Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

They had passed the bowling green by now, the awnings still standing like lonely sentinels over the bare rinks. Cleo felt again the way her heart had turned over when Wessex grinned at her over the bowls, the breeze ruffling his hair. Why did it have to be her sister’s fiancé who made her heart leap? “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That wasn’t my desire.”


“No!” He shook his head. “On the contrary. I’ve never shied away from my mistakes. I made a great many of them, inheriting a dukedom at so young an age. Humiliation is a powerful teacher. But I fear it also taught me some lessons too well, lessons I’ve only just realized were all wrong.”

She fixed her gaze upon the ground, afraid of what he would say next and yet desperate to know. “How so?”

“My parents were devoted to each other. My father’s death … it seemed to shatter my mother. To my horrified young eyes, all that love seemed to have turned into soul-rending anguish. I was sure I wanted no part of that in my own marriage, and I never met anyone who changed my mind—until you.”

“Love in marriage is vital,” she whispered. Her heart thudded dangerously.

“I am more and more persuaded of that.” He stopped walking. “You must understand…. I had the best of intentions when I courted your sister. I don’t love her, but I fully expected to be an honorable, faithful husband to her—”

“Stop.” Cleo put her hand over his mouth to stop him. Tears prickled in her eyes. “Don’t say anything else. You can love her—you will. Helen is the most wonderful girl, it’s impossible not to love her—”

Gently, tenderly, he covered her hand with his, moving her palm to his cheek. His eyes closed for a moment and he inhaled a long slow breath as he leaned into her touch. “But not in the right way.” He opened his eyes and looked at her, his face stark with yearning.

Cleo wavered on her feet at the longing that stabbed through her. If he had been anyone else in the world, she would be in his arms right now. God help her, she still wanted to be. But Helen—Helen, her beloved sister—even if Helen didn’t love him and he didn’t love her, Cleo couldn’t betray her sister that way.

“You have to try,” she said, her voice trembling.

“I have.” He sounded helpless.

She pulled away from him, recoiling a step even though he made no move to stop her. “Keep trying. You’ve not spent enough time with her—it’s just a bit of madness—we’ve only just met—”

“I don’t think a lifetime will be enough to change my feelings so dramatically.”

“Nor mine.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. She raised a trembling hand to her mouth as if to recall them, but it was too late; he had heard.

If Gareth hadn’t understood his own feelings before then, there was no doubting them now. He had thought—suspected—that Cleo was as attracted as he was, but he hadn’t known if she felt more. But as her words lingered in the air, confirming what he yearned for, it seemed as though the earth finally went still beneath his feet again. After days of being off balance, caught between disbelief and alarm that he was falling in love when it was almost too late, he found he finally knew what he wanted.

He had tried to love Helen, he really had. After the bowling match, he’d kept his distance from Cleo and paid more attention to his betrothed. It hadn’t helped—if anything, it had only convinced him he’d made a terrible error. Helen was as lovely and sweet-tempered as he had originally thought, but she was also far quieter. She was reserved and polite with the guests, and more than once he saw her glance longingly out the window, as if she couldn’t wait to escape the room. For the life of him he couldn’t remember why he’d thought she would make a good duchess; of course one could learn it and grow into it, and his mother was ready and able to teach her, but he suspected it would take years for Helen to feel at ease as the Duchess of Wessex and mistress of Kingstag Castle.

But when he looked at Cleo, more and more he saw someone who would be a splendid duchess from the beginning. She knew all the guests within days. His mother remarked on her effortless conversation. His sisters, who had been so eager to meet Helen, had quickly switched their adoration to Cleo, with her bold and unusual clothes and friendly manner. Even Sophronia liked her, and Sophronia was the harshest critic Gareth had ever met. What’s more, she was used to running a large business, overseeing more than a dozen men, and managing her own finances—much the same skills that would be required to run Kingstag. He doubted anything would daunt her, including him in his worst temper.

And then there was the way she made him feel. When she smiled at him, Gareth would swear he could still feel the electric tingle in the air, as if lightning had struck him anew. When she laughed, he wanted to kiss her. When she took his arm, he wanted to carry her off into the shrubbery. And when she put her fingers on his lips, he wanted to fall to his knees and make love to her on the spot.