Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

“DID YOU HAVE A GOOD EVENING, my dear?” Aunt Margaret, looking better than she had in days, smiled up at Eleanor from the chaise lounge nearest the windows. The drapes had been pulled wide to allow the morning sun to infuse the small, private sitting room they shared.

Eleanor mustered a tired smile as she tucked a blanket more securely around her aunt’s legs. “I certainly met a lot of people,” she hedged, settling into the chair closest the chaise. It didn’t seem particularly good form to respond, “I spoke with none but boring, self-important old men most of the evening, all the while chained to Uncle Robert’s side.”

The one and only highlight of the night had been just before she’d gone to bed. Nick had caught her on the stairs and murmured, “I do so love a good sunrise, don’t you, cousin? I shall enjoy it tomorrow at the start of the hunt, and perhaps the day after that in a more… private locale.”

Of course he could only mean the ruins. After the evening she had endured last night, the idea of pouring out her frustrations through her foil had tremendous appeal. She only wished they could have met this morning. But, with the hunt planned, such a thing would be impossible. At least the men would be gone for most of the morning and she could escape the need to endure the forced match making.

“Interesting, but not an answer to my question,” her aunt said, bringing Eleanor back to the conversation at hand. “I have met many people in my day, and not all of them served to enrich an evening.”

Eleanor’s smile was genuine. “You know me too well. All right, it was a passable evening. I spent most of the time speaking with Uncle Robert’s acquaintances.”

Her aunt’s thin white eyebrows rose, wrinkling her normally smooth forehead. “Heavens, whatever for? A drier group of men I cannot imagine. Were not Miss Landon and Miss Hollister present? Or even Lady Blackwell?”

“Oh, they were. And I was fortunate to have a few moments with each of them. But it was my mission to get to know Lords Henry, Netherby, and Shevington better.” A mission enforced relentlessly by Uncle Robert.

Aunt Margaret pursed her lips. “Lords… oh, I see. They are all bachelors, are they not?”

Good, she was catching on. “Indeed,” Eleanor responded with an ironic grin. She knew her aunt would understand exactly how distasteful such a proposition would have been for her.

Unaccountably, a soft smile brightened her aunt’s face. “I’m so very glad to hear it, my dear. Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”

Stunned, Eleanor blinked, trying not to show her dismay. Perhaps there was hope for me yet? Clearly Aunt Margaret mistook her conspiratorial grin for one of earnestness.

So the truth comes out.

Her heart sank low in her chest, weighed with disappointment and betrayal. Could not one of her relatives see that marriage wasn’t something Eleanor wanted? She had thought Aunt Margaret understood that, and that she liked having Eleanor around for her companion. In the back of her mind, she had hoped her aunt would raise an eyebrow and say, “How dreadful!” She had imagined confiding in the older woman and having the satisfaction of her gasping in outrage when she heard of her brother’s manipulation.

But no—apparently even she wished for Eleanor to drop her objections and marry. Her very soul ached with the knowledge. There truly was no one to champion her.

Oblivious to Eleanor’s distress, Aunt Margaret pushed aside the blanket and came to her feet. “I must say, I am feeling much improved this morning. I do believe I shall be fit to join you downstairs today.”

Eleanor nodded dully. “I shall inform the countess at once.”

It occurred to her as she stood and padded woodenly for the door that only one person had shown her any amount of support in the last few days.

The very last person she would have thought: Nicolas.





IF EVER THERE WAS A WORTHLESS WASTE OF TIME and perfectly good lead, it was surely grouse hunting. Nicolas stifled a yawn as he tramped through the underbrush a few yards back from the others. It was all so damned civilized and organized. Everyone walked forward, waited for the flock to be set to air, then shot at the lot of them as if there was any real sport in it. Already the day’s take numbered in the hundreds, and beaters were doing their damnedest to flush out stragglers.

Finally, a cluster of birds rose toward the low clouds, and gun after gun discharged. Sighing, he raised his weapon to his shoulder, aimed for a perfectly innocent looking cloud to the left of the flock, and fired.

There. Duty fulfilled. Three hundred birds bagged, twelve gentlemen entertained, and one tedious morning at an end.

“If that’s the best the army has to offer, old boy, it’s a wonder old Boney ever tasted defeat.” Handing over his gun to the servant beside him, Lord Henry laughed and walked over to where Nick stood.