehow managed to fool Uncle Robert, the revered Earl of Malcolm, into marrying her.

Eleanor sent a pleading look to her mother. Mama cut a glance to her new sister-in-law, her mouth pinched and her brow lowered in the same sort of disapproving expression she gave the dog when it slipped inside with muddy paws, but she didn’t intervene on Eleanor’s behalf.

At her side, Libby watched with rounded eyes, leaning into their mother’s skirts. For once, Eleanor was envious of her little sister. No one expected a toddler to have to do such a thing. Or even a five-year-old, for that matter, though William, her real cousin, didn’t seem as though he’d mind such a fate, peering up in adoration at his new stepbrother as he was.

“Eleanor,” her mother said in warning.

Fine.

Sighing hugely, Eleanor stepped forward, reluctance weighing her feet like stones. Still Nicolas didn’t look up. He simply stood there, letting his shaggy hair hang down across his forehead. Great—not only did she get a cousin she didn’t want, but he was rude to boot. Didn’t he know you should face someone when being forced to meet?

Pursing her mouth into a kiss that put her lips as far from her body as she could manage, she leaned forward, aiming for his freckled cheek. He smelled like wind and sunshine, which was better than the dirt and sweat smell she expected of a boy. Just when she was about to graze his cheek, he turned, quick as a whip, and smacked his lips to hers.