The Saint of St. Giles

by Millard, Nadine

  She heaved a breath then looked around her.

  “I’m afraid these will go to waste, your grace.”

  “Nonsense,” he answered immediately. “You wanted to try them all, and I would have been remiss had I not made sure that your first Gunther’s experience was everything you could possibly want.”

  She beamed at him, and he had to swallow past a sudden lump in his throat.

  “Do you think we could drop the formal title?” he suddenly blurted. “I hate it at the best of times.”

  “But that wouldn’t be at all proper, your grace,” she said then her mouthed lifted in an expression that was pure devilment. “And we know you are such a champion of propriety.”

  He couldn’t help the answering quirk of his own lips.

  “You are a hoyden, Miss Langton,” he scolded with faux seriousness. “But I think buying up the whole tearoom should at least get me a Christian name.”

  She giggled, shaking her head.

  “Very well,” she conceded. “I shall call you Nicholas. And you shall call me Alison.”

  The idea pleased Nic more than it should and not trusting himself to speak, he merely nodded.

  They spent an enjoyable ten minutes laughingly tasting the rapidly melting ices.

  Eventually, however, they had to admit defeat, and Nic signalled for the servants to come and collect the trays and glasses.

  “I feel ashamed to have wasted so much of it,” Alison said. “But I couldn’t eat another bite.”

  “Did we at least succeed in finding your favourite?” he asked.

  She bit her lip in concentration while she considered the options, and it was all Nic could do not to groan aloud at the action.

  Finally, she shrugged.

  “I cannot pick one,” she said. “There were far too many delicious choices.”

  “Well then, we’ll just try again next time,” he said.

  Her eyes snapped up to his, and he could see clearly the delight swimming in their depths.

  “Next time?” she asked.

  Nic’s heart hammered in his chest.

  He smiled softly down at her.

  “Next time,” he said.

  As they drove home, Alison chattered beside him the entire way.

  Her joie de vivre was infectious, and Nic found himself laughing out loud at her outrageous statements and opinions on life as an American in England.

  He forgot about being self-contained. Forgot about always been sombre and serious. He just talked and laughed and enjoyed the company of the woman he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for a year.

  When they reached Robert’s townhouse, only steps from his own, Nic was surprised at how disappointed he was to be saying goodbye to her.

  He jumped from the phaeton, tossing the reins to a waiting footman, then hurried around to lift her down.

  She weighed nothing at all and as his hands spanned her waist and he lifted her, placing her slowly on her feet, the flame of his desire crackled to life.

  He wanted more than anything to bend his head and capture her mouth in a kiss that he was sure would change him for life.

  It was only sheer force of will keeping him from doing so.

  And that force of will was weakening by the second.

  “Alison, I –”

  “Ah, there you are.”

  Nic swore softly under his breath as Rob appeared in the doorway of his house.

  Though his friend looked calm enough, Nic didn’t miss that he was watching them quite shrewdly.

  He stepped away from Alison, cursing his friend’s interruption.

  It might have been wishful thinking, but he could have sworn he saw regret in Alison’s eyes, too.

  Might it be possible that she had wanted his kiss?

  She turned away from him and darted up the steps and into the house, leaving him to trail behind her.

  Once he reached eye level with Robert, Nic found he couldn’t hold his friend’s speculative stare, and he stepped inside the house without invitation, never having needed one.

  He followed a glimpse of lemon toward the drawing room, his feet pulling him after her, even before his mind caught up.

  This, he knew, was not good.

  Dropping his guard for one afternoon had made him even more susceptible to her.

  Feelings that he’d been able to bury were becoming harder to ignore. Terrifying, impossible feelings.

  “Drink?”

  He jumped at the sound of Robert’s voice just behind him.

  “What are you doing, sneaking up on me?” he snapped.

  “I didn’t sneak up on you,” Robert answered. There was a slight pause. “Perhaps you were just distracted.”

  The astute look in Robert’s grey eyes made Nic nervous, and he cleared his throat.

  “And you must stay and dine with us, Nic,” this from Abby, who was sitting beside Alison on a chaise by the window.

  The sisters were incredibly alike with matching bright blonde hair and big, blue eyes.

  Why then could he look at Abigail, see how beautiful she was, and feel nothing?

  Why did he look at Alison and feel like she was a part of him he hadn’t even known was missing?

  A panic began to claw at him, slithering along his veins and making his heart beat faster.

  He’d never considered himself a coward, but these feelings were scaring him. He needed to get away from here. Away from her.

  “Oh, yes.” Alison smiled up at him, her blue eyes so trusting, “Please, do.”

  Nic’s heart was thundering, terrified at the changes this slip of a girl had wrought in him.

  He’d abandoned his responsibilities to take her out for the afternoon. Now, after swearing to himself that he’d never love again he was –

  Nic shied away from a feeling he wasn’t ready to face.

  “I can’t,” he blurted.

  Robert, Abigail, and Alison frowned in confusion at his outburst.

  “I-I have somewhere to be. If you’ll excuse me?”

  With the briefest of bows, and avoiding eye contact with Alison, he turned and rushed from the room as though the hounds of Hell were chasing him, putting as much distance as possible between himself and everything he was feeling in that room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Gracious, Ally. What did you do to him?”

  Alison shrugged helplessly, trying to mask the hurt and disappointment she was feeling.

  It was foolish, of course, to be hurt because the man wasn’t staying to dinner.

  But – well, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been running away just now.

  Where could he need to be at this hour? It was too late to call on anyone, and Abby had said that Nicholas tended to attend the same events as they.

  There was nothing to rush away for that evening.

  The only thing happening worth any notice was a musical evening at Lady Amberley’s, something Robert refused to attend on the grounds that he wasn’t sure he’d wake from the sleep the event would induce. And if Robert wasn’t going to attend, then the chances were Nicholas wasn’t going to, either.

  Alison had had no objections to attending the evening with her sister earlier.

  Whilst she’d been awaiting Nicholas’s arrival, she wouldn’t have objected to anything.

  Now – well now that he’d run off, an uneventful evening filled with nothing but music and time to obsess about the confounding duke didn’t sound all that appealing.

  She remembered what Lord Fulham had said the other day, about Nic being an avid gambler who frequented the hells around St. Giles.

  It just didn’t seem true to her. He was always so conscientious, so proper. Would he really be the type of man who haphazardly gambled all the time?

  It wasn’t that she objected, per se. It just seemed out of character.

  The other alternative was that he was frequenting another type of establishment in The Rookery. Something she probably shouldn’t know about, being
a young, unmarried lady.

  But she wasn’t naïve, and she wasn’t stupid.

  She should have asked him about it. It would bother her until she knew the truth. Niggle at her like an itch she couldn’t scratch. But she was too afraid of hearing something she didn’t want to know. Too afraid that the truth would hurt her somehow.

  Alison jumped to her feet, angry at herself for overthinking everything so much. This was exactly why she needed to go out this evening. To be distracted from any and all thoughts of Nicholas Fyfe.

  “Shall we get ready to go, Abigail? I’m quite looking forward to Lady Amberley’s musicale.”

  She rushed from the room, lest her sister ask her any more questions about the Duke of Barnbury.

  The last thing she wanted was to talk about him.

  “It’s just surprising, that’s all. He seems so different lately. And we don’t see him half as much as we used to.”

  Alison gritted her teeth as Abigail continued to prattle on about Nicholas.

  Ordinarily, she would be more than happy to discuss the duke in minor detail. But not tonight, when she needed a break from her thoughts and feelings about the exasperating man.

  “Good evening, your grace. Miss Langton.”

  Alison was relieved by the interruption and looked up to see Miss Harriet Billings smiling down at them.

  She had met Miss Billings at a few previous Society events. She was a pleasant, quiet girl. Not exactly riveting but nice enough and more importantly, a distraction from Abigail’s monologue about Nicholas.

  “Good evening, Miss Billings. How well you look tonight. Please, join us.” Abby indicated an empty chair beside Alison.

  Miss Billings took a seat, her ruffled skirts fanning out around her.

  “Are you enjoying the performances?” Alison asked.

  “Oh, yes.” Miss Billings smiled. “I confess myself rather nervous that I will be called upon. Mama likes me to play for people, but I get so anxious.”

  Alison’s heart went out to the young girl. Mrs. Billings certainly seemed to push her daughter into the centre of attention at any given opportunity. And Harriet Billings didn’t seem the type to enjoy that sort of thing.

  “I’m sure you will do wonderfully well.” Alison smiled.

  “Do you play or sing, Miss Langton?”

  She did, as it happened. And did both reasonably well. But she was of no mind to do so that evening.

  “I’m afraid not,” Alison said evenly, ignoring Abby’s raised brow. “But I look forward to hearing everyone else.”

  The ladies chatted for a while longer before Mrs. Billings marched over, demanding her daughter perform.

  Alison grimaced in support.

  Miss Billings, as it turned out, was a lovely singer and pianoforte player.

  Alison watched her, feeling desperately sorry for the girl whose cheeks were scarlet the entire time she performed.

  Afterwards, she was about to make her way over when she noticed Lord Fulham head in Harriet’s direction.

  If possible, the girl’s cheeks coloured further still.

  She looked well and truly dazzled by the blonde-haired lord.

  Lord Fulham had, until this evening, paid particularly close attention to Alison. Yet tonight, he had yet to speak to her.

  Alison wondered at herself for not caring a jot.

  She had no interest in Lord Fulham, or anyone else.

  As she watched, however, Lord Fulham’s gaze moved to hers as though watching for her reaction.

  Did he expect she’d be jealous? Should she be jealous?

  She huffed out a breath of consternation.

  As she had feared, Nicholas Fyfe had completely ruined her for anyone else.

  It had been three days.

  Three excruciating days.

  And though Nic had spent most of his time in St. Giles, throwing himself into his causes like never before, he had noticed every day. Every hour. Every second.

  Because they were days, hours, and seconds he spent away from Alison.

  It didn’t help that every morning when he opened the papers, he read something about his afternoon with her. Though he prided himself on not reading the scandal sheets, he hadn’t been able to resist a peek.

  Has London’s newest diamond achieved what none of us thought possible, and caught the attention of the bachelor duke?

  Has the mysterious Duke of B succumbed to cupid’s bow in the form of the blonde-haired, blue-eed American beauty who has taken Town by storm?

  It appears that with all of London falling at her feet, nobody is immune to the charms of Miss L. Why even our esteemed Lord B seems to have fallen for the lady’s favours.

  What the hell had happened to him?

  How had he gone from finding her spoilt and irritating to feeling like he couldn’t breathe without her around?

  They hadn’t even kissed, for God’s sake. Well, unless you counted the time she acosted him on Simon’s balcony over a year ago.

  Over the last couple of days, he had tried to convince himself that he was perhaps just starved of female company.

  But the idea of being with another woman didn’t appeal in the slightest. If anything, it made him feel bizarrely guilty for even considering it.

  So, he’d just skulked around the homes and hospitals he funded, feeling miserable and confused.

  The problem was that he’d come to actually like Alison Langton, beyond being more viscerally attracted to her than anyone before.

  Yes, she was playful and a little spoilt. But she was bright, and bubbly, and light-hearted. She loved her family; she was kind to everyone he saw her with. And spending time with her made him smile more than he had in years.

  But the fact remained, they were and always would be unsuited.

  The events of Nic’s life, the tragedy of Ciara’s loss, and the loss of his child had made Nic a completely different person. A person who wasn’t particularly interested in the glittering world to which he belonged. A person who had spent the last ten years of his life dedicated to helping those less fortunate, feeling guilty for the wealth and privilege to which he’d been born, and doing his best to share it around.

  Alison Langton had come here to find a husband who was at the centre of that world. She wanted parties and frivolity. A social life befitting a member of the Peerage.

  He couldn’t imagine her wanting to spend her days helping children from the streets, or prostitutes who found themselves in trouble.

  And he would never ask it of her.

  Nic barely had the stomach for some of the things he encountered on the streets of St. Giles. He would never wish to expose Alison to the things he witnessed. The depravity he was surrounded by every day of his life.

  And so, that left a gap between them that would never be closed. They were worlds apart from each other, in more ways than one.

  Nic didn’t know if he’d ever marry. Though he knew he had a duty to his title, he was happy to allow a cousin to inherit it all.

  If he left this world alone, on the periphery of his friends’ lives, then that would be enough for him. At least he knew that by keeping everyone at a distance, he couldn’t hurt them.

  He convinced himself of this.

  And then he imagined Alison at all the events she was sure to be attending. Bedecked in her finery and looking like an angel. The gentlemen of the ton falling at her feet.

  He imagined her choosing one of her many admirers. Marrying. Filling a nursery. Belonging to someone else.

  And the jealousy that tore through him was excruciating.

  Finally, now, after three days, he admitted defeat.

  He wanted to see her.

  Foolish though it was.

  He left his house, feeling lighter than he had in days at the mere prospect of being in her company, and walked the short distance to Robert’s.

  Though it was past the dinner hour, and nowhere near usual visiting times, Robert, James, Simon, and Nic had always treated each other’s h
omes like their own.

  Nobody would bat an eyelid at Nic turning up now.

  In fact, when the footman opened the door, nobody even suggested announcing him, given the late hour. There would be no member of the ton there to comment on the lack of ceremony, and so he strode toward the drawing room where he knew the family would be.

  Reaching the room, Nic opened the door and walked in.

  Robert and Abigail sprang apart, and judging from the flush on Abby’s cheeks, they had been doing something Nic would rather not think about.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” Nic said wryly, his eyes scanning the room.

  Surely they wouldn’t have been acting that way in front of Alison?

  The rest of the room was empty.

  She wasn’t here.

  “You are, as a matter of fact,” Robert said, pulling Abigail under his arm when she tried to move away.

  Nic ignored the altogether ridiculous envy that coursed through him at Rob’s freedom to act however he wanted with the woman he lov – well, never mind. His mind hastily skittered from that particular train of thought.

  He grinned at Rob’s grumpiness.

  At least Rob had the decency to stop. If he’d walked in on Simon and Amelia, he was sure he’d have gotten quite the show.

  Nic desperately wanted to ask about Alison, but he didn’t want to be too obvious, lest he raise questions he wasn’t willing or able to answer.

  “You are not out tonight?”

  Rob raised a brow. “Well,” he said with a smirk. “We’re here. So, no.”

  There was a tense silence as husband and wife merely gazed at him.

  “Y-you are alone? That is – you don’t have company?”

  Abigail frowned up at Rob in confusion. Nic didn’t blame her. It wasn’t as though he were making any sense.

  “Um, no,” she responded politely. “Lottie is abed. It is just us.”

  She must bloody well know he wasn’t enquiring about Lottie.

  Nic tried not to let any frustration show.

  There was another tense pause before Rob chuckled softy and moved to his drinks table.

  “If you want to know where Ally is, Nic, just ask.”

  Nic froze at Robert’s softly spoken words.

  He glanced at Abby, who was smiling at him, back to Rob, who had by now filled a tumbler of brandy and was holding it out to him.