Seven Wicked Nights

by Courtney Milan

  She held her breath as he hesitated, willing him to leave. A moment later he relented. “Very well. I’ll be only a moment.” He offered a dip of his head before hurrying inside.

  Oh thank God. She released her breath, sagging against the balustrade. That had been a very near thing. She turned her attention to her unlikely hero and offered him a wan smile. “I shall never be able to repay you for your timing. Or Uncle Robert’s timing, I suppose.”

  He stepped closer to her, tilting his head but never taking his eyes from her. “Oh? And why is that?”

  “Because he just asked me to marry him,” she exclaimed, putting a hand to her heart. “I, I didn’t know what to say, and then he was leaning toward me and I was so flustered that I didn’t know what to do and then…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

  He took another step. “And then …?”

  She sucked in a cleansing breath and peered up at him. “You were there.”

  His eyes were piercing in the near darkness. “Because you needed me.”

  “Yes. But I thought …” She pictured him, turning away from her pleas as she’d silently begged for his help.

  “What did you think?”

  Her heart pounded and she couldn’t even say why. “That you turned your back on me. That you put me from your mind.” But she’d been wrong. He was here now, there when she needed him most.

  “Never,” he said, the single word rife with conviction. “But I did have to make my excuses.” He stepped nearer still, bringing them at once entirely too close together and not nearly close enough. He lifted her hand from the stone railing and guided her around so she stood between him and the house.

  The torchlight danced in his eyes and bathed his skin in a warm, golden glow. He looked…determined. Decided. But not altogether sure of himself. Instead of releasing her hand, he raised it to his lips and placed a soft, gentle kiss to her knuckles. Awareness raced down her back in a flurry of gooseflesh—he had never done such a thing before. His kisses were to mock, not to soothe. To tease and provoke, never to show care or affection.

  The old Nick, the one who had left two years ago and gone to the army, was fading fast from her memory. In his place was this man. Capable of tenderness and seriousness. Of being her champion.

  When he lifted his head, his gaze flicked to just over her shoulder before meeting hers. “Do you trust me?”

  There was an edge to his voice that wasn’t there moments earlier. “Should I?” She didn’t know what he was asking, but she knew instinctually that it was important.

  “Probably not.”

  A ghost of a smile slipped over her lips. “Then you should not ask it of me.”

  “Then can you at least forgive me?” he asked, lacing his fingers with hers with an urgency that made her pulse quicken.

  Forgive him? Confusion at his words warred with an unexpected rush of desire at his touch, robbing her of her wits. “What—”

  But he didn’t give her a chance to complete her sentence. With a sharp tug, he pulled her flat against his chest and before she could do little more than gasp, his lips crashed down upon hers. A thousand butterflies set flight in her stomach—her first kiss! She moaned with the pure pleasure of it. His lips were deliciously warm, and fit against hers as if they’d been molded for each other. The smell of his skin was like a drug, sending ribbons of pleasure through her whole body.

  It was perfection. Even better, if that was possible.

  Her Nicolas, her opponent for so many years had somehow turned into the man who made her heart sing and her toes curl with one utterly searing kiss.

  He guided her hands to the hard plane of his upper chest, pressing them in place before dropping his own hold to her waist. He pulled back slightly and whispered against her lips, “I’m sorry.”

  Sorry? Bewilderment stilled her body, and a heartbeat later he launched himself backwards, as if pushed by an unseen force. She blinked, her eyes wide as she struggled to make sense out of what was happening.

  “Good God,” a male voice roared from behind her, “What is the meaning of this?”

  Chapter Seven

  IF LOOKS COULD KILL, Nick would have been a smoldering pile of ashes on the flagstone. Malcolm nearly glowed with red hot anger, his face contorted with the force of his fury. Beside him Lord Henry stood frozen, his shock congealing into horror. Already faces were appearing in the window as people rushed to see what the disturbance was about.

  Nick picked himself up off the ground and brushed off his soiled clothes. “Malcolm, Henry.”

  “Explain yourself,” his stepfather demanded, stalking over to where Eleanor leaned against the railing, both hands covering her mouth.

  Nick couldn’t meet her eyes. Not yet. Shrugging, he said, “I thought to steal a kiss. The lady thought otherwise.” His tone was lazy, insolent even, despite the emotion burning in his veins.

  The kiss was meant to be a means to an end: ruin Eleanor’s marriage prospect, without her taking any blame. To let Malcolm’s wrath fall on his head, not hers. But that was before their lips touched. Before the whole world had so completely ceased to exist, and the woman he had loved for years had actually leaned into the kiss. Before he’d tasted her, or felt her thundering heartbeat.

  “I ought to—”

  “Lord Malcolm,” Aunt Margaret interrupted, pushing through the crowd to where they stood. “Perhaps this is a discussion to be held in private.”

  She put her arm around Eleanor and tried to guide her away, but Ellie resisted. “No, I should go with them. This isn’t what it looks like.”

  Nick started to speak, to say something that would keep her from ruining his efforts, but Aunt Margaret beat him to it. “Not now, dear,” the older woman said through gritted teeth. “You’ll have time for that later.” She forcefully pushed Eleanor to the house, glancing back only once before disappearing inside. He’d never seen Eleanor’s skin so pale, and for a moment guilt assailed him.

  No, he refused to feel guilty. He knew when he came out here that he would be hurting the rest of his family, as well as Eleanor. But he could think of no other plan to free her from Malcolm’s dictates. There would be hell to pay—his stepfather would make sure of it—but Nick would not regret this night.

  “In my study,” Malcolm ground out, then turned on his heel and marched inside.

  Obedient as a lapdog, Nick followed behind him, allowing a small self-satisfied grin to curl his lips as he walked through the gathered guests. He had a part to play: ruinous rake, not to be trusted with delicate English maidens.

  They passed his mother as they strode through the drawing room. Her eyes were red, her gaze unfocused as she smiled in confusion at the pair of them. She raised her glass, saying after them, “My two favorite men, together at last,” before draining the contents in one drink.

  Drunk again—what a bloody surprise. She never had been there to stand up for him when he was growing up, when the disdain for her own husband had nearly crushed him. Why should anything change now?

  Once in the study, the door hadn’t even clicked closed before Malcolm turned on him, eyes burning with fiery resentment. “You filthy bastard—you did this on purpose.”

  “Purposely kissed her? Yes, no denying that.”

  Malcolm slammed a palm against the surface of his desk. “Ruined her chances with Henry! You could have kissed her a thousand times in a thousand different places—you purposely set out to destroy what I worked so hard to bring together.”

  “’What God hath brought together, let no man set asunder?’ Sorry, but your plans had little consequence on my actions, old man.”

  “This is all some sort of bloody game to you, isn’t it? See what you can do to drag the Earl of Malcolm down to your level?”

  Of course he would think that. As if Nick had ever wanted anything for or from the man, other than a little respect. Perhaps a kind word or two. Instead, all he’d had was ill-concealed disgust. “Oh, looks like you caught me.”

 
“You pathetic excuse for a man. Congratulations, you’ve made me a laughingstock. Any hope of Eleanor making a good match has been destroyed.”

  Good. “Come now—I wouldn’t say that. Now that I have claimed the fair maiden’s kiss, I suppose I could marry her.” His chest tightened as if wrapped with steel bands. He’d love nothing more than to do exactly that, just as he knew Eleanor would like nothing less. By making such a statement, there was no better way to insure that Malcolm would never let it happen.

  Nostrils flaring like a taunted bull, Malcolm shook his head in disgust. “Over my dead body. You’ve always been jealous of the natural children of this family. You never could handle the fact they are superior to you in every way possible.”

  Nick bit down on his tongue, hard. William, Libby, and Eleanor were the best things that had ever happened to him. Despite the fact William was years younger and given all the privilege his status as heir required, he had never been anything but a brother to Nick. As for Eleanor… This was all for her. He had to hold his tongue, no matter how much he ached to fight back.

  Nick tilted his head as if considering the charge, then shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  Malcolm stilled. “I should call you out. If it wasn’t political suicide, I would do just that.”

  Doubtful; Malcolm knew he could never win in a duel with Nick.

  The earl walked behind his desk and sat, inspecting Nick as if he were the foulest of creatures. “As of this moment, you are expelled from this family. I hereby banish you from this house and from any other property I own. If you try to step foot on even a square inch of my land, I will have you thrown in gaol. Furthermore, I forbid you to see your mother, or any other member of this family.”

  A boulder settled deep in Nick’s gut, making it hard to breath. He gritted his teeth, struggling to maintain a neutral expression. If this was the price of restoring Eleanor’s choices for her own life, than so be it.

  Malcolm leaned forward over his desk, resting his elbows on the polished wood and lacing his fingers in front of him. “And lastly,” he said, a hint of malevolent pleasure lifting one side of his lip in a sneer, “a letter will go out in tomorrow’s post addressed to my solicitor. By this time next week, your commission will have been sold.

  “Welcome to the life you should have had, Norton. I hope you choke on it.”

  AUNT MARGARET PACED from one side of the room to the other, her face drawn with worry as her fingers mangled a lace handkerchief. “I don’t understand, Eleanor. Why on earth would he have done such a thing? Ruining your chances like that,” she said, shaking her head. “He has always been a bit of a scoundrel, but I always felt he was a gentleman at heart.”

  Heedless of her fine silk gown, Eleanor sat in a heap on the settee, pressing a pillow to her middle. The myriad of emotions rushing through her all at once made it hard to think, let alone make sense of what had just happened. What should she do? What did this mean for her sister and her?

  Her heart ached bitterly. What on earth had Nicholas been thinking? She wouldn’t be surprised if Malcolm met him at dawn over this. Peering up to her aunt, she shook her head. “He was trying to save me.”

  If only she had told Nicolas the whole truth of the situation. Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut. He may have had some ridiculous notion of helping her, but what if Libby was the one forced to pay the price?

  Aunt Margaret stopped dead in her tracks. “Save you? From what?”

  “From having to marry Lord Henry.”

  She blinked, dumbfounded. “But you wanted to marry. You told me yourself you were finally interested.”

  It was Eleanor’s turn to be at a loss. “What? No, I didn’t want to marry. Uncle Robert was forcing me to. You know how I feel about marriage after Mama and Papa.”

  Aunt Margaret put a hand to her mouth. She looked beyond appalled. “Oh my dear! I had no idea. I thought at long last you had changed your mind. I thought you had finally seen the goodness marriage can hold.”

  She’d been on Eleanor’s side after all? Something inside of her eased, making things just a little less awful. “No—I mean, I’m sure that it can be, but I never wanted to risk it.”

  “Then why—?”

  “Because Uncle threatened that if I didn’t, he would summon Libby from school, forcing her to marry instead.” The words burned her throat like whisky.

  The fury in her aunt’s eyes was a balm to her soul. “Over my dead body.”

  Eleanor gasped—it was the most passion she’d seen in her aunt since Mama died. She seemed fully alive again, like the formidable woman she had once been.

  “He ruined your mother’s life by forcing her to marry your father. She was determined that you and your sister would not suffer the same fate. Before your debut, she made Robert swear that you and Libby would be free to choose your own husbands—if you even wanted one at all.”

  Eleanor swallowed against the emotion that clogged her throat. Mama had done that for her?

  A small, unexpected smile deepened the lines bracketing her aunt’s thin lips. “She threatened if he didn’t, she would marry a Whig and take up the plight of the working class, handing out pamphlets on the street if need be. She would have done it too, I swear to it. Robert realized it as well; I was right there when he finally gave his word.”

  He had agreed? He had given Eleanor’s mother his word, only to break it the moment it suited him? Anger flared to life deep within her, heating her blood and searing her resolve. She thought of Nick, standing up for her in his own convoluted way, now being subjected to her uncle’s fury.

  This wasn’t his fight—it was hers. It was past time Uncle Robert was subjected to her wrath, not the other way around. Hadn’t Nick just shown her how strong she could be? “I have to go,” she said suddenly, unable to sit idle for even one more moment.

  “Wait.”

  She stopped at the authoritative tone in the older woman’s voice. “Yes?”

  Tilting her head, Aunt Margaret leveled a thoughtful gaze on Eleanor. “I understand now why rescue was necessary in the case of Lord Henry. But I still don’t know why Nick decided he was the one to do it. Are not the two of you adversaries?”

  And there was the crux of the matter.

  An unfamiliar longing wrapped around her heart as she thought of him and what exactly he was to her. What they were to each other. “Oh Aunt, I’ve been so stupid. All this time we bickered and argued, but yet all along…” she shook her head helplessly. “It’s been him. It’s always been him. The one who drives me mad, who makes me want to throttle him, but who always challenged me. Always looked to me as an equal.” She swallowed as a new truth assailed her with the force of an exploding firework. “I can’t bear the thought of being without him.”

  “So you didn’t mind his kiss?”

  Heat scorched her cheeks, but she looked her aunt straight in the eye. “I loved it. And I love him.”

  Aunt Margaret’s mouth dropped open in surprise, even as her eyes misted over. Nodding crisply, she rose to her feet. “I’m coming with you. And next time,” she said, tossing a shawl about her shoulders before linking arms with Eleanor, “do feel free to come to me when my brother makes an arse of himself.”

  NICK STOOD RIGIDLY STILL, absorbing the ramifications of his own stepfather’s words. His commission. His livelihood—his very identity. These were to be the price for Eleanor’s freedom.

  So be it.

  Though dread filled him like rising flood waters, there was no regret. No remorse at all. She was worth any price, as far as he was concerned. He forced his lips into a grin as he addressed his hateful step-father. “Ah, the relief you must feel to finally wash your hands of me. See now? I did you a favor after all.”

  “Too bad such a thing didn’t happen a decade ago,” the earl retorted. “You have ten minutes to be gone from this house before I have you thrown out.”

  Nick nodded once in acknowledgement, then turned and strode for the door. As he reached for the knob, the door
swung open, and Eleanor nearly bowled him over. He jumped back, regaining his balance even as he lost his breath. His heart soared at the sight of her. Her face was a mask of determination, her head held high and her eyes flashing like fire-lit bronze.

  His beautiful, glorious warrior—God how he loved her.

  Malcolm started to protest, but she sliced a hand through the air, silencing him. She marched straight past Nick to the desk, Aunt Margaret following behind her. “How dare you, sir. You made a promise to my mother, and she’s not even gone a year before you break it? What kind of man are you?”

  Malcolm’s face contorted, going as red as the scarlet curtains behind him. “How dare I? How dare you, bursting in here like some sort of lowborn, mannerless chit. Margaret, escort our niece to her room. I will deal with you both later.”

  Instead of jumping to his bidding, Aunt Margaret crossed her arms in a show of protest. “I do believe I’d like to hear what the girl has to say, dear brother. Eleanor?”

  Well done, Aunt Margaret! Nick stared in shock at his normally impeccably-mannered aunt. And he wasn’t the only one. From behind his desk, Malcolm sputtered in outrage, unable to even come up with a proper response.

  “Thank you, Aunt,” Eleanor said primly before returning her full attention to her uncle. Her spine was ramrod straight, her chin lifted and her shoulders back. “Listen to me, and listen well. If you think today’s scene reflected badly upon you, you can’t even imagine what I will do if you so much as harm one hair on Nicolas’s head, or seek to injure his prospects.”

  She took a step closer to the desk, forcing Malcolm to look up to her. “I will happily bring shame to this entire family if it means making you pay for what you did to my mother, and what you tried to do to me and my sister.”