The Saint of St. Giles

by Millard, Nadine

  “Robert, I wanted to apologise for my outburst last night.” Alison jumped straight into her apology, wanting to get it over with. “I never meant to cause a scene, and I feel just awful that you and your friend argued because of me.”

  “We didn’t argue because of you, Ally.” Robert smiled kindly. “We argued because Nic is losing his mind. It’s really quite entertaining.”

  Alison frowned in confusion.

  She was relieved that Robert wasn’t cross with her, but his cryptic remarks, along with Abigail’s, only served to confuse her.

  Talk turned to Charlotte, to their upcoming attendance at Almack’s, to Alison’s visit to the mantua maker. But Alison barely joined in.

  She was feeling unsettled. Even a little listless.

  Here she had London at her feet. Handsome gentlemen like Lord Fulham dancing attendance on her. Vouchers to Almack’s and invitations to every possible social event.

  She should be happy. Excited and anticipating all the marvellous things she would experience.

  Once again, she had allowed the Duke of Barnbury and his obvious disdain affect her far more than he should be allowed to.

  “So, Ally. Shopping in an hour?”

  Abigail’s question interrupted Alison’s maudlin thoughts.

  She gave her sister the brightest smile she could manage.

  “Wonderful,” she said.

  And it would be. She would make sure of it.

  If Lord Barnbury wanted to accuse her of being shallow and frivolous, then she would show him just how frivolous she could be.

  “What’s all this I hear about you actually showing some emotion last night? And in public, too.”

  Nicholas looked up from his tumbler of brandy to see James Harrington, Marquess of Avondale grinning down at him.

  Alison’s cousin.

  With the same blonde hair and blue eyes.

  Marvellous.

  Nic stood to shake James’s hand then signalled for another glass.

  “You’ve only just arrived?” he asked as they both took a seat at the table in White’s, avoiding James’s question.

  “Last night,” James answered. “Abby and Alison called on Senna this morning to go shopping.”

  Nic’s stomach flipped uncomfortably.

  “And they told you about last night?”

  “No. Robert came with them to tell me.”

  “He’s worse than a Society biddy with his gossiping,” Nic groused, earning himself a raised brow.

  “I see he was right then,” James said carefully.

  A servant arrived with a clean tumbler and a second bottle of brandy. He must have sensed that Nic needed it.

  “Right about what?” he asked, trying to remain as calm as ever.

  “About how you’ve changed. You’re different. Something, or someone, is bothering you.”

  Nic didn’t know what to say.

  What could he say?

  Your cousin is tying me in knots. I’m feeling things I haven’t felt in years, maybe not ever. I’m terrified by how much I want her.

  None of those seemed particularly appropriate things to say to a lady’s overprotective cousin.

  “Nothing is bothering me, James,” he said, fighting to keep his tone even. “I don’t trust Fulham and was surprised that Robert was encouraging the man’s suit. But it is, of course, none of my business.”

  James frowned in response to the mention of Fulham.

  “Robert didn’t know anything about her invitation to Fulham until the bastard showed up,” he said. “And he was about as happy about it as you apparently were.”

  “Yet he accompanied them, James, and you know as well as I do that Robert is the last person to be bothered by good manners or expectations.” He paused. “Apart from Simon,” he added, in the interest of honesty.

  “Yes, and you know as well as I do that Robert is defenceless in the face of Abigail’s wants. She agreed to let him join them. And Rob wasn’t going to say no to that.”

  James rolled his eyes, and Nic had to laugh in spite of himself.

  “Do you really think you’re in a position to judge?” he asked dryly, laughing again at James’s shamed face.

  “That’s beside the point.” James grinned. “The good news is that Fulham will not be invited to join Alison at any event again. Won’t get near her, if I have anything to do with it.”

  For a moment, James looked fierce and intimidating, not like his usual affable self.

  It made Nic feel slightly better, even though he shouldn’t be affected at all by what Alison Langton did or with whom she spent time.

  “But here’s the thing.”

  Nic’s relief was short lived as James sat forward. His clear blue eyes, the exact colour of Alison’s, bored into him.

  “I know why I was unhappy to hear that Alison was throwing her lot in with Fulham. And I know why Robert was unhappy.”

  Nic refused to break eye contact. Refused to adjust his suddenly too-tight cravat.

  “But I can’t for the life of me figure out why it was bothering you so much.”

  Nic swallowed hard.

  James wanted an explanation, which was all well and good. But Nic didn’t have one, because Nic couldn’t figure it out either.

  “I suppose I’ve just gotten used to watching out for you all over the years,” he said finally.

  James studied him carefully before nodding and sitting back in his chair.

  “You have rather taken care of us all at one point or another over the years.” He smiled. Nic thought he detected a hint of sadness or, God forbid, pity in the expression. “No wonder Simon has dubbed you Saint Nic.”

  Bloody Simon and his monikers. He was the only one who’d ever been proud of his.

  “I’m no saint,” Nic grumbled. And it was true.

  He hadn’t been saint-like in his youth, impregnating Ciara and then failing her.

  And he felt as far from saint-like as was possible when he thought about Alison Langton and those eyes, that hair, that mouth…

  “I really wouldn’t know, since you don’t exactly share much about your private life.”

  Another thing Nic really didn’t want to discuss.

  He wasn’t sure why he withheld his work in St. Giles from his friends. He knew they would approve. Maybe even offer to help.

  Perhaps it was because it was so personal to him. So much to do with Ciara and the baby. He didn’t want to have to tell them about her. He would go to his grave never speaking a word of it to anyone.

  It was just easier to keep people out of his life as much as he could.

  Nobody could get hurt that way.

  James sighed again.

  “As you said, Nic, you’ve looked after us all. Not that I’ve given you much trouble. But – you need to look after yourself, too. And whilst I don’t want to interfere, let me just say that if you were to grow to care for Alison – well, none of us would object.”

  Nic’s heart thumped painfully at James’s words.

  Damn it all.

  Had he been giving the impression that he cared for the girl?

  That wouldn’t do.

  “James, I think there has been a misunderstanding. I –”

  “No misunderstanding. Just me thinking out loud.”

  James stood and clapped Nic on the back.

  “I believe we are all to attend Almack’s tomorrow evening. Perhaps we’ll see you there.”

  Nic didn’t respond, merely watched James as he weaved his way through the tables on his way out the door.

  If his friends were starting to think he was forming an attachment to Miss Langton, then he needed to stay away from her even more than he’d been doing.

  In short, wherever she was, he needed not to be.

  The Season couldn’t last forever.

  And he would just avoid her until she either married or went back home.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nic was angrier with himself today than he’d been at the thea
tre.

  Why was he standing in the bloody ballroom of Almack’s Assembly Rooms?

  Why hadn’t he stayed away, like he was going to?

  The major domo announced the arrival of the Duke and Duchess of Montvale, and Miss Alison Langton.

  And there she was. The reason he hadn’t stayed away.

  Alison.

  Nic swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

  She was ethereal. More beautiful than anyone he’d ever seen.

  Her golden hair was piled in curls atop her head with loose tendrils brushing her bare shoulders, designed he was sure, to send him to Bedlam.

  The gown was exquisite. The ice-blue silk making her eyes look like giant pools of the clearest water. Eyes a man could drown in, if he were foolish enough to fall into them.

  He watched as a bevy of debutantes rushed forward to take Alison into their fold.

  It appeared that it wasn’t just the gentlemen of the ton who had fallen at her feet.

  Speaking of said gentlemen, Nic watched them circling as soon as Alison had arrived. They were like damned bloodhounds, catching her scent the moment she walked through the door.

  And it did nothing for his much-lauded equilibrium to see how they drooled over her.

  He kept his distance as she was introduced to the patronesses.

  These women could, he knew, make or ruin her. If they approved, she was sure to be considered an Incomparable. If they didn’t, she could face social obscurity.

  It was nonsense. But it was the world in which they lived.

  The surge of protectiveness Nic felt as she walked toward them, her chin jutted out, her head high, was ridiculous.

  He felt protective of the children he rescued in St. Giles, the women who saw and did things no human should have to.

  That made sense.

  This urge to rush over there and throw his weight behind Alison Langton did not.

  Besides, she was the sister-in-law of the Duke of Montvale and the cousin of the Marquess of Avondale. She didn’t need him.

  Still, his palms grew clammy, his nervousness acute as he watched the patronesses study Alison.

  After a taut few moments, he saw them smile, and he was shocked at the pride and relief that coursed through him.

  She looked so pleased that a tenderness he didn’t want to feel wormed its way into his heart.

  “Hello, Nic.”

  Nicholas turned at the sound of a voice behind him and smiled down at Senna Harrington, who looked stunning in emerald green.

  “Senna, it’s good to see you.” Nic’s smile was genuine as he kissed the young marchioness’s cheek.

  It was hard to believe that only three years ago, James and Senna hadn’t even known each other.

  Now, after tragedy brought them together and made them both wards of their niece Poppy, they were happily married and expecting a child of their own.

  Nicholas had always liked Senna. And she had earned his unending respect and gratitude when she’d risked her own life to save James’s.

  “It looks like Alison has received the approval of the patronesses.” Senna nodded her head toward where Alison stood, a red curl slipping over her brow with the action.

  “Indeed,” Nic answered, refusing to look over lest he give himself away.

  “And they’re not the only ones who approve,” Senna laughed. “Goodness. Her dance card will be filled before she opens it at this rate.”

  This time, Nic couldn’t help himself, and he glared over in time to see Fulham, of all people, approach Alison, a predatory look on his face.

  “Right, that’s it,” he said, and without even glancing back at Senna, he marched toward Alison and her many admirers.

  “Miss Langton.”

  She turned at the sound of his voice, her blue eyes gazing up at him, and damned if he didn’t feel the impact of them right in his very soul.

  “Good evening, your grace.”

  Her curtsy was perfectly executed, but Nic couldn’t help noticing the sparkle in her eyes had dimmed as soon as she’d looked at him.

  And in spite of himself, he missed it.

  “Would you do me the honour of dancing the next with me, Miss Langton?”

  Her eyes widened and for a moment, he thought he saw joy in their blue depths.

  But she blinked, and it was gone.

  “I’m afraid Miss Langton has already agreed to dance the next with me, your grace.”

  The nasally voice of Lord Fulham grated on Nicholas’s nerves, and he turned a cold stare on the man.

  Nicholas knew he was going to see his smug face again tonight or more likely, tomorrow morning when he’d staggered out of one of his usual haunts. The less than salubrious haunts that Nic kept an eye on.

  Nic didn’t have a problem with vices.

  Lord knew, he wouldn’t have been friends with Simon, of all people, if he had.

  But Simon only ever gamed at reputable hells. And never treated women of any class poorly.

  The same could not be said of the blackguard standing before him now.

  The orchestra plucked the opening strands of the waltz, something Alison should absolutely not be dancing with Fulham, and Nic could do nothing but watch as Fulham smirked insolently at him before taking hold of her arm and leading her to join the other dancers.

  Nicholas glared around the room.

  Where were her guardians? The ones who weren’t going to let Fulham near her?

  Robert was nowhere to be seen, and James had been unsurprisingly accosted by a group of matriarchs.

  The ton loved James. And at any given time, he could be found surrounded by more than one admirer.

  Stay out of it, Nicholas told himself. She’s none of your business.

  He looked back in the direction of the dancers, and his jaw clenched as he watched Fulham lean over to whisper in Alison’s ear.

  Didn’t the bastard have a care for her reputation? For what people would say seeing him paw at her in public? She had only just received the approval of Almack’s patronesses.

  He knew he should leave well enough alone.

  But reason had deserted him.

  He strode across the room, oblivious to everyone and everything but her.

  Fulham turned Alison to face him, his hand resting too low on her waist, her body pulled too close to his.

  Before they could move, Nic stepped forward and tapped the other man none-too-gently on the shoulder.

  He took a perverse sort of pleasure in Fulham’s scowl of displeasure.

  “What are you about, Barnbury?” the other man snapped.

  Nicholas gave him his haughtiest ducal glare and revelled in Fulham’s gulp.

  “The lady is dancing this set with me,” he said quietly, firmly.

  There was a tense silence between the two gentlemen as Fulham obviously considered what to do.

  Finally, Nic saw defeat in the smaller man’s eyes and with a grimace of displeasure, Fulham turned and stomped away.

  Feeling rather smug, Nic turned to face Alison, a rare, genuine smile lighting his face.

  That smile quickly disappeared however in the face of her palpable anger. She was glaring at him, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed.

  She looked like an angry little kitten, harmless and endearing, though Nic instinctively knew not to say as much.

  The strains of the waltz echoed around the room, and Nic took Alison in his arms, finding it harder than ever to ignore the feeling of rightness of having her there.

  She was still glaring at him, still angry. But even knowing that she was furious with him couldn’t dampen the scorching desire that inflamed his very blood just from holding her like this.

  “What exactly do you think you’re doing, your grace?” she bit out, holding herself stiffly, head still tilted toward his so she could ontinue glaring at him.

  She was close enough that he could smell the floral scent of her, see the silver flecks in her eyes.

  “I’m dancing, Miss Langton,”
he answered evenly, rather enjoying himself now that she was away from Fulham and in his arms.

  Her eyes narrowed at his flippant response.

  “Yes, but I didn’t agree to dance this set with you. I agreed to dance it with Lord Fulham.”

  “But he’s not here,” he answered smoothly, allowing himself a small smile. “I am.”

  “Because you ran him off,” she bit out angrily.

  “You know, I’m starting to get mightily offended, Miss Langton. One would think you didn’t wish to dance with me.”

  Her mouth popped open, and it took all of his strength not to dip his head and capture it with his own.

  That night on Simon’s balcony when she’d pressed her lips against his own still haunted him.

  It hadn’t been a kiss. Not a real one. He’d been so shocked by her actions, and his reaction to it, that he hadn’t even responded. Merely pushed her away and refused to let himself think on it again.

  But if he kissed her now–

  “I rather thought it would be the other way around,” she said eventually, interrupting his thoughts. “You don’t exactly give the impression that you crave my company, your grace.”

  Nic sobered at the hurt in her tone.

  Though her comment had been, he was sure, intended as light-hearted, there was no denying the truth in it.

  It was unfair of him, he knew. To blow hot and cold on her. To ignore and disparage her one moment, then act like a jealous beau the next.

  The truth was that he did crave her company. But he shouldn’t.

  Still, his turmoil was not her fault.

  Had he not felt this intense, heated, overwhelming attraction to her the second he’d met her, he would have been more courteous, Nic knew.

  Wasn’t courtesy what he was famed for, after all? As the cousin of one close friend, and the sister-in-law of another, he would have paid more attention to Alison. Danced with her more. Been nicer. Actually had more than a ten-second conversation with her.

  An uncomfortable guilt gnawed at him. And not the guilt that lived within his soul every day. But a new one. One borne of his bad behaviour and not the tragic circumstances of his past.

  He looked down into the beautiful face of the woman in his arms and realised she was awaiting an answer.

  He could try to say something charming, flirtatious even, like Simon would. Or give her a disarming smile, like James.