Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

Fresh disappointment settled on her shoulders and she lowered her foil. “I don’t think so. At the moment, she’s just as enamored as Uncle Robert at the prospect of marrying me off.”


“Don’t be silly,” he scoffed, his words clipped. “They know as well as I do that you’ll not be falling into the parson’s trap. Plus there’s the issue of finding a man to put up with you,” he added, giving her a light, teasing tap beneath her chin with the blunted tip of his blade.

She tensed, hating even speaking of the hopelessness of the situation. “You’re wrong. They can’t wait to foist me off on the highest bidder.”

The teasing light faded from his eyes. “Is that what this tension in the house has been all about? They want for you to marry, despite your wishes?”

She gave a curt nod.

Giving an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he said, “Then tell them to go to the devil and move on. Stop acting like a docile pony and stand up for yourself.”

She stiffened. Just who did he think he was? “It’s not that easy. And I don’t appreciate the analogy.”

“Then stop being so damned analogous. Find that elusive thing called a backbone and fight them on this. I know Malcolm. He’ll be angry, but it’s not as though he’ll toss you out on the street, for God’s sake. This family doesn’t work that way.”

She should be so lucky. She’d take that any day over her uncle’s true threats. For a moment she considered telling him everything, pouring out the full extent of the turmoil brewing within, but what good would that do? He’d only dismiss her worries, just as he was dismissing them now. “You don’t know anything about what he’d do.”

“Don’t I?” he said, quirking a brow in challenge. “If anyone would be tossed out on the street, don’t you think it would be me?”

Where had that come from? “What are you talking about?”

He jabbed his blade’s point into the earth, resting his hand loosely on the hilt. “A mongrel like me? With no lineage or noble blood to speak of? He’d sooner be cleaved to the plague.”

He actually seemed to mean it. Cocky, arrogant, self-satisfied Nick, speaking of himself as though he were a blight on his family? This was uncharted territory for them, this gravity. She honestly didn’t know whether to take him seriously or not. “Come now,” she said, falling back on their usual banter. “A Frenchman, perhaps, but certainly not the plague.”

“Do you have any idea how much money that man has spent in the sole pursuit of keeping me as far from his home as he can manage?” He snorted, shaking his head. “Harrow, Cambridge, even the bloody army. It’s a wonder he didn’t try to bribe an infantryman to ‘accidentally’ discharge his weapon in my direction.”

Eleanor shifted, unsure of what to say. He seemed genuinely distressed, but knowing him, he was probably just setting her up for some scathingly witty rejoinder. “My, my—who knew you were fit for Drury Lane?”

Extracting his blade, he pointed the buttoned tip of his foil toward her chest. “Right. You’re waxing on about being tossed out the window like the contents of a chamber pot, and I’m the one being dramatic?”

Her brows came together defensively. Of the two of them, she was by far the most sensible. “I’m not being dramatic. And I’m not talking about being tossed out. I’m facing facts.”

Letting the weapon fall to his side, he gave her a patently disbelieving look. “And what convoluted ‘fact’ is that? That Malcolm will actually march you down to the church alter, forcing you to marry or else?”

The very thought made her stomach churn. It was exactly the scenario she feared would happen. “Yes,” she ground out.

“Eleanor, this is ridiculous. You don’t have to marry.” He spoke with such conviction, she almost believed him.

Sometimes, very rarely, a side of him came out that almost made her feel as though he was on her side. Protective of her, even.

“I don’t have a choice, Nicolas. Either I choose a husband, or Uncle Robert will do it for me.”





NICK SAW RED—AND IT WASN’T JUST THE BREAKING DAWN, which turned the sky a violent crimson. Gripping his foil so tightly his hand ached, he stepped toward her. “He said that?”

She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Right after I turned down Lord Kensington’s offer of marriage only days ago.”

Bloody hell—Malcolm had gone too far this time. He’d be damned if he let his stepfather get away with this. There was a certain amount of selfishness in his reasons, but more than anything, Nick didn’t want Eleanor to be forced into the one thing she feared most. Anger burned in his gut, heating his blood.

“The man’s a damn fool.”