Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

“There you are.”


The sharp, jovial words made them startle apart, and Eleanor stumbled backward a few steps, desperate for space. Nick stood at the door, outlined by the blazing candles of the drawing room behind him. He stepped toward them, his muscled shoulders ramrod straight and his hands clasped behind his back. His features were arranged in polite greeting, but his eyes blazed in the torchlight. “Lord Henry, my stepfather asked that I retrieve you. He had a most pressing matter which he feels must be discussed at once.”

Eleanor sucked in great gusts of air, trying to regain her composure. Nick had never looked more handsome, more like a savior than he did in that moment, especially with his smart crimson army dress jacket.

“Now? Can you tell him I’ll be in momentarily?” Henry sounded as befuddled as she felt.

Nick lifted his chin in a gesture designed to showcase his authority. “I’m afraid he was most insistent, my lord. I’ll wait here with my cousin while you see to him. She’ll be here when you return.”

For the first time, Eleanor could imagine him dressing down one of his men. He emanated power and superiority with little more than a stern expression and commanding voice. Henry glanced back at Eleanor for a moment, clearly unsure of what to do. She found a smile, heaven knew where from, and nodded encouragingly. “Do hurry back.”

She held her breath as he hesitated, willing him to leave. A moment later he relented. “Very well. I’ll be only a moment.” He offered a dip of his head before hurrying inside.

Oh thank God. She released her breath, sagging against the balustrade. That had been a very near thing. She turned her attention to her unlikely hero and offered him a wan smile. “I shall never be able to repay you for your timing. Or Uncle Robert’s timing, I suppose.”

He stepped closer to her, tilting his head but never taking his eyes from her. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Because he just asked me to marry him,” she exclaimed, putting a hand to her heart. “I, I didn’t know what to say, and then he was leaning toward me and I was so flustered that I didn’t know what to do and then…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

He took another step. “And then …?”

She sucked in a cleansing breath and peered up at him. “You were there.”

His eyes were piercing in the near darkness. “Because you needed me.”

“Yes. But I thought …” She pictured him, turning away from her pleas as she’d silently begged for his help.

“What did you think?”

Her heart pounded and she couldn’t even say why. “That you turned your back on me. That you put me from your mind.” But she’d been wrong. He was here now, there when she needed him most.

“Never,” he said, the single word rife with conviction. “But I did have to make my excuses.” He stepped nearer still, bringing them at once entirely too close together and not nearly close enough. He lifted her hand from the stone railing and guided her around so she stood between him and the house.

The torchlight danced in his eyes and bathed his skin in a warm, golden glow. He looked…determined. Decided. But not altogether sure of himself. Instead of releasing her hand, he raised it to his lips and placed a soft, gentle kiss to her knuckles. Awareness raced down her back in a flurry of gooseflesh—he had never done such a thing before. His kisses were to mock, not to soothe. To tease and provoke, never to show care or affection.

The old Nick, the one who had left two years ago and gone to the army, was fading fast from her memory. In his place was this man. Capable of tenderness and seriousness. Of being her champion.

When he lifted his head, his gaze flicked to just over her shoulder before meeting hers. “Do you trust me?”

There was an edge to his voice that wasn’t there moments earlier. “Should I?” She didn’t know what he was asking, but she knew instinctually that it was important.

“Probably not.”

A ghost of a smile slipped over her lips. “Then you should not ask it of me.”

“Then can you at least forgive me?” he asked, lacing his fingers with hers with an urgency that made her pulse quicken.

Forgive him? Confusion at his words warred with an unexpected rush of desire at his touch, robbing her of her wits. “What—”

But he didn’t give her a chance to complete her sentence. With a sharp tug, he pulled her flat against his chest and before she could do little more than gasp, his lips crashed down upon hers. A thousand butterflies set flight in her stomach—her first kiss! She moaned with the pure pleasure of it. His lips were deliciously warm, and fit against hers as if they’d been molded for each other. The smell of his skin was like a drug, sending ribbons of pleasure through her whole body.

It was perfection. Even better, if that was possible.