Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

The duke’s grin faded. “No. Nothing at all.”


An awkward silence fell over the room. Cleo looked down at her hands, shaken to realize she really liked Wessex’s smile. Not merely in the manner of a woman gratified to see some warmth and humor in her sister’s future husband. No, her thoughts had not touched on Helen at all. For a moment, she had quite forgotten why they were there, and her appreciation had been purely female. Which was wrong in so many ways.

It was a relief when the servant returned with a tray. Cleo busied herself with fixing a cup for Helen, keeping her attention firmly on the tea and her sister. Wessex said nothing, but she could feel him watching her. She steadfastly resisted the urge to watch him back. She had a terrible feeling it would be hard to look away again. After a few moments, the duke wished Helen well again and excused himself. When the door clicked closed behind him, she almost wilted.

“Thank you, Cleo,” said Helen before she could speak. “I don’t know what I would do without you here.”

She smiled uneasily. “Live in less anxiety that I’ll offend the duke?”

“He didn’t appear offended by anything you said.” Helen sipped the tea. Some color was already coming back into her cheeks. “He didn’t appear bored, either, as he always does when I speak to him.”

“Nonsense!”

“If not bored, then he looks as though his mind is elsewhere.”

“You mustn’t let him do that….”

“How can I stop him?” Helen sighed. “He finds me dull.”

Cleo sat in tense silence for a moment. She had a terrible feeling it was the truth. Wessex had barely looked at Helen while he sat with them; he had looked at her, and she had liked it. That must be corrected at once. “He had better begin to pay you more attention. Then he’ll see how sweet and charming and lovely you are.”

“Oh, Cleo.” Her sister smiled wistfully. “Not everyone sees me as you do. I’m not vivacious and capable of speaking to anyone, as you are.”

“Which makes you a far better companion, since you never say anything hurtful or rash, as I do.”

Helen stared into her tea. “I am sure, after a few years, the duke and I will have learnt how to get on with each other. I will learn what pleases him, and he has already been so solicitous of me. We will learn.”

“Er … yes.” She worked to keep the frown from her face. Every time she talked with her sister, it became less and less clear why Helen had accepted his proposal. Did her sister merely want to be a duchess? Was he simply too eligible, too handsome, too wealthy to refuse? Had Papa forced her to accept? Cleo wasn’t sure she even wanted to know if the last was true. Her father would never forgive her if she stirred up trouble, and yet…. “Are—are you pleased with this marriage, Helen?” Her sister looked up warily. Cleo wet her lips. “I presumed you were, when you accepted His Grace’s proposal, but…. I cannot help but notice how listless you are. It’s as if something you dread is approaching, rather than something joyful.”

For a long moment Helen said nothing. “My marriage won’t be like yours,” she finally whispered. “His Grace doesn’t love me as Matthew loved you. I don’t expect him to—I daresay most men of his rank don’t love their wives—and I knew that when I accepted his proposal. I suppose it’s just becoming real to me now, that he and I will be married in a few days.”

“You don’t have to marry him.” It popped out of her mouth before Cleo could stop it.

Helen’s dark eyes widened in alarm. “Don’t say such a thing! Of course I do. The guests are arriving! I couldn’t possibly jilt His Grace.”

You could if you really didn’t want to marry him, thought Cleo. She bit her lip, hard, to keep the thought unspoken.

“It’s just nerves,” went on Helen, a bit more firmly. She took a sip of tea. “Becoming mistress of this house, part of this family, a duchess…. It’s very overwhelming, but I shall do my best. Please don’t tell Papa anything.”

“No,” Cleo said after a pause. “I wouldn’t.” She hardly wanted to speak to her father at all, especially with this new suspicion in her mind that he had browbeaten Helen into accepting Wessex. She took a deep breath and shook off her worries. Perhaps it was just bridal nerves. Helen was reserved, but she was no shrinking violet. She would find her way; the Cavendish family was warm and welcoming, and he wasn’t unkind or cold at all. Cleo thought it would be very easy to fall in love with the duke. And surely once Wessex spent more time with Helen, he would see what a lovely person she was and fall deeply in love with her. It was impossible not to love Helen, once one knew her.

And if an opportunity presented itself to nudge His Grace a little closer to that happy state, Cleo would be prepared to take it.