Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

Her Nicolas, her opponent for so many years had somehow turned into the man who made her heart sing and her toes curl with one utterly searing kiss.

He guided her hands to the hard plane of his upper chest, pressing them in place before dropping his own hold to her waist. He pulled back slightly and whispered against her lips, “I’m sorry.”

Sorry? Bewilderment stilled her body, and a heartbeat later he launched himself backwards, as if pushed by an unseen force. She blinked, her eyes wide as she struggled to make sense out of what was happening.

“Good God,” a male voice roared from behind her, “What is the meaning of this?”





Chapter Seven





IF LOOKS COULD KILL, Nick would have been a smoldering pile of ashes on the flagstone. Malcolm nearly glowed with red hot anger, his face contorted with the force of his fury. Beside him Lord Henry stood frozen, his shock congealing into horror. Already faces were appearing in the window as people rushed to see what the disturbance was about.

Nick picked himself up off the ground and brushed off his soiled clothes. “Malcolm, Henry.”

“Explain yourself,” his stepfather demanded, stalking over to where Eleanor leaned against the railing, both hands covering her mouth.

Nick couldn’t meet her eyes. Not yet. Shrugging, he said, “I thought to steal a kiss. The lady thought otherwise.” His tone was lazy, insolent even, despite the emotion burning in his veins.

The kiss was meant to be a means to an end: ruin Eleanor’s marriage prospect, without her taking any blame. To let Malcolm’s wrath fall on his head, not hers. But that was before their lips touched. Before the whole world had so completely ceased to exist, and the woman he had loved for years had actually leaned into the kiss. Before he’d tasted her, or felt her thundering heartbeat.

“I ought to—”

“Lord Malcolm,” Aunt Margaret interrupted, pushing through the crowd to where they stood. “Perhaps this is a discussion to be held in private.”

She put her arm around Eleanor and tried to guide her away, but Ellie resisted. “No, I should go with them. This isn’t what it looks like.”

Nick started to speak, to say something that would keep her from ruining his efforts, but Aunt Margaret beat him to it. “Not now, dear,” the older woman said through gritted teeth. “You’ll have time for that later.” She forcefully pushed Eleanor to the house, glancing back only once before disappearing inside. He’d never seen Eleanor’s skin so pale, and for a moment guilt assailed him.

No, he refused to feel guilty. He knew when he came out here that he would be hurting the rest of his family, as well as Eleanor. But he could think of no other plan to free her from Malcolm’s dictates. There would be hell to pay—his stepfather would make sure of it—but Nick would not regret this night.

“In my study,” Malcolm ground out, then turned on his heel and marched inside.

Obedient as a lapdog, Nick followed behind him, allowing a small self-satisfied grin to curl his lips as he walked through the gathered guests. He had a part to play: ruinous rake, not to be trusted with delicate English maidens.

They passed his mother as they strode through the drawing room. Her eyes were red, her gaze unfocused as she smiled in confusion at the pair of them. She raised her glass, saying after them, “My two favorite men, together at last,” before draining the contents in one drink.

Drunk again—what a bloody surprise. She never had been there to stand up for him when he was growing up, when the disdain for her own husband had nearly crushed him. Why should anything change now?

Once in the study, the door hadn’t even clicked closed before Malcolm turned on him, eyes burning with fiery resentment. “You filthy bastard—you did this on purpose.”

“Purposely kissed her? Yes, no denying that.”

Malcolm slammed a palm against the surface of his desk. “Ruined her chances with Henry! You could have kissed her a thousand times in a thousand different places—you purposely set out to destroy what I worked so hard to bring together.”

“’What God hath brought together, let no man set asunder?’ Sorry, but your plans had little consequence on my actions, old man.”

“This is all some sort of bloody game to you, isn’t it? See what you can do to drag the Earl of Malcolm down to your level?”

Of course he would think that. As if Nick had ever wanted anything for or from the man, other than a little respect. Perhaps a kind word or two. Instead, all he’d had was ill-concealed disgust. “Oh, looks like you caught me.”

“You pathetic excuse for a man. Congratulations, you’ve made me a laughingstock. Any hope of Eleanor making a good match has been destroyed.”