Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

And truly, there were much more important things to think about.

Beside her, Aunt Margaret hummed along with the music, her head bobbing in time with the pianoforte tune. Eleanor still didn’t know what to do about her aunt. It was a sort of betrayal, knowing that her own mother’s sister had thought her hopeless these past few years. They were supposed to be each other’s support.

The song came to an end, and Miss Landon curtseyed prettily as the guests clapped. Eleanor stood, hoping to steal a few moments for herself, but Lord Henry blocked her way. “Miss Abbington,” he said, his cheeks oddly ruddy, “Would you care to step out onto the terrace with me? The night air shall do us both good after an evening indoors.”

Drat it all—why couldn’t he see she wasn’t interested in spending time with him? Not that she could overtly offend him, but still, one would think her disinterest would speak for itself. “Oh, how kind. But my aunt and I were just about to take a turn about the room.” She widened her eyes at her aunt, willing her to go along. It had just come out—a holdover from when she could rely on Aunt Margaret’s support.

Blinking in surprise, the older woman hesitated for an instant before turning a bright smile to Lord Henry. “Yes, yes, I thought a bit of exercise would be just the thing after sitting for so long.”

Eleanor sighed. Thank goodness.

“There you are, dear sister,” Uncle Robert cut in, sidling up behind them. “I wonder if I might steal you away for a moment. I have… something that I wish to discuss.” Though he smiled cordially, his eyes were sharp enough to cut glass. “Lord Henry, you wouldn’t mind keeping my niece company, would you?”

“Delighted, old man. I was just saying a bit of air on the terrace sounded like just the thing.” He lifted a brow at Eleanor. “Shall we?”

Blast, blast, blast. To refuse would be the height of rudeness. Now was not the time to make a scene. Dipping her head in reluctant agreement, she said, “Indeed.”

As she and Lord Henry started for the doors, her eyes met with Nick’s. He stood beside Miss Landon as she chattered away, her cheeks rosy and her face alight with delight. Eleanor felt the heat of his gaze all the way to her toes, but then he abruptly turned away, severing the connection as he gave his whole attention to his companion.

Hurt flooded her heart even as she smiled her thanks to Lord Henry for opening the door for her. Despite herself, she’d been begging Nick to help, to somehow intervene. She had no right to be upset, but it still stung that he had turned his back on her—literally.

Warm, sweetly fragranced air greeted her as she stepped outside. She allowed Lord Henry to guide her to the ornamental balustrade overlooking the rose garden, which, thanks to a series of torches along the outer wall, was well enough lit so as to not seem overly intimate.

“Miss Abbington,” he said, surprising her by boldly taking her gloved hand in his. “It’s no secret I came to this party with an eye toward beginning the search for my next wife. With only my three daughters, I am still very much in need of an heir. At my age, the thought of marrying a young debutant seems a somewhat distasteful. You, on the other hand, have the maturity and lineage to be quite an appropriate match.”

Even through her growing alarm, Eleanor still managed to be insulted. Yes, at four-and-twenty she was the perfect match for a man with four and a half decades under his belt. Gently but firmly she tried to extract her hand from his grasp, to no avail.

Chuckling indulgently, he said, “No need to worry, my dear. I have already spoken with your uncle, and obtained his permission to ask you to be my wife. Such an intimacy is to be expected.” He lowered his head slightly, and she exhaled in an effort to ward off the smell of his breath. “Besides, Malcolm told me how favorably inclined you were to accept my suit. I’m honored that you think well enough of me to approach your uncle about such a thing.”

Alarm catapulted into panic as her blood turned to ice. She was supposed to have more time—she wasn’t properly prepared yet.

“Lord Henry, I…” Her mind went blank as she desperately cast about for a proper response—one that would not result in a betrothal announcement.

He squeezed her hand and grinned. “I can see you are quite beside yourself. To be expected, I think. Perhaps we shall bypass words for a moment.”

Bypass words? What did— Oh heaven help her, he was leaning in for a kiss. Eleanor tensed, her mind flailing about for a way to escape.