Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

She sputtered and jumped back, wiping her whole arm across her violated lips. “Ew! Mama, he kissed me!”


For the first time since he arrived, Nicolas looked her right in the eye. He was grinning like the fool he was, his pale green gaze dancing with smug merriment. “I was just standing here. You were the one who kissed me.”

“Not on the lips,” Eleanor said, spitting the words out along with the taste of him. “That’s disgusting.”

“Eleanor!” Mama barked, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her back sharply. “Mind your manners, young lady.”

Mind her manners? She was the one who had been accosted by the little ruffian! But with Mama’s fingers already digging into her upper arm, Eleanor knew better than to say what she was thinking. “Yes, ma’am,” she mumbled, all the while leveling furious, narrowed eyes on Nicolas.

Did he appear even the tiniest bit contrite? Not even a little. As the adults went on with their greetings, she wrinkled her nose, telling him as clearly as she could manage that she did not like him, cousin or not.

His grin only widened, and then he winked at her. Winked!

Eleanor’s mouth dropped open, which only made him look that much more pleased with himself. Of all the… she snapped her head to the side, refusing to give him the attention he so clearly craved. Even with her gaze averted, she just knew he was still watching her, his infuriatingly smug grin still in place. So he thought he had bested her, did he?

Well, they’d see about that.





Chapter One





Fifteen years later

OH LORD, SHE WAS TRAPPED.

Standing in the center of the sun-dappled folly overlooking the rolling hills of her uncle’s estate, Eleanor suddenly realized exactly what was about to happen. Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.

“Miss Abbington, will you consent to be my wife?” Across from her, Lord Kensington stood perfectly erect, his thick eyebrows raised in polite query.

Drat, drat, drat. Eleanor bit her lip, dismay settling like a brick in her stomach. Or was it dread? Why hadn’t the man listened to her when she had told him in every way possible that she was happy in her situation, and had no plans to change it?

Better yet, why had she been so utterly oblivious to his intentions when she agreed to the walk in the first place? Now she was stuck, with no other choice than to be blunt. “Oh, my. I am sorry, my lord, but I am afraid I must decline your kind offer.”

Silence reigned for the space of ten seconds, broken only by the nearby oak leaves rattling in the light wind as Lord Kensington absorbed her response. In those moments, the spacious, open-air folly seemed to shrink to the size of a cupboard, making it difficult for Eleanor to put enough space between her and her completely unwanted suitor.

“I beg your pardon?”

She tilted her head the slightest bit and tried to infuse compassion into her posture and expression. “My apologies, Lord Kensington, but my answer is no. I will not marry you.”

What a fool she’d been to let it come to this. Yes, she’d known her uncle strongly favored a match between them, but this was only the second day Kensington had been at Malcolm Manor, for heaven’s sake. The rest of the guests would arrive tomorrow, at which time the house party would officially begin. Did he feel that he had to rush things in order to get a leg up on the competition?

Ugh, as if a houseful of boring members of Parliament would tempt her.

“But…” He trailed off, his dark eyes troubled. Confused more than troubled, actually. There was no telling what Uncle Robert had led him to believe.

She set her jaw. Why her uncle was so keen to have her marry all of a sudden was beyond her. Clearly he had not believed her earlier in the summer when she had told him she was content to serve as her Aunt Margaret’s companion and remain a spinster, no matter how society viewed her choice. Old and dried up at that age of four-and-twenty, according to the ton. Which was ridiculous. She was perfectly moisturized and plenty young, thank you very much.

And she had been happy, all the way up until about three minutes ago. Now she had an affronted, would-be suitor gaping at her as if she’d, well, rejected his offer of marriage. Sighing, she offered an apologetic smile. “Please know how flattered I am by your proposal. I wish you nothing but the very best in the future, my lord.”

The situation could not have been any more awkward. Spending the rest of the week with him was going to be excruciating. Spending the rest of the week with Uncle Robert would be even worse.

She swallowed; she couldn’t even think about that now.