“It’s a surprise that you’re involved, Nic,” Rob interjected.
Well, he had him there.
“What exactly are your intentions?” James asked.
Nic would dearly love to know the answer to that question himself.
He knew what he wanted. Knew how desperately he wished to spend every single day for the rest of his life with Alison.
But he didn’t yet know how to walk away from his work in St. Giles and all the people who relied on him there.
And he sure as hell didn’t want Alison anywhere near there if he could help it.
He would take her back because he’d promised to and he didn’t trust her to stay away. But he didn’t want her sullied by the realities of life in the underbelly of London.
James and Robert stared at him, making him feel like a criminal in the docks.
Even Simon had stopped joking around.
Nic needed to give them an answer.
But he hadn’t even given himself one.
“I don’t have any,” he said because he didn’t know what his intentions were right then.
Robert sighed and moved to refill all their glasses.
“I didn’t think we’d ever be here, Nic,” he said as he handed over a tumbler of brandy. “Not with you.”
Nic merely looked at him, refusing to drop his gaze.
“I would never pressure you to do something you don’t want to do,” Robert said finally. “But this cannot continue. You might not love Ally, but according to Abby, she’s becoming infatuated with you.”
Nic’s heart thumped painfully at Robert’s words.
He wanted to argue, tell his friend that, of course, he loved Ally. He could barely breathe with the strength of his feelings for her.
“You need to stay away from her,” James said bluntly, but not unkindly. “The time alone together – if you were anyone else, we couldn’t have allowed it to begin with. Now, with the risk of Alison being hurt, it ends.”
The lance of pain that ran through Nic at James’s words was all the proof he needed that he couldn’t ever let her go.
But that didn’t change the fact that he needed time to rearrange his life. He needed to find a way to step away from St. Giles without feeling like a monster for doing so. And he needed to reconnect with the life he’d left behind ten years ago.
Only then would he ask Alison to become his duchess. His wife.
Alison leaned her head against the closed study door, squeezing her eyes shut to stop any tears from slipping past.
She’d only come down here to make sure she wasn’t the cause of any discord between the gentlemen.
And apparently, she wasn’t.
They weren’t angry with Nicholas.
They weren’t going to try to force his hand.
No, instead they wanted to tell him to leave her alone.
To tell him that she was smitten with him, as though she were a schoolgirl incapable of any real depth of feeling.
Her heart had stopped dead in her chest as she’d willed Nicholas to admit to caring about her, if not loving her.
Their afternoon together, his opening up to her, their earth-shattering kisses – they had to mean something, didn’t they?
Yet, he’d said it meant nothing.
And now they all sat in there, feeling sorry for her, pitying her for her infatuation while he thought her a spoilt, selfish, brat.
Those had been his words.
I don’t have any.
That’s what he’d said when Robert had questioned him about his intentions.
Alison felt like a prized idiot.
All this evening, though she couldn’t go to him, she’d carried the memory of their afternoon inside her like a delicious secret.
She’d allowed herself to fantasize about one day being his wife.
They would spend their days in London, even in the winter months. They would work together at the homes and hospitals Nic had dedicated his life to.
They would work side by side doing their best to save as many people as possible from the tragic fate of Ciara and her baby.
Of course, Nic had never said he loved her or wanted to marry her. And she knew he still loved his lost betrothed.
But she had hoped that he had at least come to care for her. She had enough love for both of them.
And perhaps one day, he might even grow to love her, too.
But standing outside Robert’s door now, listening to their discussion move on to other things, Alison realised she’d been fooling herself.
Perhaps he didn’t think she was quite so spoilt now. But that meant nothing.
James had told him he’d have to end their friendship, and Nicholas had said nothing.
She’d had questions about them, about a future between them, about how he felt about her.
And now she had her answer.
His silence spoke volumes.
Alison turned slowly and walked away.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nic frowned as he ran his eyes over the ballroom, barely hearing his name being announced.
The Season was moving along, and it wouldn’t be long before London began to empty again.
This year, for the first time, he’d be leaving with them.
It was time.
He was going home.
Back to Ireland.
And if he had his way, he’d be taking Alison with him as his wife.
Nic knew now that he should have just told Robert, James, and Simon last night what he intended.
Because one way or another, he wanted to have Alison by his side, as his wife. No matter what it took to sort through all the other stuff, that was non-negotiable. He couldn’t live without her. And he didn’t want to try.
He’d spoken to Mrs. Cafferty at length that morning about his guilt over thinking about leaving his work in the hands of others, about falling in love with Alison, about thinking about becoming a father when he’d never allowed himself to imagine such a thing.
Of course, the formidable Irishwoman had been blunt in her opinion. She’d told him he was foolish to have waited this long to tell Alison how he felt when it was clear as day to anyone who was around them.
She’d told him that he’d done more for the people of St. Giles, and Little Ireland in particular, in ten years than most people did in their lifetimes, and nobody would ever begrudge him the chance at happiness.
It had felt like a validation he hadn’t known he’d been searching for.
And with her words came a realisation; Nic needed to start being honest with his friends, and with himself.
He had more responsibilities than he’d been willing to deal with these past years. He had a duty to more than the residents of St. Giles.
Though he kept abreast of all his holdings through communications with his excellent stewards and men of business, it wasn’t the same.
He needed to tell Alison how he felt and ask her to marry him.
He needed to tell his friends of his past.
And he needed to go home.
But before all that, he needed to find her.
He spotted Simon and Amelia and made his way toward them, smiling and nodding at various greetings, ignoring more than one set of lashes batting at him.
As he got closer to the couple, he saw that they were frowning, their heads bent together, whispering furiously.
Nic didn’t particularly want to encroach on what seemed a rather serious conversation, but then he heard Alison’s name and without thought, he spoke up.
“What’s going on?” he asked without preamble.
Simon and Amelia looked at him, matching looks of concern on their faces.
“Um, well – “Amelia seemed to be hedging her words.
“Alison’s gone rogue,” Simon blurted.
Nic frowned in confusion.
“What? What do you mean?”
Simon sighed.
“I mean –” He turned and nodded his head toward the other side
of the packed ballroom. “The devilment in her I spoke about last night seems to have come out in force this evening.”
Nic whipped his head in the direction Simon was nodding and a black fury, sudden and swift, coursed through him.
Alison looked as heart-wrenchingly beautiful as ever he’d seen her, and his body reacted immediately, even as his mind worked furiously to understand what he was seeing.
She was in an ice-blue, satin gown, her hair up, showing off her slender neck.
She looked as perfect and beautiful as she ever did. That was not unusual.
The fact that she was surrounded by some of the worst scoundrels in the ton, laughing and tapping them lightly with her fan, resting a hand on the arm of that bastard Fulham and whispering in his ear? That was most definitely unusual.
“What the hell is going on?” Nic bit out, finding it harder than ever to keep up the façade of indifference with the prying eyes of the ton all around them.
“I don’t know,” Amelia whispered.
She glanced around, and Nic followed her lead, seeing to his dismay that Alison was gaining the attention of more than one loose-lipped gossip.
“Where’s Robert? Or James?”
Amelia sighed, pushing her spectacles up her nose.
“Robert and Abigail stayed at home with Lottie this evening,” she explained quickly. “James and Senna have yet to arrive. I told Alison we’d be happy to take her with us this evening, of course. But as soon as we arrived, she was like a woman possessed!”
“She drank more champagne in the first half an hour of being here than I’ve ever seen her consume,” Simon added helpfully.
“And you didn’t stop her?” Nic scowled.
“That’s what you’ve caught us arguing about,” Simon answered flatly. “Amelia seems to think if I go over there and remove Fulham’s arms for him, it might create something of a scene.”
“So, we just leave her over there with him?”
“Of course, not,” Amelia responded. “But her reputation won’t withstand either of you going over there and making a spectacle of yourselves,” she said firmly. “Now, if we can just –”
Simon’s black oath interrupted whatever she’d been about to say, and Nic and Amelia turned to see what he was swearing at.
Lord Severill had just joined Alison’s little party by the balcony doors.
Lord Severill, who had attacked Amelia at Simon’s house party last year. And who Simon had nearly killed with his bare hands as a result.
“I’d say this calls for a spectacle, love,” Simon said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Nic?”
But Nicholas didn’t answer.
He was already halfway across the room.
Alison smiled her thanks as someone pressed another glass of champagne into her hand.
She couldn’t exactly say that she was having a good time, but at least the cacophony of chatter and laughter around her was a good distraction from her heartache.
Earlier that day when Abigail had said they were going to have a quiet evening at home as Lottie was a little under the weather, Alison’s stomach had dropped.
She had cried herself to a fitful sleep the night before, waking at dawn only to cry all over again.
And she couldn’t face another night of that.
Thankfully, when Amelia had called, she’d happily offered to have Alison join her at tonight’s soiree.
Alison had taken care with her preparations, choosing one of her nicest gowns and allowing Eliza to spend an age threading a ribbon of blue silk intricately through her curls.
As soon as she’d arrived in the ballroom, she had looked for Nicholas in spite of herself.
She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or saddened that he wasn’t present.
Before she could think on it overly much, however, Captain Billings arrived to request the first set.
Alison had danced with the pleasant gentleman, carefully side-stepping the man’s various compliments and hints at dancing another together.
When the set was finished, Alison claimed that she was thirsty, and before he could offer to fetch her some punch or ratafia, she’d hurried off in the direction of the refreshments.
That was where she’d been standing when Lord Fulham had approached.
At first, Alison had been wary, remembering Nicholas’s fury at finding Fulham with her at Vauxhall Gardens.
But remembering that only made her remember their kiss, which made her heart ache all over again, and that in turn made her more desperate than ever for a distraction.
When Lord Fulham had offered her a glass of champagne, she’d accepted it. Then another, then another.
Now, standing here laughing at his wicked sense of humour, Alison couldn’t understand why everyone disliked the man so.
He had sometimes been a little more flirtatious than was entirely appropriate but Nic, or Saint Nic as he was named by Simon, had kissed her until her knees buckled, had held her in his lap, had made her fall utterly, desperately in love with him, and then told her cousin and brother-in-law that he had no interest in her.
So, what was so very bad about Lord Fulham?
He was handsome. He wasn’t closed off. He had never criticized her, never called her a spoilt, selfish, brat.
She had no interest in him. Would never marry him. In fact, if she had her way she’d never marry anyone. She would just return to America and pretend this whole year hadn’t happened.
Ironic given she’d told Nicholas that pretending something tragic hadn’t happened was no way to heal.
But she knew she would never recover from loving Nic, anyway.
Fulham reached out and ran a finger along the skin exposed by the capped sleeve of her gown.
Alison subtly moved her arm away, ignoring the slight feeling of discomfort.
It was only that she wasn’t used to a man being openly affectionate.
And because she wasn’t in love with Lord Fulham and didn’t crave his touch with a need that bordered on desperation.
“I must say, Miss Langton, it’s rather nice seeing you again without your guard dogs. And you seem much more, ah, relaxed without them.”
Alison laughed with a joviality she didn’t quite feel.
“I can’t help but feel that you cannot be your true self with them standing watch.” He smiled, the expression a touch predatory.
“And I can’t help but feel that you have a death wish, since I told you to stay away from her.”
Alison whipped around, and there stood Nicholas, six feet of navy-eyed fury staring down at her.
Well, not at her. At Lord Fulham.
Lord Fulham sighed, a small smirk on his face.
“It appears the hound is back,” he said to Alison.
She didn’t respond, just stared at Nicholas.
Her emotions were tumultuous. Standing in front of him, she was angry with herself for the depth of love she felt.
Even after all the things he’d said, she wanted to throw herself into his arms.
She wanted to pretend she hadn’t heard the things he’d said last night.
But of course, she couldn’t.
“Perhaps it is I who wouldn’t stay away from him, your grace.” She grinned conspiratorially at the viscount by her side.
He threw back his head and laughed whilst Alison’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.
The look of shocked hurt on Nicholas’s face was excruciating.
Why did he look that way when he didn’t want her for himself? Why was he over here acting for all the world like a jealous suitor? Didn’t he understand that just pained and confused her all the more?
The scowl stamped on his face now was so similar to the one he used to wear around her, it almost made her nostalgic.
“Alison, dear, perhaps it’s time to leave.”
Alison shook her head at Amelia.
She didn’t know quite why she was acting thus.
The champagne that had been helping to dull the pain slightly w
as starting to make her head ache, and she was no longer in the mood for dancing, but still she refused.
“I don’t want to leave,” she said mutinously, acting like the child Nic had once accused her of being. It gave her a perverse sort of pleasure to be behaving this way in front of him. If she were seen in such a manner, she might as well act in such a manner.
“But if you’re tired, you and Simon can leave. I’m sure Lord Fulham will escort me home.”
“I’d be more than happy to take you home, Miss Langton,” he said, his tone setting her teeth on edge.
Maybe she was playing a little too much with fire. But it was better than backing down in front of Nicholas.
“And I’d be more than happy to shoot you,” Nicholas said, his voice calm and all the more threatening because of it.
Alison gaped, Lord Fulham gulped, Simon grinned.
“I really think we should leave, Alison, lest Nicholas actually shoot the blighter.”
This from Amelia, who didn’t seem at all bothered by the threat of death.
“This is ridiculous,” Alison snapped, beginning to feel overwhelmed by her confusion around Nic. If she hadn’t overheard him last night, she wouldn’t even have been speaking to Lord Fulham, let alone flirting outrageously with him. She’d have been dancing in Nic’s arms, feeling like she was floating.
But now…
As though the orchestra had read her mind, they plucked the opening strings of the supper waltz.
Lord Fulham turned his back to Nicholas, Simon, and Amelia.
“Miss Langton,” he said. “Would you do me the honour of –”
Nic shot a hand out, grabbing the other man by the lapel and pulling him away from Alison.
“Don’t even think about finishing that,” he spat.
He pushed Lord Fulham away from him.
Fulham staggered back a few steps, gaining the attention of the people around them.
“Let’s go.” Nic’s tone brooked no argument.
Amelia darted her gaze around the waiting beau monde, their eyes wide, their mouths agape.
“Perhaps we should –”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Alison spoke over Amelia, ignoring what would no doubt have been a very sensible suggestion.
The Saint of St. Giles Page 17