Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

“James Blair is the most capable man I know. If she’s with him, she is perfectly well.”


She just nodded, overwhelmed by the jumble of hope and uncertainty inside her. He was taking the news very calmly, but also without any show of the relief she felt that now he—like Cleo—was free to follow his heart. Perhaps his heart had reconsidered; perhaps he couldn’t stomach the thought of anything to do with her family after Helen’s action. She was a common merchant, after all, hardly a likely duchess. Perhaps she had been all wrong….

“And have you come to do as your sister asked?” He rested one hand against the door above her shoulder. “Have you come to console me, Cleo?”

The way he said her name was almost a caress. “If there is any way I can.”

A smile bent his mouth as his eyes darkened. “I think I may require excessive consolation after this most distressing fortnight.”

“And being jilted,” she whispered.

His smile grew darker, more intimate. “My darling,” he said, “being jilted has been the best part—thus far.”

Cleo’s knees went weak. She hadn’t been wrong at all. She laid her hand on his chest. He was wonderfully big and warm beneath her palm, his heartbeat steady and strong. “Your heart doesn’t seem broken.”

He laid his hand over hers, pressing it against his silk waistcoat. “On the contrary—I think it has only just begun to beat with purpose, now that you are here.”

She listed toward him. “Why is that?”

He smoothed a wisp of hair away from her temple, then curved his hand around her nape. “Because I can finally do this,” he said, and kissed her.

She melted against him, opening her mouth and meeting his tongue with her own. She gripped his jacket, holding him to her, and then she forced the lapels wide, trying to peel it off him. With a harsh exclamation, he pulled his arms free of the jacket and let it fall to the floor behind him before gathering her close. She pressed against him, her cheek on his chest, listening to the rapid thump of his heart. She could feel the warmth of his skin through his shirtsleeves.

“Cleo,” he murmured against her hair. “If there is any reason … any objection you have to me making love to you, tell me now.”

“No,” she gasped, catching his shoulders as his hands slid down around her bottom, lifting her up onto her toes, dragging her against his rigid arousal.

“No? I should stop?” He tugged her earlobe between his teeth.

Cleo whimpered. “Don’t stop,” she moaned. “Don’t ever stop.”

His hand slipped behind her back, pulling loose the tiny pearl buttons of her gown. The demure bodice slid down, and then he pulled it further down until her breasts were almost exposed. She shuddered at the cool air on her flesh, her head falling back against the door behind her. His hand cupped her breast, his mouth was hot on her neck. “Wessex,” she gasped, dimly thinking they ought to find a more comfortable location.

“Gareth.” He pulled at her bodice again, and there was a sound of cloth ripping. “My God, you’re beautiful in every way.” He lowered his head to her breast and Cleo abandoned all thought of moving. She plowed her fingers into his thick dark hair and gave herself up to the pleasure of his lips on her skin, his teeth scraping over her taut nipple, his tongue playing along the delicate flesh of her bosom.

He drew up the skirt of her gown, and she shifted her feet to allow him to press ever closer to her. He raised one eyebrow as his boot bumped against hers. Cleo blushed; in her hurry she’d run through the house wearing only one shoe. Gareth simply grinned as he fell to his knee, unlaced the boot, and tossed it aside, and then his hands were exploring the length of her legs. His fingers skimmed her silk stockings, plucked at her garters, and then roamed higher. She gasped aloud in pent-up desire when he finally touched the aching folds between her legs.

Even she, who had eloped at seventeen, had never been so careless of propriety and restraint. With inarticulate words and sighs she urged him on, clasping his head to her bosom as he stroked her and teased her. When her legs threatened to give out beneath her, she managed to tug at his hair. “Gareth,” she gasped, her heart thundering and her breath ragged. “Gareth, please….”

He shuddered. “When you say my name that way….” He lurched to his feet, tearing at his trousers. “Put your arms around my neck,” he commanded, his voice rough. Cleo obeyed, glad he put his own arm around her waist. She might have stumbled and fallen if he hadn’t. “Now tell me….” He caught her knee and pulled, hooking it around his hip to hold her skirt out of the way. “Say you want me, Cleo…. Please, darling….”