The Saint of St. Giles

by Millard, Nadine

  “It’s fine,” he mumbled, hating himself for creating this void between them.

  Had it really only been weeks since he’d thought her a spoilt, selfish brat?

  How she had changed him, completely and irrevocably, in such a short space of time.

  The silence between them grew oppressive.

  And for the first time in ten years, Nic had no idea what to do. He felt lost and helpless. A feeling he didn’t like. A feeling he’d fought hard to overcome for most of his adult life.

  In the end, he wasn’t the one to break it.

  “What happened, Nic?”

  He had a choice to make.

  He could do what he’d always done and keep that part of his life locked away. Free from pity and prying eyes. He could preserve the memory of Ciara and the idea of his babe without the ugliness of what had happened encroaching on it.

  Or he could, for once in his life, allow someone in. Share the burden of his grief and sacrifice some of the rigidity of his control over his emotions.

  He gazed across the carriage at the beautiful woman who had snuck into his heart without him even noticing.

  He didn’t want to sully her with the ugly realities of the lives around here.

  But it was temping; the idea of letting someone else share the load he carried.

  Suddenly, Alison leaned forward and gripped his hand in her own tiny one.

  “You’re so strong for everyone else, Nic.” She looked up at him, her eyes glistening. “But you cannot keep all of your own troubles hidden away. The people who care about you, who – who love you –” His heart stuttered at the word. “They would want to know. To understand.”

  He shook his head.

  “There’s no point. It was a long time ago,” he muttered.

  “Yes, and it has affected you every day since, I’ll warrant,” she persisted. “It’s why you take care of everyone. Why you put so much effort into helping the people here.”

  She was right. There was no point in denying it.

  “But you’re allowed to be vulnerable, Nic,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You’re allowed to grieve and take strength from others. Take strength from me.”

  “I don’t want you hearing this,” he said stubbornly. “I never wanted you around all of this.”

  “Well, that’s too bad,” she said, sitting back and dropping his hand. And damned if he didn’t want to snatch it right back. “Because I know about the children now, and I’ve promised to come back and play for them. And –” She raised her voice when he opened his mouth to object. “Mrs. Cafferty has promised to show me the women’s home and the hospitals you’ve built.”

  “Alison –”

  “I want to do this, Nic,” she interrupted softly. “But I can promise not to do it without you. If you really don’t want me here, then I won’t come back. But I’m asking you to let me be a part of it. I’ll never come without you. And I know I’ll not be in any danger when I’m with you.”

  Oh God.

  Her words were like a dagger to the heart.

  She was so trusting. So willing to put her safety in his hands so she could come here and give of herself to people less fortunate.

  But how could he be sure he’d be able to protect her when he couldn’t protect Ciara and his unborn child?

  He didn’t deserve Alison’s trust.

  “I won’t make you take me back here,” she reiterated, unaware of the maelstrom of emotions he was caught in. “And I won’t make you tell me about your past. But I want you to let me in. The decision is yours.”

  They faced each other across the carriage, only inches separating them, yet it felt like so much more.

  He knew then that he was going to tell her, just as he knew he was going to bring her back here as often as she wanted.

  Because, whether he was willing to admit it to her or not, Nic was never going to be able to tell her no.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Nicholas raced through the streets of London, ignoring shouts of protest as his stallion pounded the ground, dodging carriages and people as he went.

  It wasn’t safe to ride at breakneck speed, of course, but he was beyond caring.

  He’d found her!

  After months of searching, he’d found her.

  His child would be born by now. He didn’t even know if it was a son or daughter, and he didn’t care.

  All that mattered was his sleepless nights, the money spent, the trips up and down the length and breadth of Ireland and England had finally produced results.

  When word had arrived in a short note from his investigator that a young girl confirmed to be Ciara Connelly had been found in The Rookery, Nic hadn’t even bade his friends farewell.

  He simply got up from the table at James’s townhouse and bolted.

  The entire time that he rode toward St. Giles, he thought about what he would say.

  How could he even begin to apologise for what had happened?

  Would Ciara believe him when he explained that he had done everything in his power to find her and their baby?

  He arrived at the address given, and his stomach roiled, not just because of the stench and filth everywhere, but because of the guilt he felt that the girl he’d promised to take care of had ended up here.

  Had his baby really been born in such a place? The grandchild of the Duke of Barnbury?

  His guilt was like a live thing, slithering inside him, poisoning his very blood, consuming him.

  Dismounting Apollo, he called to a nearby urchin, handing over a bag of coin, promising plenty more if he took good care of the horse.

  Then, taking a deep breath, he hammered on the cracked, peeling wood of the door.

  Nic’s heart sputtered erratically as he waited for someone to open the door.

  When it finally creaked, he looked into the eyes of a stern-looking, stout woman.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, keeping the flimsy door between them, her Irish brogue distinctive, reminding him of home.

  A home he’d left behind and would never return to.

  As though that would keep him out.

  “I am Nicholas Fyfe,” he said, trying to keep the impatience from his voice.

  He knew St. Giles was unsafe. And he didn’t want to risk anything happening to him before he could rescue Ciara and his child.

  “I was told that Ciara Connelly was here.”

  The woman ran a suspicious eye over him.

  “Please,” he said again, sensing that she wouldn’t allow him entry. “She was sent away by my father, the Duke of Barnbury. I’ve been trying to find her. Find them both.”

  The woman’s faded green eyes snapped back to his face, and Nic thought he detected a hint of pity in their depths.

  “I’m Mrs. Cafferty, my lord,” the woman said before stepping back and making room for him to step inside the hovel. “I think you should come in.”

  Nic’s trepidation increased tenfold as he stepped inside.

  What he saw shocked him to his core.

  He had heard about the conditions around this part of London. But to witness it with his own eyes was something else entirely.

  He was in a room. Just one room, with gaping holes in the ceiling and buckets of slop dotted around the place.

  Everywhere he looked there were curtains and sheets hung haphazardly.

  “What –?” he began to ask, but as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw that there were people behind each curtain, children darting in and out of them.

  “What is this place?” he asked Mrs. Cafferty, unable to stomach what he was seeing.

  “It’s where we live, my lord,” the lady answered matter-of-factly.

  “The curtains?”

  “Privacy for the families, my lord.”

  Good God.

  Nic ran a horror-filled gaze around the room once more.

  Families? The entire place was smaller than a potting shed on his family’s lands.

  “Where is she?” he a
sked, all at once desperate to remove Ciara and their child from this place.

  Mrs. Cafferty sighed as though the weight of the world were on her shoulders.

  “You’re a good man, my lord,” she said. “I can sense it. You have honour and a kind heart.”

  “Thank you,” he answered, humbled if a little confused.

  “That’s why it saddens me to tell you this.”

  Nic’s breath froze in his chest.

  “Go on,” he said stoically. Bracing himself for the blow.

  Mrs. Cafferty shook her head sadly.

  “The girls that come to me when they’re in trouble, they never have the man that did it come looking for them,” she said forthrightly. “And they’re never in a good way when I get them.”

  “I do my best, my lord,” she continued sadly. “But it’s not often good enough. And it wasn’t this time.”

  She took a deep breath, then looked him square in the eye.

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” she repeated. “But Ciara was badly beaten when she arrived here, and she was about to give birth to your son. It was far too early. She hasn’t recovered, and she’s not going to. We’re just waiting for it now.”

  He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

  A son.

  “And the babe,” Mrs Cafferty continued, with Nic having to force himself not to cover his ears, to refuse to hear what was coming. “He didn’t survive.”

  Alison didn’t speak, and he was glad of it.

  Unburdening himself for the first time meant reliving it all over again, and the grief felt as fresh as if he’d been told yesterday.

  Even all these years later, he didn’t allow Mrs. Cafferty to speak of it to him.

  “I went in to see Ciara,” he said, his tone emotionless, refusing to look at her. “She was delirious with fever. She didn’t even know I was there. The next day, Mrs. Cafferty sent word that she was gone.”

  The news had sent Nic’s despair spiralling.

  Just another knife to the gut.

  He had cried and howled to the heavens at the injustice of it all.

  But there was no escaping his grief and his guilt.

  And so, he’d done what was necessary to survive.

  He took everything he was feeling in an iron grip, and he buried it.

  Over the years, he had forgiven himself. Or at least learned to live with it.

  Unlike Robert’s guilt that had clawed at him every waking and sleeping moment, Nic’s was like a dull ache, always in the background but never consuming him. Because he simply didn’t allow it to.

  A week after they’d buried Ciara, unable to do so for his son since Mrs. Cafferty didn’t know where he’d been taken by the midwife who’d assisted in his birth, he’d told Mrs. Cafferty that he didn’t want anyone else ending up like Ciara if he could help it.

  Of course, he couldn’t save them all.

  Nobody could.

  The world was what it was, and Nic was fighting an uphill battle. But he’d never stop.

  Mrs. Cafferty had been more than a helping hand in setting up his various homes and hospitals.

  She’d been a mother of sorts. Close, but never too close.

  Alison still didn’t speak, and Nic prepared himself for her horror. Her revulsion. Even her judgment.

  Finally, he couldn’t stand the wait any longer, and he looked over at her.

  She was sitting quietly, tears running unchecked down her face, and those tears nearly brought him to his knees.

  He couldn’t stand it.

  Couldn’t stand to see her cry.

  “Alison.” His voice sounded broken to his own ears.

  It was just a word. Just her name.

  But it set her in motion, and she suddenly flew across the carriage, into his lap, and buried her head in his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Nic,” she sniffled, her voice thick with tears, her delicate hands twining around his neck. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Alison was half expecting Nic to push her away, especially when he stiffened.

  But after a second, his shoulders sagged, and he wrapped her in his arms.

  “Shh,” he whispered into her hair, kissing the top of her head, offering her comfort when it was he who’d had such unspeakable tragedy in his life. “It’s all right,” he soothed. “Please, don’t cry.”

  And of course, that made her cry harder, for even now he was still taking care of other people.

  “Alison, please.” She heard real distress in his voice. “I can’t bear to see you cry.”

  She lifted her head and wiped her eyes, determined to be strong for him.

  He lifted a hand, his thumb capturing a stray tear.

  “All the work you do,” she said tremulously.

  He shrugged with a nonchalance he couldn’t possibly feel.

  “I couldn’t help Ciara or my son.” He swallowed hard. “But I can do my best to help others.”

  “You did everything you could for Ciara and your son,” Alison insisted, reaching up and cupping his face when he would have looked away.

  He needed to hear this.

  “Nic, what happened to them was awful. Just awful. But there was nothing more you could have done. You can’t punish yourself over it. You can’t carry it alone. Please, don’t do that to yourself.”

  He stared at her, his navy-blue eyes unreadable, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine what was going through his head.

  Finally, he smiled a small smile.

  “I’m not carrying it alone,” he said softly. “Not anymore.”

  Alison’s heart thudded painfully at his words.

  She was emotionally drained from their talk, from the whole day.

  So, she could only imagine how he felt.

  “You’ve never told any of them.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Nic sighed, shaking his head slightly.

  “I couldn’t,” he finally said. “I was only able to live with what happened by burying it. Trying to make amends through my charitable work and living my life as though it hadn’t happened to me.”

  “They would have helped,” she said, knowing it was true.

  Robert, James, and Simon would do anything for Nicholas, just like he would do anything for them.

  “I didn’t know how to let them,” he confessed. “I was certain nobody could.”

  He gazed into her eyes until she forgot to breathe, and she only took a gulp of air when she became lightheaded.

  “Now, I’m not so sure,” he said.

  Oh Lord.

  Her heart would never survive him saying such things.

  Alison was appalled to feel desire stir to life inside her.

  This was not the time!

  He’d just been telling her about the loss of the love of his life, and of his poor, innocent baby.

  And what had she done? Thrown herself at him, that’s what.

  And worse, now she wanted quite desperately to kiss him.

  She was shameless. A hussy.

  She pushed against his chest, trying to free herself from his arms.

  To her surprise, he tightened his grip.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded.

  Alison’s laugh was a little breathless.

  “I was returning to my side,” she said. “I thought I should –”

  “You should stay right where you are,” he insisted, and her heart burst with happiness, foolish though that was.

  “Thank you for telling me,” she said quietly.

  He reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “Thank you for wanting to know,” he said. “You’re the only person who’s ever secretly followed me to find out the truth about me.”

  He frowned as though remembering how unhappy he was about that, and she smiled sheepishly at him.

  “I meant what I said, Alison,” his tone brooked no argument. “I don’t want you going back there.”

  She opened her mouth
to object, but before she could, he spoke again.

  “At least never alone,” he continued, and she tried not to feel smug that he was giving in on this. “And not with anyone but me.”

  “I won’t go back with anyone else,” she told him sincerely. “Only you.”

  Only you.

  That’s all she’d said.

  Only you.

  Nic’s mind was whirring, his heart thumping.

  Those two simple words were enough to bring the rest of the wall around his heart tumbling down.

  And in the dust, the truth he’d hidden from, shied away from, was suddenly, startlingly clear. He’d known for weeks, of course, deep down he’d known, but now he didn’t have the strength to deny it any longer.

  Somehow, Nic had done what he’d believed impossible.

  He’d fallen helplessly, hopelessly in love.

  This slip of a girl with her impish smile, her mischievous disregard for rules, and heart-breaking blue eyes had revived his long dead heart then taken it for her own.

  She sighed contentedly and burrowed further into his chest, her head resting against his heart, where she belonged.

  He knew it, without quite knowing how.

  She was exactly where she should be, always. In his arms. Right next to his heart.

  He should have known when he opened up to her in a way he had never done with a single soul before.

  Should have known when her tears caused him more visceral pain than he’d felt in years.

  He wanted her so much that he ached for her.

  But it went further than that.

  He needed her, too. Needed her to bring lightness to his life. To remind him to live and not just exist to fulfill a duty that would never end.

  He needed her to laugh with him and eat ices with him. To dance with him and make fun of his seriousness every once in a while.

  Bending his head, Nic placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head, intoxicated by the floral scent of her.

  He felt drained and ragged from the emotional turmoil of the afternoon.

  His body felt exhausted yet exhilarated.

  How could he feel so desperately sad for Ciara, for his son, yet so happy and content at merely having Alison in his arms?