Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

Gareth frowned. He hadn’t noticed anything amiss—well, he hadn’t noticed much of anything beyond Mrs. Barrows’s mouth and eyes and the way her skirt swayed as she climbed the stairs, none of which had struck him as remotely amiss. “I wonder why. Could it be the wedding?” He lowered his voice, watching his cousin closely. “Do you think Miss Grey or her parents want to break the engagement?”


Blair seemed startled. He turned to Gareth, a frown creasing his forehead. “I highly doubt it, Wessex. What made you say that?”

Yes, what had made him say that? He had no idea. This morning, he had been highly pleased with his impending marriage and his choice of bride. Not one wisp of hesitation had clouded his mind, not even his mother’s gentle chiding about love and affection. Then a woman—the wrong woman—looked up at him with sparkling brown eyes and it seemed as though all his logical decisions had been made hastily and foolishly, based on air. Now he had just asked, without any forethought at all, if his bride might be planning to jilt him. Even worse, there had been a thread of hope in his question.

What was wrong with him tonight? His mother had planned a wedding celebration that would be spoken of for years to come. Dozens of guests would be arriving in a matter of days. The marriage contract was signed. The bride was upstairs, probably already planning how she would redecorate when the duchess’s suite was hers. The marriage was going to happen. Gareth must have lost his mind to contemplate—let alone contemplate with equanimity—anything else.

“Nothing,” he said, telling himself it was true. “You made it sound very ominous, and that was the most alarming thing I could think of on the spot. The wedding is in a fortnight, after all.”

Blair’s shoulders eased. “Of course.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Right. Well, thank you for sharing your concern with me. If anything particular comes up, do let me know.”

“Of course I will. I shall do my best to learn Mrs. Barrows’s secrets.”

For some reason, that didn’t sit too well with Gareth. He cast a longing glance at the brandy decanter but resolutely set down his glass. “Shall we go to dinner?”

“Indeed,” murmured Blair. “Time to face the enemy.”

That fit a little too well with Gareth’s own feeling, so he said nothing. They went to the drawing room, where much of the family had already gathered. His sisters had clustered around Miss Grey, chattering with various degrees of animation. Serena and Alexandra, he was pleased to see, were achieving some level of decorum, but Bridget, as feared, was louder and more boisterous than ever. For her part, Miss Grey seemed a little cowed by them. Her smile was uncertain, and she wasn’t saying much, although in fairness, it must have been rather intimidating to have three girls discussing every detail of her dress and pelting her with queries about London.

His mother was conversing with Sir William and Lady Grey, who looked up with twin expressions of rapture at his entrance. Gareth joined them as Blair headed for the younger ladies. He had a way with Bridget, and Gareth hoped Blair could calm his sister down so she wouldn’t frighten poor Miss Grey to death.

“Good evening, Your Grace, good evening!” Sir William almost preened in his satisfaction. “Delightful house.”

“Oh yes,” gushed his wife. “I’ve never seen one finer!”

“How very good of you to say so.” He inclined his head, keeping one eye on the door. A quick survey of the room had revealed the absence of Mrs. Barrows.

“If you’ll pardon me, I shall have a word with the butler about dinner.” His mother lowered her voice as she passed him. “Sophronia has deigned to join us this evening.”

“Has she?” Gareth shot her a look. “How generous of her.”

“Don’t start,” she murmured, edging past him. “I tried to dissuade her.”

Everyone knew that was hopeless. Nothing dissuaded Sophronia once she set her mind on something. Still, it gave him something to think about as Lady Grey’s effusions of delight over Kingstag Castle continued. Everything was perfection, in her opinion, and she seemed determined to list each point. It grew to be a bit much, to tell the truth. Gareth appreciated his home and was pleased to hear it admired, but she went on and on as though praising a gift he had given her. As soon as he could, he excused himself and went to Miss Grey, who appeared more at ease now. Blair had channeled the discussion into the diversions planned for the next fortnight.

“Good evening, Miss Grey.” He bowed, and she curtseyed. Very proper. Very reserved. “How have you found Kingstag Castle thus far?”

She smiled. “It is lovely, sir. I look forward to seeing the grounds. Your sisters have described them so well.”

“We’re going to take her around to see everything!” put in Bridget, beaming. “The lake, the grotto, everything! Only, she doesn’t ride terribly well, so James will have to drive us in the barouche.”

“I never promised,” Blair said with a smile.

“But near enough! I shall be on my best behavior. Please?” she begged.

“Perhaps Wessex will want to show Miss Grey the grounds himself,” replied Blair with a glance at Gareth.