Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

“If she wishes,” he said. “We shall ride out to see as much as you care to see, Miss Grey.”


She lowered her eyes and curtseyed again. “That is very kind of you, sir.”

Blair drew the younger girls aside, saying he had an idea for an entertainment later, and they retreated to a corner of the room, although the giggles and whispers were audible to all. Gareth looked at his bride-to-be, and she looked at him. He suddenly realized he had no idea what to say to her, and from the expression on her face, she probably felt the same.

“Your sisters are charming,” said Miss Grey.

“They are indeed—and they have been positively wild to make your acquaintance.” He watched Alexandra whisper something in Serena’s ear, and a slight smile curved his lips at the delight in Bridget’s face over whatever they were plotting. His sisters were exhausting, but he did love them. “I hope they haven’t been impertinent.”

“Not at all.” Miss Grey paused. “Sisters are important. I shall be glad to have some more.”

“I shall be glad to share them.” Gareth repressed the urge to glance at the door yet again at the mention of her sister. He must not allow himself to think what was teasing the edges of his mind. If their conversations were always rather dull, it must be his fault and not hers. When they were better acquainted, they would know what to talk about and not end up in these awkward silences.

“Good evening,” said a bright voice behind him. He turned, tamping down the quick spurt of anticipation. This time he was prepared. This time she wouldn’t catch him off guard, the earth would remain firmly and motionlessly lodged beneath his feet, and he wouldn’t feel as though he’d been hit over the head by a falling tree branch.

Instead he felt as though the breath had been sucked right out of his lungs. Mrs. Barrows wore a gauzy white dress that swirled and clung to her body with every step. A long, narrow shawl of vivid blue looped around her bare arms. Ropes of delicate gold chain looped around her bodice, jingling with little gold coins. Her sable hair was twisted up on her head, more gold chain running through it, and on her feet—her bare feet—were dainty leather sandals. She looked like a Roman goddess, he thought numbly: Venus, the goddess of desire.

“Oh, Cleo, how lovely you look,” said Miss Grey warmly.

“Thank you, Helen. The minute the chain came into the shop, I thought to wear it.” Mrs. Barrows beamed at her sister as she joined them. “Although I don’t think I can compare to you!”

Gareth turned his head to look at his fiancé. He hadn’t even noticed what she was wearing. A pale pink dress, very fashionable and very ordinary. His feet had never left the ground once while looking at her.

“Good evening, Your Grace.” Mrs. Barrows dipped a curtsey. The little coins tinkled softly as she moved.

“Good evening.” His tongue had trouble forming the words.

“Mrs. Barrows.” Blair appeared at her elbow with a pleased smile. “Good evening. What an original gown.”

She smiled. “Very unoriginal, you mean! I fell in love with an illustration in one of my father’s books and longed to recreate it for myself. This design must be two thousand years old.”

“But surely even better now,” he replied. Blair was looking at her with far too much appreciation, thought Gareth testily. “Don’t you agree, Wessex?”

“Er— Yes,” he said. At least the question gave him an excuse for staring at her.

She looked directly at him then, her dark eyes sparkling. A little smile curved her mouth into a perfectly kissable shape. Gareth felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. He might need another brandy. “Thank you, Your Grace. You flatter me.”

The door opened, and Gareth’s mother returned, thank God—although with Sophronia and Henrietta Black in her wake. Sophronia looked as eccentric as ever tonight, in a gown thirty years out of date and her henna-colored hair tied up in a bewildering assortment of braids and knots, but her gaze was as keen and ruthless as ever. Unconsciously Gareth braced himself, sensing that she had decided to join them in order to stir up trouble in some way. “Isn’t it time to eat?” she asked loudly, confirming his suspicions. Her companion, Henrietta, tried to murmur something in her ear, but Sophronia waved her away. “I’m half-starved after the long walk down here.”

“Nearly,” said the duchess calmly, guiding her across the room. “Come meet our guests. Here are Sir William and Lady Grey. Wessex is to marry their daughter. Sir William, Lady Grey, may I present you to Lady Sophronia Cavendish?”

“A great honor, madam.” Sir William bowed.

“Oh yes, indeed!” trilled his wife, fluttering her hands as though she couldn’t contain herself. “A singular pleasure, my lady!”