Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

“Nicolas?” She gasped. He looked so different—if it weren’t for the insolence of his tone, she wouldn’t have recognized him at all.

He had always been such a scrawny boy, and had never really changed much as an adolescent, save for his growing taller. He’d only been gone two years. Was it possible to double one’s weight in that amount of time? His arms, once thin and lanky, were now padded with muscle, visible even through the fabric of his crimson coat, while his ivory breeches did little to hide his long and powerful legs.

She gave her head a little shake. None of that mattered, for heaven’s sake. This was Nick, and as was his talent, he had shown up at the worst possible time. “What are you doing here?”

He set his satchel on the tiled floor and handed over his gloves and hat before offering a careless little grin. “I knew how much you must miss me, so when I had the opportunity to come home three weeks early, I jumped at the chance. Oh, I know Mama will be thrilled, but I’m sure that’s nothing compared to the delight wending its way through your pitter-pattering little heart at the very sight of me.”

“That’s dread, Nick. I know they start with the same letter, but I’m certain you can tell the difference if you apply yourself.”

“No, no—your face says it all. You’re beside yourself with joy.” He stepped toward her, spreading his arms wide. “Come now, give us a kiss.” He puckered his lips like a particularly surprised fish and leaned toward her. It was the same annoying greeting he always gave her, loving as he did to remind her of their first meeting. Having this small bit of normalcy after such a terrible day was oddly comforting.

Rolling her eyes, she put a hand against his chest, blocking his advance. Good heavens, was he hiding a metal breastplate beneath his shirt? She gritted her teeth and blew out a breath. Surely she only noticed these things about him because she was so frazzled from her encounter with her uncle. “I am not in the mood, Nicolas.”

He angled his head, his gaze far too observant for her peace of mind. “Shall we proceed directly to the joyful weeping, then? I do believe your eyes are dewy already. Yes, I know, two years is simply too long to do without my company.”

Eleanor stiffened under his scrutiny. Yes, her eyes were a little teary, but it had absolutely nothing to do with him. She yanked her hand away and backed up a few steps. “I’m very happy you are alive, intact, and returned to the bosom of your family. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Before she could flee up the stairs, he reached out and snagged her arm. “Elle, is everything…all right?” His ever-present grin slipped and for the first time, she could see him for the officer he was.

Blast it, now the tears were threatening all over again. This was Nick; he hadn’t a compassionate bone in his body. They teased, mocked, and riled each other, but they didn’t do…this, whatever this was. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded briskly. “Yes, of course. I’ll see you at supper, I’m sure.”

He didn’t try to stop her when she pulled away, and she dashed up the stairs, not daring to look back. With the mess Uncle Robert had just dumped in her lap, dealing with her annoying cousin was the last thing she needed to worry about.

No matter what strange feelings the sight of him had roused.





Chapter Two





FISTING HIS HAND AT HIS SIDE, Nick watched as Eleanor fled up the stairs, clutching handfuls of her skirts as she rushed to escape him. His heart pounded like a battle drum despite the brevity of the encounter.

He’d waited so long to see her, and even in her plain white gown and simple coiled braid holding her straight dark hair in check, she still looked better than he remembered.

And he remembered her looking pretty damn good.

He took a long, deep breath. Not exactly the best homecoming in the world. He had always been a burr beneath her saddle, but she’d been particularly agitated, especially considering how long he’d been gone. Something was definitely bothering her, and for once, it wasn’t him.

Yes, they rarely shared a civil word, but it was never with any real heat. It was a challenge of sorts to see who could trump the other’s barbs most effectively. He learned early on it was the most effective way to engage her, and over the years it had become the norm.

Her scent still lingered in the air, a delicate mix of lavender and honey, the same blend that haunted his dreams. He certainly couldn’t do anything now, but perhaps he could wheedle the problem out of her at dinner. Besides, it was a long ride here, and he very much needed a change of clothes and a hearty drink.