Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

He almost missed his footing at the expression on Cleo Barrows’s face. Her face was scrunched up with laughter—she had even wrinkled her nose—as she shook her head at whatever her sister said. Her curls bounced and threatened to topple down her back; one had already come loose and brushed the nape of her neck. Her sister was beautiful, but Cleo … she was captivating.

He had the growing feeling that he was doomed. The harder he tried to find a reason why she was undesirable in any way, the less success he had. He wanted to wind that loose curl around his fingers. He wanted to press his lips to the back of her neck, and the base of her throat. He wanted to talk to her, to have those sparkling brown eyes fixed on him, to see that impish grin directed his way. Instead he watched Blair receive all that and more when she turned to his cousin, put her hand on his arm, and leaned close to whisper something that made Blair throw back his head and shout with laughter.

“I’m delighted to see Miss Grey looking well again,” said his mother. “I do believe Mrs. Barrows could make anyone smile, though.”

He watched the way she tipped her head to one side, and for a single heartbeat their gazes met. “Indeed.”

“James seems quite taken with her,” she went on. “I understand she’s a widow with a pretty income. He could certainly do worse, if he’s thinking of marrying.”

This time there was no mistaking the feeling oozing through his veins. It was jealousy, raw and bitter. It was utterly irrational and yet undeniable. He forced it down. “I suppose,” he replied, in what he hoped was an offhand voice. “Has he said anything to you about her?”

“Of course not. Do you think I should encourage him?”

He gritted his teeth. “I think he’s a grown man capable of deciding such a thing himself.” Without waiting for her reply, he went down to join the boys still arguing over bowls. The only other male about seemed to be Blair, and Gareth found he had no patience to watch his cousin flirt with Cleo.

And he didn’t swerve from his course when he saw the lady in question stroll down to the green ahead of him.





TO CLEO’S IMMENSE RELIEF, Helen seemed like herself again when they walked down to the awnings the morning of the bowling party. Anyone’s nerves would have been strained by their mother’s incessant chattering about how grand and elegant everything—and everyone—was at the party. Cleo had long since grown content with what she could afford, but Helen had never been allowed to do the same. Sir William refused to acknowledge his straitened circumstances, and Millicent was incapable of economy; they had relied on Helen making a marvelous marriage to restore their fortunes. Cleo was fairly certain that burden had put the faint lines around her sister’s mouth and brought a shadow to her eyes.

But the bowling party had revived her. Perhaps it was the weather, which had been nothing short of perfect. A group of young ladies, including the duke’s sisters, had amused them for some time before Lady Sophronia came to grace them with her presence. Helen obviously found the old lady somewhat intimidating, but Cleo thought she was splendid. Sophronia spoke her mind and did as she pleased. When she’d had enough conversation, she simply announced that she was leaving.

“I see a fine cheese over there and want to secure it before someone else makes off with it,” she confided. “The guests at these parties are like wolves, eating up every crumb in sight.”

“Oh! May I fetch it for you?” Cleo offered, privately entertained by the description of the aristocratic guests as hungry scavengers.

“No, no. I can take care of myself.” Lady Sophronia drew—of all things—a small pointed dagger from her pocket. “A memento of my third fiancé, Malcolm MacBride,” she said fondly, showing them the knife. “I was very sad when the consumption took him. Still, it’s a very useful dirk—that’s what the Scots call it. I recommend you get one. No one interferes with a lady who is armed.”

“No, I imagine not.” Cleo’s voice shook as the old lady nodded to them and hobbled after her cheese. She glanced at her sister and saw Helen’s eyes tearing up. “Shall I give you a knife as a wedding gift, Helen?” she asked mischievously. “I don’t want you to lose out on any fine cheese….”