Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

Damn it—Nick hated to see her like this. Where was her spunk? Her fire? It was as if all the fight in her fizzled whenever the earl so much as glanced at her. Hopefully tomorrow Nick could shake loose the bee in her bonnet.

Mother took a hardy sip from her wine, seeming oblivious to Eleanor’s distress. Setting down the goblet, she turned to Malcolm. “How wonderful that Nicolas should be here for the house party, don’t you think? I imagine he shall catch quite a few ladies’ attention.”

Nick could tell exactly how excited his stepfather was with his presence. A firing squad might have been more welcome. “I’d rather he’d have come when he said he would. This party is hardly the place for him.”

She pursed her lips, looking as though she were thinking very hard. “Actually, he’s come at just the right time. Lord Kensington’s absence would have had us in quite the pickle. Now there’s no need to fret over our numbers.”

Mother’s statement had exactly the opposite effect on the mood than Nick would have expected. Malcolm slammed his silverware to the table and snatched up his wine glass. Eleanor jumped at the noise, nearly dropping her fork.

What the hell was going on here? And why had Kensington left before the party had even started? Nick wanted answers, but he’d be damned if he’d ask them with his stepfather around.

Mother, as was usual, was completely unperturbed. “Nicky, darling, I have just the girl for you to entertain. Mr. Landon’s oldest daughter turned eighteen this month, and this is to be her first foray into society. She’ll officially debut with Libby next Season.”

“Just what we need,” Malcolm muttered as he set down his drink. “A fresh-faced young debutant providing unfavorable comparison to Eleanor.”

Nick very nearly choked on his peas. Of all the… he may often tease Eleanor, but Malcolm’s comment was designed to draw blood. With outrage burning in his gut, Nick jerked his gaze to her, not even giving a damn if she could sense his fury. Her face was pale, her jaw tight, but she gave her head a quick, nearly imperceptible shake when their eyes met. Her meaning was clear: stay out of it.

Ah hah—he was beginning to realize what might be the cause of her odd behavior since his return. Knowing Malcolm, that was surely not the first comment he had doled out to her as the party approached. Despite her wishes, his fists clenched under the table, a retort poised precariously on his lips.

“Don’t worry,” Mother said breezily, heedless of the tension at the table. “I’m sure Nicky will have no problem keeping the girl occupied.” She smiled broadly, her eyes half closed before lifting her wineglass again and downing the contents.

Glancing once more to Ellie’s wan face, Nick finally managed to swallow the words he wanted to say. “Well then,” he said, working to keep his tone light, “sounds as though Miss Landon and I should suit perfectly. I’ll leave the serious entertaining to Eleanor.”

The rigid line of her shoulders relaxed even as her gaze remained fixed on her plate. Malcolm cut his eyes toward her, his gaze hard and steady. “For once, Norton, you may actually be of some use.”

Agreement from Malcolm? Something was definitely wrong here. Refusing to break from character, he lifted his glass and tipped his head to his stepfather in a classic arrogant move before taking a long drink.

Whether she wanted to or not, Eleanor would tell him what the devil was going on. After all, what good was being trained in the art of war if one couldn’t shamelessly exploit it on one’s family?





Chapter Three





THE SWISHING OF RAZOR THIN METAL through cool air soothed Eleanor in much the way harp music calmed the music lover, or fine wine pleased the connoisseur. In the early morning gloom, damp fog was her cover, the dim promise of sunrise her only light. She moved forward swiftly, danced backwards, and thrust again. Nothing but mist met her blade, though she couldn’t help but imagine her uncle’s chest at the end of her buttoned tip.

“Your form is terrible, cousin.”

Eleanor gasped at the sudden pronouncement, and swung around, her rapier extended. Nicolas’s smiling face was inches from her blade. He didn’t even have the decency to flinch, drat the man. “Even my worst form would be miles better than yours.”

Leaning back against the crumbing ruins of the old abbey wall, he nodded solemnly. “I agree wholeheartedly. Unless, of course, we are speaking of fencing. If that is the case, allow me to clear up your misconceptions.”

She didn’t relax. The way she was feeling this morning, she could happily take her meddling step-cousin’s head right off. “Sounds like a challenge to me. Have you come prepared?”