Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

GARETH FELT AT GREAT CHARITY WITH THE WORLD as he and Cleo walked toward the stables. He held her hand in his; she had looked a bit self-conscious at first, but she made no effort to pull away. There was a beautiful flush on her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled as they had the morning she first arrived at Kingstag, when lightning had seemed to strike him in the head.

A servant lingering near the front gate ran forward to meet them and say that Mr. Blair was waiting in the rear tack room, where Jack Willoughby had established his gentlemen’s refuge earlier. As they headed there, they passed Jack’s shiny black phaeton, now covered with dust and being fussed over by a number of grooms. Cleo darted a curious look at him, but Gareth just shrugged. He had a feeling Hippolyta had helped the lovers in their escape and in their inexplicable return.

The instant they stepped through the door, Helen Grey jumped up from the bench. She was wearing traveling clothes, her hair swung in a braid down her back, and her eyes were haunted. On the bench behind her, James Blair sat with his hands on his knees, his head hanging as if exhausted. Helen took a hesitant step forward, eyeing them almost fearfully.

Without a word, Cleo opened her arms, and Helen fell into them, breaking into ragged weeping. The sisters held each other close. Blair’s expression twisted in anguish before he averted his face. Both were the picture of misery.

“I’m sorry,” Helen sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Cleo. I didn’t mean to cause trouble, but I was so unhappy and it seemed like the best idea….”

“Are you hurt?” Cleo pulled back to scrutinize her sister’s face, red and puffy and tear-stained. “Are you well?”

She nodded. “I’m fine. We—James and I—we’re both well. It’s just—it’s just—”

James Blair rose to his feet. “We both knew it to be wrong,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Wessex—Mrs. Barrows—I cannot apologize enough for what we’ve put you through. It was entirely my doing. I convinced Miss Grey—”

“No! I convinced him!” Helen grasped her sister’s hands. “It was my idea, all mine! I couldn’t go through with it. Cleo, you told me my happiness was in my hands and you were right, you truly were. I found James yesterday and forced him to take me away last night—”

“You did no such thing,” said Blair tenderly but wearily. “Helen….”

“It seems to me,” Gareth said mildly, interrupting them, “that the more important question is why one of you had this idea, and why the other consented.”

Helen raised her chin as she finally faced him, but he could see her hands shaking. “I am very sorry, Your Grace,” she said haltingly. “I … that is, I had a—a change of heart. I … fancied myself in love with Mr. Blair….”

“It was the duel,” Blair interrupted. “Bruton was willing to let his cousin shoot him rather than give up the girl he loved. I was his second, Wessex, and it went to my head—seeing his joy and relief when Miss Lacy threw herself into his arms…. And when you said you would wish Bruton well, I lost my grip on reason.” He gave Helen another hopeless look. “I’ve been in agony since the Greys arrived. I tried to forget my feelings, and I never wanted to betray you, but after the duel…. I didn’t know how I could bear to see you marry Helen.”

“And running off was much safer and preferable to a duel, don’t you see?” Helen pleaded. “I couldn’t let him risk being shot.”

“Indeed not. Blair is a capital fellow, and I would hate to see him wounded,” agreed Gareth. “He’s quite the most decent man I know. I congratulate you on your excellent taste.”

Helen glanced at Blair in bewilderment. He seemed equally dumbstruck. Gareth wanted to shout with laughter at the look on his cousin’s face.

Helen wet her lips. “But it was an abominable thing to do to you….”

“Not when weighed against the ills of marrying a man you could never love.” He paused. “You couldn’t, could you?” It was more a statement than a question, and Helen’s eyes welled up again as she slowly shook her head. “Then you’ve done us all a great favor,” he said gently. That had been his last trace of worry, that Helen might somehow have honestly regretted running off. If she had declared she was ready to carry on with the wedding, he would have had the very devil of a time.

“You’re not angry?” asked Blair in disbelief. “Wessex, I….” Words seemed to fail him; he shook his head in stunned silence.

Gareth smiled, darted a warm glance toward Cleo. “Angry? Not at all. In fact, I have rarely been happier. And it is all due to you, Miss Grey, for having the courage to defy propriety and follow your heart. And to you, James, for going with her. My only wonder is that you came back so soon. Are you married yet?”

“No,” said Blair in a dazed voice.

“Do you still wish to be?”

“Yes!” burst out Helen, which seemed to break her beloved’s trance.