Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

“I’m only a little tired, Your Grace,” said Helen. “A few moments’ rest, and I shall return to greeting guests with Her Grace, your mother.”


“Nonsense,” said Cleo. “You need to eat something; you hardly ate a bite of breakfast. There is no color in your cheeks at all.”

Wessex glanced at her. “Is this true, Miss Grey? Was breakfast not to your liking?”

Helen’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, it was delicious, Your Grace—I simply couldn’t choose….”

“Perhaps a tot of brandy will restore you,” he suggested.

Without thinking, Cleo snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous! She’s hardly eaten. Brandy will make her faint dead away.”

Slowly he turned to her. “What?”

“Tea would be better. Tea and some muffins. Ladies don’t normally drink brandy, sir.”

“I see,” he murmured, still watching her. “A pity, that.”

Yes, it was a pity, in Cleo’s opinion. She liked a little nip of brandy now and then—never enough to make her head spin, just a small amount after dinner in the winter or perhaps a drop in her tea on especially trying days. Still, her mother would have an apoplexy if she admitted that to the duke, so she merely smiled. “I think the muffins are particularly important. There were some delicious ones at breakfast this morning. May I send for some for my sister?”

“Of course.” As if on cue, a servant slipped into the room. Wessex arched one brow at Cleo. “What shall we send for?”

“Tea, please, with milk and muffins. And if there is any of that superb gooseberry jam, that would be lovely.” Cleo smiled at the servant, who bowed and hurried off. “Are the guests to arrive all day, Your Grace?”

“I’ve no idea,” he said without a trace of concern. “My mother will know, but she’s also quite capable of greeting them herself. I believe the first arrivals were to be family, in any event.”

She had to purse her lips to keep from grinning. “And you’ve no desire to see your family?”

“They will be here for a fortnight at the least.” He sounded resigned. “I will see them quite enough.”

“Perhaps some of the other guests will prove more diverting.” She couldn’t resist a naughty smile at his measuring look. “What are guests for, if not to provide entertainment?”

For the first time, his mouth curved. With his head tipped thoughtfully to one side, and that slow, slight grin, he looked sly and devastatingly attractive. “I devoutly hope you are correct.”

“I have great expectations,” she told him. “Your cousin in particular has promise.”

“Ah—you must mean Jack.” The duke’s grin grew wider. “I believe he inspired a formulation of smelling salts. I would suggest that you tease him about it, but he cannot be teased; on the contrary, he is quite proud of it.”

“Yes, very promising,” repeated Cleo with enthusiasm. “Dare I ask what he did to inspire smelling salts?”

“I don’t recall all the details.” The duke made a bored grimace even though his eyes shone with amusement. “It began with a wager, naturally, and took place during one of the most elegant balls of the season, but I never knew why there was a bow and arrow involved. And as for the monkey … well, the less said about the monkey, the better.”

“A real monkey?” she asked, trying not to laugh.

“Pungently real,” he confirmed. “Lady Hartington swore it took a month to get the smell out of her house.”

Cleo laughed. She had a strong feeling Wessex almost envied his cousin. Goodness, he was far from the stuffy duke she had thought him yesterday. He had a dry wit that charmed her, and he was devilishly appealing when he grinned. “No wonder he’s famous!”

“Infamous,” said the duke, though that slight grin still curved his mouth. “But even Lady Hartington forgave him. Apparently he has this way of smiling at ladies that makes them forgive and forget, even when he looses a monkey in their homes. It prompted some wit to declare that there ought to be a smelling salt to combat the effects of that smile, and thus a legend was born.”

Opposite her, Helen sighed, and she abruptly remembered herself. “Not that I think Lord Willoughby will upset the wedding! Indeed, he had better not, or I shall take measures—and I will neither forgive nor forget,” she added with a quick laugh. “Never fear, Helen, nothing shall mar your wedding day.”

Her sister smiled wanly, glancing at the duke. “I never thought it would.”

“Jack is a bit of a rogue, but he’s to stand up with me,” Wessex assured them. “I would never have asked him if I couldn’t rely on him.”

“I would never question your judgment, Your Grace,” Helen murmured. “See, Cleo, there is nothing to fear.”