Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

Offering a good natured grin, Nick nodded. “Too right. I suppose it’s fortunate that humans are a much larger, less flighty target.” He wasn’t about to inform the man that he was as good a shot as any man present.

From half the field away, Malcolm’s head turned in their direction, his interest in their conversation clear. He quickly shoved his gun to his attendant and scurried over to join them. Scared Nick would say something politically ruinous, was he?

“What an excellent bag, Henry. You must have singlehandedly brought down four dozen birds today.”

The man’s chest puffed up as though such praise was the highest of possible compliments. “Well, your lands offered quite the bounty. I hope I’ll have the opportunity to join you again in the future.” He paused and gestured toward Nick. “Perhaps you can give your boy Norton here a lesson or two by then so he can keep up with us.”

The two older men shared a laugh, though Malcolm’s was harsh and devoid of humor. He was surely stewing at Nick being referred to as his boy. “Sadly, some simply aren’t born with a talent for sports—and they’re called women. What, exactly, is your excuse, Norton?” This brought on fresh laughter, setting Nick’s teeth on edge.

Forcing a pleasant smile, he said, “Must have been my pauper father. He spent his days toiling in the courts and had little time for the finer gentlemanly pursuits. By the time Malcolm took me in, I fear it was too late.”

It wasn’t quite true—his father was a respected barrister who enjoyed the occasional hunting trip. That, however, wouldn’t have needled Malcolm nearly as much. In his eyes, Nick’s father might as well have been a clerk. Reminding his guests of his stepson’s humble origins meant bringing attention to a black smudge on his noble family lineage. Already Nick was reaping the rewards of the comment as his stepfather’s eyes narrowed in ill-concealed fury.

Nick grinned. Malcolm could consider it repayment for the way he’d treated Eleanor last night. It little mattered that the man wouldn’t realize it. Nick had scored a point against him, and that was good enough for now.

“Damned pity,” Henry said, shaking his head as they started back toward the house. “I wonder, is your son a good shot?”

“The best. The boy’s a natural.”

Lord Henry chuckled, clasping his hands behind his back. “Just like his father. Speaking of your excellent family relations, I do hope I’ll have the opportunity to enjoy more time with Miss Abbington. She is quite a lovely young woman.”

Nick stiffened, his jaw clenching at the mention of Eleanor. Already she had spent too much of her time with the man. She hadn’t looked particularly pleased by it, but she had made no efforts to disengage. He couldn’t help the grimace that idea wrought—the man was old enough to be her father!

But as vehemently opposed to the idea as Nick was, Malcolm appeared absolutely delighted. Clasping the earl on the back, he nodded. “Nothing would please me—or her—more.”





Chapter Five





“WHAT IF I WERE TO SEEK EMPLOYMENT?”

Metal pinged against metal as Eleanor parried Nick’s rather sneaky advance-lunge. He was quite nimble for the early hour. Perhaps he too had woken with the burn of anticipation for their match.

He lifted an eyebrow as he retreated, raising his foil once more. “Are there very many opportunities for mediocre female fencers?”

Invigorated by their play, she grinned for the first time that morning, shaking her head. “My, don’t we think we’re clever. All that overt female attention these past two days must have fooled you into believing you were actually witty, and not just the only man present under the age of thirty.”

“And here I thought you liked all those old codgers. You’re certainly spending enough time with them.” The grin was in place, but his tone was more biting than usual.

“Yes, because I have so much choice in the matter.” She saw an opening and took it, executing a perfect raddoppio before thrusting her point into his ribs. It went a long way toward venting her frustration.

Nick grimaced and fell back, rubbing a hand over the wound. “Good hit,” he conceded, offering a quick salute of his blade.

“Thank you. And I was thinking of becoming a companion,” she said, returning to the point of the conversation. It was wishful thinking; it wasn’t as though she could simply leave and take her sister with her.

“Do you think someone would actually pay you to keep them company? I should think they would pay for the opposite.” The last word came out on a whoosh of air as he attacked. Their blades carried on the conversation for the moment until he slipped past her defenses and tagged her hip.

Falling back to catch her breath, she finally answered him. “If that worked, you’d be a wealthy man by now.”

“Touche,” he said, chuckling lightly. “I suppose Aunt Margaret might be inclined to pay you, if you should insist.”