Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

“It is beautiful,” Evan said quietly. “But it huddles at the feet of the highest mountain in the entire alpine region. I climbed Mont Blanc three times.”


“Three times?” Mr. Patton set one hand over his rounded belly and shook his head. “Once, I can understand. It gives you a dubious set of bragging rights, I suppose. But thrice seems to be the product of an excess of ambition.”

“First time anyone has ever accused me of that,” Evan replied.

The ladies in the crowd smiled and shifted.

“I thought of attempting the Matterhorn, but I prefer to remain among the living. But my accomplishments are not so many. In that time, my cousin has married and produced four children. Surely that is the greater achievement.”

Diana was watching him now with a curious stare, and she took a sip of her wine. “Good heavens. How long does it take to climb Mont Blanc?”

“Depending upon the conditions? Not much more than a few days of grueling work, across desperate traverses covered in snow.” He paused to let the desolation of the landscape sink in.

Across from Diana, Mr. Patton frowned. “Well, you’ve accounted for a week out of ten years. What were you doing with the rest of your time?”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Preparing to climb Mont Blanc.”

“Preparing? For ten years? Does it take so long to buy rope and the like?”

Evan shook his head and bit back a smile.

But Diana burst in hotly, almost shoving her elbow into Lady Elaine at her side in her haste to speak on his behalf. “Mountaineering,” she lectured, “is quite dangerous, as anyone would know. There are…well, mountaineering moves that must be learned. Special ones. I’m sure we can’t understand the time that must be involved.”

His cousin had always had a hot temper—and while she might seem fickle to many, Evan knew that she was loyal at heart. She would defend him at all costs.

“And then,” Diana was continuing, “one must be quite particular about one’s gear. For there is not only rope to consider, but the boots, and the, uh, the special packs, and also the tampons.”

“Crampons,” Evan supplied.

“Crampons,” she repeated, without missing a beat.

“But in my experience,” Evan interrupted, “those who spend all their time making purchases and arguing about whether to use wrought iron or forged iron for boot-nails spend no time on the mountains at all. The most important part of climbing a mountain is not choosing rope, but learning to function as part of a team. You can’t go out by yourself. What would you do in a rockslide? What if you misstep on the edge of a cliff? If you cannot trust your compatriots, you risk death.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Patton put in. “You only hear about those puny Frenchmen expiring in such gruesome fashion. A strapping English lord? The mountains wouldn’t dare kill him.”

“What an amusing thing to say.” Evan didn’t feel like smiling. “I would not be here, had not a puny Frenchman saved me.”

“Nonsense,” Patton repeated, but with less certainty.

“We were on a glacier.” Evan fixed his gaze on the man’s eyes. “I don’t know what you’ve heard of them, but they’re quite dangerous—every step is slick, and you can’t trust the surface beneath your boots. There are crevasses that are miles deep, covered by only the slightest crust of ice. One step, and you could fall to your doom.”

The ladies gasped. All of them, except Lady Elaine. Her gray eyes met his, as if she too knew what it felt like to plummet to her death.

“You try to be as careful as you can, but you never know if you’re walking on a shelf of ice. The ground beneath your feet could swallow you up at any instant. Entire parties have vanished. Like that.” Evan snapped his fingers.

Diana looked faintly horrified. “How do you guard against such a thing?”

“Pray,” he said shortly. “And you rope together, so that if one man missteps, his mates can pull him out.”

There were wise nods all around.

“But—” That was Lady Elaine, speaking for the first time. “But if you are roped together, would that not mean one man could drag you into a crevasse as easily as he could be pulled out?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Diana snapped. “If any one man falls, the others can surely pull him out. It’s a sound plan, and safe.”

Elaine pulled back.

“It is not safe,” Evan heard himself contradict. “It is d—that is to say, it is entirely dangerous. You see, if a man falls fast enough, he could jerk a companion off his feet before the other man has a chance to brace himself. If a shelf of ice collapses, it could take two men at once—and that sort of dead weight could pull a whole party into the abyss.”

Diana’s eyes widened. “What do you do if more than one man is pulled in, and you cannot retrieve them?”

“What do you suppose? There’s no choice in the matter. You cut the rope.”