Why was he so sombre? Why was he single when he was almost ridiculously handsome? Why did he dislike her so?
It couldn’t be because of what she’d said about him.
He had disliked her long before that.
From the moment they’d met in Dashford, she’d sensed his dislike coming off him in waves.
For someone who had always been treated well, spoiled even, by everyone she’d ever met, it had been quite disconcerting.
Every time she’d looked at him – and she had looked at him a lot – he’d been glowering.
And when she had tried to make conversation with him, he’d been blunt to the point of almost rudeness.
This wouldn’t be such a concer for her if she didn’t keep hearing from all corners about how polite and lovely and respectful the incomparable Duke of Barnbury was.
To everyone but her, apparently.
Alison had been so uncomfortable about it that she’d begged Robert to return to Montvale after Amelia’s wedding to Lord Dashford.
They had meant to travel to London so Alison could get acquainted with the place before this year’s Season.
But upon learning that the Duke of Barnbury never went home to Ireland and instead spent almost all his time in the capital, Alison had wanted to return to Montvale and hide herself away from the man.
She’d annoyed herself with the request, never having been the type to run away before. And as soon as they’d returned to Montvale, she’d felt utterly foolish.
Having spent the last year convincing herself that she’d misremembered how odd she’d felt in Lord Barnbury’s presence, how affected she was by those navy-blue eyes and broad shoulders, his reappearance had come as something of a shock.
The scowl, however, hadn’t. Nor had her unfortunate reaction to him.
She wanted to hate him as much as he clearly hated her.
Yet she’d watched him with Lottie, and her heart had flipped over at the sight of those big, strong arms holding her tiny niece.
Perhaps it was only because she’d been shamelessly watching him so closely, but Alison was sure she’d seen a flash of desolation in his eyes as he’d gazed at the precious bundle.
Though when he’d looked back up at Rob and Abby, pointedly not at Ally, he’d seemed once more coolly in control of himself.
She might have imagined it, she supposed.
According to everyone, his grace handled everyone and everything with perfect equanimity.
It seemed she was the only recipient of anything other than perfectly controlled politeness.
And inevitably, when Alison got a whiff of a challenge, she wanted to win.
Abigail was chattering away, talking about the invitations that had already arrived, the appointments she’d made with mantua makers and milliners and a plethora of other people needed to make Alison a success.
Alison was only half listening.
Her mind was churning with thoughts of the duke.
He seemed determined to dislike her, to avoid her.
And that made her determined to find out why.
She usually got what she wanted.
And, she decided, answers from the inscrutable duke would be no exception.
Chapter Five
“Are these parties always like this?”
Alison practically had to shout to her sister to be heard over the cacophony of sound in Lady Freeman’s ballroom.
Her first social event, only a day after they’d arrived in London, was a veritable crush.
“It’s because people have only just arrived in Town,” Abigail assured her. “I would never usually pick such an event to attend because Lady Freeman has a terrible habit of inviting everything with a pulse. But we did want you to be seen, dear. And this is the best place for it.”
Alison cast her gaze once more over the ever-growing crowd.
There were certainly plenty of people to be seen by.
She studied them all, her eyes colliding with more than one impudent stare.
The men in New York had been similarly forward, and she’d hated it then, too.
Judging by Robert’s scowls and muffled oaths, he didn’t particularly like it, either.
“Darling, why don’t you go and see if Nic has arrived.” Abigail smiled up at her husband.
Alison watched in envious fascination as Robert’s expression went from murderous to adoring as he looked at his wife.
“I’m not going to leave you alone,” he said, his hand reaching up to brush his knuckles along Abby’s cheek.
It was an intimate moment, but Alison had long given up on feeling awkward around the pair.
They were like this together, always.
And they weren’t the only ones.
James and Senna could barely keep their hands off each other, and Simon constantly looked as though he wanted to devour his wife on the spot.
Alison had always believed that English lords were reserved and cold, even prudish.
Yet Abigail’s circle flew in the face of the strictures that Society tried to impose on husbands and wives.
They were all affectionate.
She knew Robert and Abigail didn’t sleep in separate rooms and was certain none of the others did either.
The way James and Senna doted on Poppy was certainly not in keeping with traditional ton parents.
And as for Abby and Rob with Lottie – they had to be dragged away from the baby this evening and seemed to spend all their time adoring her.
Alison adored her, too, of course.
The very best part about coming to England had been staying with Abigail during her pregnancy then meeting little Lottie afterward.
And she’d grown close to Abby, too. Closer than they’d ever been at home under the disapproving, disinterested watch of their parents.
“I’m afraid to leave the two of you alone, lest the wolves descend,” Robert said darkly, sending one such wolf scurrying with an infamous glower.
“And who amongst them would be brave enough to risk the ire of the Monster of Montvale?” Abigail quipped mischievously. “Truly, my love. If you do not leave, nobody will come near Alison. You’ll frighten them all away.”
“I don’t see why that’s necessarily a bad thing,” Rob argued.
“Well, call me old fashioned, but I’d prefer if my sister got a chance to speak to a man before deciding on him as a husband.”
Robert looked as though he would argue again, but then he sighed wearily.
“Fine. I’ll go and see if Nic has arrived. Alison, please keep your wits about you.”
Alison nodded dutifully, saving her smile for when her overprotective brother-in-law had already marched away.
“Honestly, what does he think I’ll be foolish enough to do?” she whispered to Abby as soon as the coast was clear.
“Who knows?” Abby shrugged. “Truthfully, he’s barely spent more time in Society than you have. By the time I came to London for my Season, we were already betrothed. Before that, he wouldn’t have been caught dead near Town unless he had business at Parliament. Last year, as you know, we spent more time at Dashford than London.”
Abigail looked fondly after her retreating husband, who stood at least a head taller than almost every other man in the room.
She turned back to Alison.
“So, this is all rather new for him. I think he’s secretly enjoying being a big brother.”
Abigail’s cornflower-blue eyes, so like Alison’s own, darkened suddenly, and Alison remembered the tragic tale of Robert’s sister’s drowning.
Hating to see the sadness dull her sister’s eyes, Alison reached out and plucked two glasses of champagne from a passing servant’s tray.
“Then perhaps I should misbehave, just a little, so that he gets the full experience of being a fussy older brother?” She grinned.
Clinking her glass against Abby’s, Alison laughed at her sister’s expression of mischievous delight.
It was time to make an impression on London Society.
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Nicholas scowled across the ballroom; his mood darker than it had been in years.
Well, no, that wasn’t strictly true.
In a year.
Since the last time the mere presence of Alison Langton had driven him mad, to be precise.
He had very nearly not come to the ball tonight. But he’d promised Rob, and Nicholas had never let anyone down in his life. Not since Ciara and their child.
He spent his entire life not letting people down. Or trying not to, at least.
And so, he’d armed himself with the reminder that he wasn’t the type of man to get distracted by a pretty face or a smart mouth and entered the ballroom.
The second Nic had seen Alison Langton bedecked in white satin, looking for all the world like an angel, he’d felt that odd sensation he’d felt before stir to life inside him. A sensation he chose to ignore because, he reminded himself once again, he wasn’t the type of man to be distracted by a pretty face or a smart mouth.
He’d been here a while and had yet to seek out his friend.
Instead he’d slipped in, refusing to be announced, wanting to avoid the inevitable fuss.
Being a duke, and a single one under the age of ninety at that, had its downsides.
Though Nic spent all his time now in London, futilely trying to assuage the guilt leftover from past mistakes, though he visited the worst, most depraved and treacherous pits of humanity London had to offer, nowhere was more dangerous to a single Peer with deep pockets than Town in the midst of the Marriage Mart.
Burying himself in a corner, as much as a man of over six feet could bury himself, Nic had allowed his navy-blue eyes to scan the ballroom.
It was a crush.
There were people everywhere.
Shrieks of laughter, shouts of greeting, and the valiant strains of an orchestra trying to be heard above the cacophony permeated the room.
And throughout it all, Nic’s gaze searched for her.
And when he found her, his mood did not improve.
She was beautiful. Ethereal even. He knew it, and she knew it, too.
He watched while she laughed with her sister.
Watched as tongues began to hang out all around her, ignoring the red-hot anger that induced.
Nic never felt red-hot anger. He was careful not to feel too much of anything.
But he had to admit, to himself at least, that the lascivious stares being sent Miss Langton’s way were trying his patience more than most things did.
Suddenly, he spotted Rob cutting a path through the crowd toward him.
Nic couldn’t contain his smile as the haute monde scurried out of the Monster of Montvale’s way.
Rob couldn’t be more different to the man he was before Abby, but he was even less fond of these things than Nic and could still pull out a scowl of displeasure to scare even the bravest of souls.
“You look as happy to be here as I feel,” Nic said by way of greeting, as Rob shook his hand briefly then turned to take in the crowd.
“I used to think I’d have enjoyed taking Gina to London for her first Come Out,” Rob said darkly by way of answer.
It was yet another testament to the change in the young duke that he would speak so freely of the sister whose death had made him the monster he’d been.
“But having to deal with the slobbering over Ally is proving that particular notion wrong. If I make it through the Season without shooting at least five of these little pups it will be a miracle.”
Rob’s sentiment matched Nic’s own, though, of course, he couldn’t confess such a thing.
Instead, he needed to do what he did best – be calm, reasonable, and sensible.
“You brought her here so that she could have a Season,” he reminded Rob gently. “This is exactly what you wanted. You must have known she’d be a sensation.”
Rob muttered an oath under his breath.
“I knew,” he sighed. “I’m not blind. But – well, look.”
Nic didn’t need to be asked twice.
He moved his eyes back to find Miss Langton was now surrounded by a veritable sea of gentlemen.
Once more, his anger attempted to flare. Once more, he ruthlessly tamped it down.
“You’ll have your hands full, of that there is no doubt.” His voice sounded strained even to his own ears.
Thankfully, Rob didn’t seem to notice.
“We need to be careful here, Nic,” Rob said, a touch desperately. “Ally is young. And, though I’m mightily fond of her, she’s a little spoilt. According to Abby, of the three sisters, Alison was the only one who received any sort of affection from her mother. Though even that was fleeting. But she isn’t used to having her behaviour reined in, and I fear that she’s too naïve to understand the potential danger of certain men of the ton.”
The description of Miss Langton was exactly what Nic suspected it would be; a spoilt Society princess who was used to people fawning over her.
Yet even as he scowled in her direction, he couldn’t help but notice the candlelight dance over her golden curls, or the sparkle in her cornflower eyes.
The way the angelic-looking white gown skimmed her body, making him feel anything but angelic.
This would not do. He could give Simon a run for his money in the inappropriate stakes if he allowed his thoughts to continue this way.
And that meant he needed to be as far away from the chit as was possible.
He dragged his thoughts and body back under his iron control and concentrated on his friend’s words. Which is why he noticed Rob’s use of the word ‘we.’
“That sounds a lot like your problem, Rob, and nothing to do with me.”
Robert glared at him.
“You cannot be serious,” he said. “You know I can’t keep an eye on her myself. Abby was a hoyden, Nic, and Alison makes her look like an angel. How can you expect me to deal with that, and a new baby?”
“If she behaves scandalously, you’ll just ship her back to her father, no?”
“And suffer the wrath of my darling wife?” Rob asked wryly. “No, Alison wants her Season, and she’ll get it. Vauxhall Gardens, ices at Gunther’s, shopping on Bond Street, dancing at Almack’s. She’ll want to do it all, I’m sure. And you are going to help me.”
Nic felt the beginnings of a headache behind his eyes.
“Rob, look at her.”
They both looked back in the direction of Miss Langton.
If possible, it looked as though there were even more gentlemen clamouring for her attention now. And amongst them, some faces Nic would definitely not describe as gentlemen.
His fists clenched of their own accord.
“I hardly think you need my help in escorting the chit,” he continued now, through gritted teeth. “She will hardly be short of company.”
Rob sighed and turned back to face him, his face serious, his grey eyes imploring.
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” he answered. “And that’s exactly why I need you.”
Chapter Six
The English Season was exactly what Alison had imagined in would be.
Or at least Lady Freeman’s ball was.
Her first foray into the beau monde of England was going very well.
She watched, pleased yet somewhat bemused, as four gentlemen dashed off to fetch some punch for her, whilst another tried to tell her some convoluted story about Tattersall’s of all places, and yet more simply stared at her in a way that was less flattering than it was uncomfortable.
Abigail had been dragged off to speak to an acquaintance of the Dowager Duchess of Montvale, who wouldn’t arrive until the month’s end.
Robert had disappeared ages ago to play cards with the Duke of Barnbury.
Perhaps that was why Ally felt so on edge.
She was torn between wanting to be as far away from the stern duke as possible and wanting to throw herself into his path at every opportunity.
Though she should want to avoid him and his obvious disli
ke of her, the challenge he presented was too tempting. As was the need to know just why she annoyed him so.
She wasn’t used to people just not liking her, though she did realise how unbearably smug that would sound if said aloud.
But more than that, as far as she knew, she’d given him no reason to feel that way about her.
From almost the first moment she’d met him in Lord Dashford’s Liverpool manor, he’d been closed off, disapproving, and just not terribly nice.
It was disconcerting. Not least because much as he made it painfully obvious that he would never desire her company, Alison couldn’t help herself from being drawn to the man.
Perhaps she was just plain shallow. After all, anyone with eyes could see how sinfully handsome he was with his navy-blue eyes, chestnut hair, rock solid muscles, and chiselled jaw.
Was she really so vacuous that she would dismiss everything about a man in favour of how well he looked?
All evening she had felt her gaze drawn around the room, searching for him.
Foolish in the extreme, given that he’d only bidden her the briefest of good evenings before rushing off.
Her dance card had been filled inordinately quickly, and though that both flattered and pleased her, she couldn’t help but be disappointed that Lord Barnbury hadn’t requested a set.
“Gentlemen, please excuse me. I simply must borrow my sister.”
Abigail’s timely interruption of Mr – Mr – oh, Mr. Somebody’s description of good horseflesh couldn’t have come at a better time.
With a general goodbye and a fluttering of her lashes, Alison hurried after her sister.
“Thank you,” she sighed emphatically when they were out of earshot of the gentlemen. “I was full sure I’d fall asleep standing up listening to the correct way to buy a horse at Tattersall’s!”
“Yes, well. I saw your eyes glaze over and thought I should come to the rescue. Who are you to dance the supper waltz with?” Abigail held out a gloved hand for Ally’s dance card.
Alison duly handed it over.
“I haven’t accepted any offers for the supper waltz,” she replied. “After your dire warnings about displeasing the patronesses of Almack’s, I thought it safer to wait until I’d received their permission to dance it.”
The Saint of St. Giles Page 4