Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

“If I were starting anew? Perhaps. But I can’t escape myself, Evan.”


He knew what that felt like. He could remember it all too well—the sick feeling in his stomach, the certainty that no matter what he wanted, he was forced to continue on. If he stopped being an ass, people would laugh at him. If he changed, they would turn on him. He’d run away, but she’d not had that option.

Diana’s eyes glistened. “I can’t stand myself,” she said, choking. “If people did not fear me so, how could anyone tolerate me?”

He knew that feeling, too. But that kind of regard was as false as a thin crust of snow, hiding a bottomless crevasse.

“It’s quite simple,” Evan said. “You’ll have to choose between accepting yourself and having others accept you.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “Oh.”

Once, long ago, they’d vowed never to let each other be hurt. What they’d done with that pledge had been ugly. But the promise itself…

“There is one thing you should know.”

“No need to even speak it. If I hurt your Elaine, you’ll have nothing further to do with me.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

She raised her head, and for the first time, she met his eyes. She looked weary and ragged.

“You were my first true friend,” he said. “I have always known that you would never purposefully wish me harm. You’re the sister I never had, and if you think I will turn my back on you, you gravely mistake me. Friends do not let go of other friends. Even if matters become difficult. Even if the road becomes rocky. Even if it seems as if there is no other choice.”

She sniffled. “And what if you marry a woman who must certainly be my mortal enemy?”

“Even then.” He stood and pillows scattered about him. “But I think you’ll find that most people can be remarkably forgiving.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and sad. “Even you?”

He crossed to her and knelt beside her. “Especially me,” he said. And when she leaned against him, he hugged her, hard.





Chapter Eleven





UNTIL ELAINE WALKED INTO THE BALLROOM THAT NIGHT, she had not realized how much of herself she had locked away. She had always stood on the side of such rooms, dressed in colors that drew no attention.

Tonight, for the very first time, she wore a ball gown of red satin. It hugged her waist and then flared out over a multitude of petticoats. The neckline skimmed the top of her corset, flirtatious without quite crossing over into the realm of provocation. The cut was simple—so simple, it had been fitted together in a matter of hours. The hem was still pinned in place, rather than sewn.

It was simple, and yet when she’d looked at herself in the mirror beforehand, she’d been unable to look away. This was who she could be. For years, she’d had one purpose at gatherings like this: to make everyone look away from her.

Tonight she wanted them to look at her. She stood on the edge of the polished wood floor, feeling like a ship clinging to the shore. Out there, amongst the crowd, there were waves and storms and monsters. Here at the edges there was safety. Her first step toward the middle of the room was the hardest. The second came more easily. With the third, people had begun to look at her and whisper behind upraised fans.

Lady Elaine Warren didn’t wear red. She didn’t walk into the center of the room. She hid away everything about herself.

Not any longer. For once, those whispers did not make her falter. They made her lift her chin and take longer strides. The fourth step was the easiest yet, and on the fifth…

On the fifth, she saw Evan. He was standing against a wall, dressed in dark brown. His golden, curling hair was tamed, but when he turned toward her, something just a little wild entered his expression. His gaze dropped, and perhaps—she could not keep herself from grinning—so did his jaw. Just a little. By the time his eyes met hers, his smile matched hers, broad and unstoppable. He started toward her.

She could not run. Not with these slippers on her feet. If she ran, the flowers would fall from her hair, and the straight-pins holding her hem in place would come undone. But her steps grew faster. She made no effort to hide her destination. They met in the center of the crowd. He reached his hands out to her, and she took them. He pulled her close—and then, with everyone watching, he kissed her. Hard.

There might have been tongue involved. Eventually, he pulled away from her.

“Evan,” she said, “I’m so sorry—this morning, I—”

He set his fingers across her lips. “What did I tell you?”

“You said when danger threatened, you were looking for someone who would hold to you and not let go. And I—”

He glanced wryly down, where his hand still held hers. “You’re letting go, are you?”

“No, but this morning, I—”

“Elaine,” he repeated, “are you letting go?”