Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

Linking his hands behind his back he circled her, his pace slow and deliberate. “As the head of this family, I am responsible for the wellbeing and future of each and every one of us. And it’s a good thing, since you have so clearly demonstrated you haven’t the sense God gave you.”


Her head stilled, unable to bob in agreement to this particular statement. How dare he say such a thing to her? A dozen arguments sprang to mind, but she steadfastly clamped her mouth shut. She mustn’t fight with him. He was puffing up like a riled cat, and she didn’t want to feel the sting of drawn claws.

“Whether you like it or not, Eleanor, it is past time for you to apply yourself to finding a husband. We should have done so the moment you were out of half-mourning. We are fast approaching the time you will be viewed as unsuitable for marriage, rendering yourself useless to this family.

“You’ve ruined our chances with Kensington. He has already announced his intention to leave.” He made no effort to hide his resentment, pinning her with his furious gaze. “Fortunately, there are three other suitable candidates for marriage who shall be attending the party. Therefore, I have a proposal for you.”

He turned to her, waiting for her to acknowledge the statement. He loved to do this—forcing her to bow to his will. Lifting her chin, she said, “Oh?”

“I had thought to announce your betrothal at the welcome dinner tomorrow night, but obviously that won’t be the case. However, a betrothal announcement will be made by the end of the party. The choice is yours: Lord Henry, Lord Netherby, or Lord Shevington.”

Anger coursed through her, turning her blood cold. He couldn’t demand such a thing—it was absurd! “Surely you can’t be serious. Please, be reasonable, Uncle.” Her tone was remarkably composed, thank goodness, despite the fury that had her digging her fingernails into her palms.

“You dare speak of being reasonable to me? After denying Kensington’s suit?” Indignation stiffened his shoulders. “I’ll have no more of your stubbornness. You will choose a husband who will strengthen this family’s future, or I will do it for you.”

Her lungs couldn’t seem to remember how to function. Her breath came in short, inadequate bursts, starving her of the air she so desperately needed to clear her mind. “And if I refuse?”

He smiled for the first time since entering the room. “Then I suppose I’ll have to summon your sister home from Hollingsworth. She’s always been so delightfully biddable.”

Eleanor’s breath left her body in a whoosh. He wouldn’t. Libby was barely seventeen—months still from her first Season! Surely he wouldn’t force her into marriage with some dry, aged member of parliament who was two or even three times her age merely to secure a favorable vote for his proposed bill.

Surely nothing. The icy blue steel of his gaze plainly told her the truth of his warning. He was dead serious.

Her first instinct was to lash out, to tell him exactly what he could do with his threats. But she couldn’t. To do so would only make things worse. She needed time to think, and that meant she had to have him think she would bow to him and his dreadful demand. “I see.” Her throat was tight, her words strained. She swallowed and tried again. “If you’ll excuse me, it would seem I have much to prepare for in the coming days.”

Smug satisfaction lifted the corners of Uncle Robert’s full lips. “Excellent.”

She couldn’t escape the room fast enough. Holding her expression neutral until she made it out of his sight, she dashed down the corridor, heading for the massive staircase that led to her bedchamber. Tears of frustration burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them spill over. She would not fall to pieces at another of Uncle Robert’s demands.

She finally made it to the entrance hall and was only steps away from escape when the front door opened. Please, please don’t let it be Kensington! She was not in the state of mind to greet anyone, but most especially not him.

Tolbert, uncle’s butler, stepped inside, and her shoulders wilted with relief. But of course she couldn’t be that lucky. As the servant stepped aside, the silhouette of a tall, broad-shouldered man came into view.

She blinked. Definitely not Lord Kensington. The bright sunshine behind the man hid his face, but she could make out close-cropped hair and an exceedingly fine figure. His upper body, encased in a tightly fitting jacket, narrowed from those wide shoulders down to a lean waist.

For half a second, her distress eased as curiosity flared. Who was this ma—

Oh Lord. It couldn’t be.

“Well, well, look who’s come to greet this weary soldier. Your dedication truly warms the heart, coz.”