Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

He had made the trip from London in record time, pushing Caesar, and later a rented mount, much harder than he should have, but unable to force himself to pull back on the reins. It had been too long, and he had seen too much, to want to delay his homecoming even another minute.

Footsteps in the corridor leading to the west wing jarred him from his woolgathering, and he unfurled his hand and straightened his spine. His stepfather emerged, his gaze already assessing as he approached.

Exactly the person Nick didn’t wish to see.

“Malcolm,” he said in neutral greeting, offering a slight nod. “I hope you are well.” Or not. Either would be fine with him.

“More or less. You’re early.” It was more accusation than observation.

“Indeed. My plans changed, so I thought I would surprise my mother with my illustrious presence.” He heartily wished she was here now, but Tolbert had informed him Mother was visiting the village for the rest of the afternoon.

“Yes, well, try to make yourself presentable before she returns. You could pass for a highwayman in those filthy clothes.”

Because no one else on earth would possibly gather a speck of dust on them after a pounding eight-hour journey. “Didn’t you know? That’s the fashion these days.” He grinned simply because he knew it would irk his stepfather.

And it did.

The earl set his jaw, narrowing his eyes for a brief moment. “And here I thought the military would be able to make a man of you.”

He always had gone straight for the throat. Good thing Nick had a lifetime of acclimation to such comments. “Well, if you couldn’t, what hope did the army have?”

Malcolm’s gaze would have frozen lava. “Clearly none. Some people are beyond hope.” Without another word, he strode from the room and out the front door.

Evidently nothing had changed.

Relaxing the tense muscles of his shoulders, Nick shook his head. It was ironic, really. During the past few years, Nick had had the meaning of respect drilled into him. As a commissioned officer, he’d been taught to earn the respect of his men, as well as possess a healthy dose of it for his own superiors. But apparently, he still had a blind spot when it came to his stepfather, who incidentally had paid for Nick’s commission. Not that he felt bad about it, since clearly the feeling was mutual.

The lofty Earl of Malcolm had never quite forgiven Nick for being part of the package that was his mother. Raising—no matter how loosely such a word could be applied to their situation—another man’s orphan wasn’t quite what he had in mind when Nick’s mother had ensnared the earl all those years ago.

The purposeful clearing of a throat had him looking over to Tolbert. He’d completely forgotten the man was even there. “Yes?”

“Shall I have your room readied, sir?”

There was no missing the censure in old Tolbert’s tone. Fantastic—Nick’s arrival had upset yet another member of the household. The butler hated surprises just about as much as he hated laughter, gossip, and puppies. All of which led to the disruption of his schedule, which was worse than any cardinal sin.

Nick nodded, infusing a healthy dose of humility into his expression. “Please, though if it is too much to ask, I am quite adept at making do. I’ve even slept on God’s own dirt a time or two in the not so distant past.”

Such a thing would seem the worst possible fate to Tolbert, but in truth, those nights hadn’t bothered Nick. When surrounded by people who respected him, even the worst conditions were preferable to this house and its self-important master…except for when Eleanor was in residence, of course.

The butler’s stiff brow relaxed slightly. “I’m certain we can find something more comfortable than that, sir.”

Well, well—was that a bit of dry humor he heard? “So glad to hear it.”

“And may I be so bold as to say, welcome home, sir.”

His first genuine greeting. Nick smiled and nodded his acceptance. After a distressed cousin and a contentious stepfather, he’d happily take a kind butler right about then. With a sigh, he retrieved his satchel and trudged up the stairs to the rooms he’d so infrequently used these past five or so years.

So far his homecoming was going bloody brilliantly.





STEP ONE: DISCOVER A LARGE CACHE OF MONEY.

Step two: Purchase a cottage beside the sea.

Step three: Tell uncle to go to the devil.

A perfectly reasonable plan, as far as Eleanor was concerned. There was only one problem: she was fairly certain no undiscovered treasure troves languished on the estate’s grounds.

It just seemed so hopeless. She had been unable to come up with any real plan in the two hours since her uncle laid down his ultimatum. It was incredibly frustrating to know he held all the cards. As he well knew, Eleanor would do anything to protect her sweet sister.