“Alison, dear. We’re drawing quite a crowd.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Once more, Amelia’s reasonable voice fell on deaf ears as Nicholas snapped at Alison, his eyes boring into her.
It was a testament to his anger, Alison knew, that not only would he swear at her, but he would risk causing a scene in front of all Society.
Lord Fulham came forward, his face angry, his cheeks red.
“If you value your life, you’ll turn around and walk away,” Simon said to the viscount.
Severill had already scampered off the second he’d seen Simon, and the crowd of gentlemen who’d been surrounding Alison had wisely dispersed.
The entire thing was becoming farcical.
Alison looked around, at the smirking Lord Fulham, at the whispering ladies and speculative gentlemen.
At Amelia’s uneasy gaze, and Simon’s quizzical one.
Finally, at Nic’s fury.
And it was suddenly all too much for her.
She was humiliated, heart sore, and tired of the whole thing.
“Alison –” Nic stepped forward, holding a hand out to her.
At the same time, Lord Fulham placed a proprietorial hand on her shoulder.
Suddenly, Nic’s fist shot out and connected with Fulham’s nose, landing the viscount sprawling on the floor.
All around them, scandalous whispers broke out, ladies’ fans fluttering a mile a minute.
Alison glared at him.
He didn’t want her, but risking her reputation meant nobody else would either.
“Just leave me alone,” she said wearily before turning and rushing from the ballroom.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nic had no idea what had happened just now.
He was aware of the furor he’d just created, but he was past caring.
Something was wrong with Alison, and he was going to find out what it was.
He went to rush after her, stopping only when he felt Simon’s hand on his shoulder.
Turning around, impatient with his friend, he watched as Simon bent to whisper something in Amelia’s ear, and with a quick nod she dashed off in a flurry of lilac skirts.
“Simon,” Nic warned. “Let me go.”
“What are you doing?” Simon asked, dropping his hand, his tone low enough that the listening ears around them couldn’t hear.
Fulham had staggered to his feet, and Nic felt a perverse pleasure in the blood staining his once white cravat and lawn shirt.
“I’m going after Alison,” Nic said impatiently. “Can’t you see she’s upset?”
“Yes, I can. And I can see that you’re the reason.”
This brought Nic up short.
“Last night, you said nothing was going on. You said you had no intentions toward her.”
“I know what I said,” Nic spat in exacerbation.
“So, you lied?”
“No! I just – I didn’t know what I was doing. What I wanted.”
Simon studied him silently for a moment.
“Do you love her?”
Nic had wanted Alison to be the first person he told, but he wasn’t sure Simon would let him go if his friend thought he wasn’t being honourable. The irony of the devil checking the saint’s behaviour wasn’t lost on Nic.
He nodded. Just once, but it was enough.
Simon smirked.
“What?” Nic demanded.
“Oh, nothing. I’m just enjoying the fact that after years of Robert and James warning me away from every female of their acquaintance, Saint Nic here swoops in and seduces one right under their noses.”
“I didn’t seduce –”
“Go,” Simon laughingly interrupted Nic’s protestations. “Given how up in the boughs Alison looked, I’m not sure how long my wife will be able to keep her here.”
“How long does a bloody carriage take?”
Alison scowled at Amelia’s sudden grin.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Amelia said. “That was just a terribly English swear word. I forget sometimes that you’re an American.”
“Yes, well you’ll remember soon enough.”
“Oh? And why is that?” Amelia asked.
The sound of a carriage arriving momentarily distracted Alison, and she was relieved to see the conveyance stamped with the Dashford coat of arms.
The sooner she got away from here, and Nicholas, the better.
“Because I’m going home,” she said.
It was the best thing to do. There was nothing in England for her now; she was sure of it.
“What?” Amelia gasped. “Alison, you cannot be serious.”
Alison would be miserable at home with her disinterested family, of that she had no doubt. But being miserable with an ocean separating her from the source of her desolation seemed rather palatable at that moment.
“There’s nothing here for me, Amelia,” she said miserably.
“Nothing?” her friend asked gently.
To Alison’s horror, she felt tears fill her eyes at the young countess’s question.
“You know?” she asked.
Amelia shrugged apologetically.
Wonderful. Now everyone knew Alison was a fool who’d fallen in love with someone who didn’t want her. And never would.
“When I fell in love with Simon,” Amelia said softly, “I was more miserable than I’d ever been in my life.”
Alison remembered the time well.
She’d only met Simon and Amelia as they were falling in love. It had been obvious to everyone around them that they were besotted with each other. But for some reason, the two of them couldn’t seem to find their way to each other.
It had all come right in the end, however. A fate that did not await Alison.
“I couldn’t understand why Adeline read all those stupid novels about love,” Amelia said of her younger sister, now happily married herself. “To me, it was the worst thing a person could experience. And I’d just finished researching medieval plagues.”
Alison smiled in spite of herself at her beautiful, bookish friend.
“And look at me now,” Amelia continued.
“It won’t be like that for me, Amelia,” Alison sniffled.
“Whyever not?” The countess reached out and gripped Alison’s hand.
Alison would dearly love to pour her heart out to the kindly brunette beside her. But Nic’s story wasn’t Alison’s to tell.
So instead of being able to confess that the man she loved was in love with a ghost, she could only shake her head sadly.
“Oh, my dear, it will all turn out well. I’m sure of it.”
Amelia watched Alison closely before nodding as though coming to a decision.
“Let’s go back and find Simon so we can get you home,” she said softly.
Alison nodded and turned with her friend to go back inside.
She looked up and froze.
Nic was standing there gazing intently at her, an unreadable look on his face.
“I’ll just – go and fetch Simon,” Amelia said hesitantly, giving Alison’s hand one more squeeze before hurrying up the steps.
Nic stopped her, bending to whisper something to her, his eyes never leaving Alison, who stood trapped in his gaze.
Amelia looked swiftly back at Alison before she nodded then turned and continued up the steps and into the house.
Nic walked toward Alison slowly, carefully.
“Are you well?” he asked, his voice quiet and even, as though he hadn’t been swearing at her and punching viscounts only moments ago.
“Not particularly,” she said wearily.
The fight had gone out of her.
In the ballroom, she’d had her anger as a shield against him. Her indignation that he had dismissed her so easily to her family. Her resentment that, try as she might, she would never live up to the perfection of his first love.
Ciara had been a maid, after all. And Nicholas h
ad loved her so much he’d been willing to give up everything.
And though Alison had thought she could live with him just caring for her a little, she was coming to realise that wouldn’t be enough for her.
She wanted someone to love her enough to give up everything for her. She wanted someone to love her as much as she loved Nic. As much as he loved someone else.
It was tragic.
But she couldn’t help it any more than she could help how she felt about him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping closer so that now there were only inches between them. “I lost my temper. It seems I find it hard to control myself around you, in more ways than one.”
She had no idea what to say to such a thing, so she said nothing.
“Lord Fulham is not safe for you to be around, Alison.”
Alison snorted. She couldn’t help it. The only one dangerous to her was the man standing in front of her.
He frowned disapprovingly.
“I’m serious,” he said. “He is not to be trusted. If you knew what I knew, what we all know about him –”
“You just don’t like him,” Alison shot back. “He’s only ever been nice to me.”
She thought of the times Lord Fulham made her uncomfortable but ruthlessly dismissed them.
“He’s being nice to you because he wants to bed you,” Nic said bluntly. “And, no, I don’t like him. I never did. Now, I hate him with a viciousness I didn’t know I was capable of. But I’m man enough to admit my jealousy probably has a lot to do with that.”
Alison felt her jaw drop.
He seemed so sincere, so affectionate. She could almost believe that he cared about her. But last night he’d told his friends that he didn’t.
Her head ached with her circuitous thoughts.
“I’m tired,” she said. “And my head hurts. I’m going home as soon as Amelia gets back with Simon, so –”
“Amelia isn’t coming back with Simon,” Nicholas interrupted smoothly.
“But, but she said I could leave,” Alison said, sounding petulant even to her own ears.
“And you can. I’m taking you home.”
“No!” The protestation was out of her mouth before she even realised.
Once again, Nic’s eyes flashed with hurt confusion.
But he had no right to be hurt. Not when he’d said that he didn’t want anything to do with her.
“Alison, I don’t understand what is going on here tonight. Yesterday we were – well, I thought we were –”
He paused, seeming to search for words to say.
But she couldn’t stand there and hear this. She couldn’t listen to reminders of yesterday. Not when it had meant something different to them both.
“Nicholas, I’m glad you told me about Ciara and about your son,” she said sadly. “I’m glad you shared with me all the wonderful work you do and why you do it. But we’re different people, you and I. We want very different things.”
He flinched as though she’d slapped him.
“What does that mean?” he asked woodenly, his face and tone expressionless.
But she knew him so well now. It didn’t fool her.
He hid behind his mask of calm stoicism. Whatever he was feeling, he was going to hide it from her. Just like he’d hidden how he’d really been feeling when she’d sat in his arms.
“It means that I came to London looking for something, and I don’t think I’m going to find here. I thought I could, but I can’t.”
He opened his mouth to speak once more, but she needed to leave before she broke down completely in front of him.
“It means I’m going home. Back to America. Back where I belong.”
“Alison, no.”
He reached out and clasped the tops of her arms, shaking her gently.
“You cannot mean that. I want –”
“I don’t care what you want, Nic.” She yanked herself free from his grasp.
Her anger reappeared swift and scorching.
“You made it very clear last night what you don’t want, and that’s me.”
“What are you talking about? I never said –”
“What? You never said that I’m a spoilt, selfish brat?”
His cheeks paled, and she got a twisted pleasure in seeing his reaction.
“You never said that you warned Robert about how I would be trouble? You never said that you had no intentions toward me?”
To her horror, she felt tears fill her eyes, and try as she might, she could not stop them falling.
Nic’s black oath summed up her own feelings rather well.
“I was so happy yesterday,” she continued. The words came of their own volition. Streaming from her as though her broken heart were purging itself. “I thought that perhaps you were growing to care about me. Let me in.”
She reached a hand up and impatiently dashed away her tears.
“I was stupid – naïvely imagining a life together, where I would be by your side in St. Giles and anywhere else you were. Where we would spend our days in love and helping those less fortunate.”
His expression was stricken, but he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Merely stared at her. And that felt as though her heart were ripping clean out of her chest.
It was further proof that she was an idiot.
God, how she wished he would say he wanted that, too.
“But last night, I finally accepted what you really think of me. I finally accepted that you will never love me, not like I love you.”
Perhaps she shouldn’t have told him. But Alison didn’t feel like she had anything left to lose by being honest.
“But I can’t make you love me. I can’t even make you like me.” She laughed bitterly.
Dropping her gaze to her feet, she let the tears come unchecked now.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her eyes to his.
“And I can’t compete with a ghost.”
Chapter Thirty
“She won’t come out of her room again.”
“And Nic won’t come out of his house.”
Robert and James looked at each other, matching expressions of concern on their faces.
“You’re sure nothing happened at that ball?” Robert turned to Simon now, who had been listening quietly to the gentlemen’s exchange.
“Nothing at all,” he lied smoothly. “Apart from the fact that I thought Nic would actually kill Fulham. Shame he didn’t.”
Nic stood just outside Robert’s study, listening to their exchange.
He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, obviously.
But when he’d heard James mention Alison, he’d been frozen to the spot.
Last night had been the worst night of his life.
Alison had told him that she loved him. That she thought he didn’t love her, too. When everything in his life now seemed meaningless without her.
He never should have let her get into that carriage alone.
He never should have granted her wish to be alone.
Drinking himself into a stupor during the night hadn’t helped.
Pacing up and down the empty, vast halls of his townhouse hadn’t helped.
Nothing had.
Because he didn’t need brandy, or to be locked in his own miserable thoughts.
He needed Alison, needed her more than the air he breathed.
But needing her, loving her, and being worthy of her – being whole and absolutely sure of what he wanted – they were two different things.
Whilst he’d poured pot after pot of dark, strong coffee down his throat that morning, Nic had been hastily throwing together plans.
And now, he was ready to start implementing them. Because he never wanted to upset her or make her doubt his feelings for her ever again.
His palms were sweating, his breath ragged, and he could feel something akin to panic begin to prickle at the edge of his mind.
Never had he thought he would be able to confide in his friends, able to tell them he’d been livi
ng a lie for the past ten years. But now, for the first time since they’d become men, he was about to tell them that this time, he was the one who needed help.
He walked into the room, his eyes scanning the faces of his closest friends.
Each one of them stared back at him.
Finally, James broke the somewhat awkward silence. “What the hell happened to you?” he blurted.
“You look like Simon after one of his infamous nights,” Robert added.
“Thank you. Really. I’m touched.” This from Simon, who stood and nodded subtly to Nic.
He hadn’t told Robert and James what Nic had confided last night. Hadn’t told them about Nic’s love for Alison.
It was Nic’s story to tell. But it wasn’t the only one.
Taking a deep breath, Nic looked each one of them in the eye.
“I’m in love with Alison,” he said simply, clearly. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. And I’m sorry that I lied when you asked me what I intended. But – I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
He swore softly to himself.
“I haven’t been thinking straight for weeks.”
He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat and shrugged helplessly.
“I love her,” he repeated.
There was a brief silence.
“Well, obviously,” James finally said.
“Yes, if you’re going to make a dramatic announcement, Nic, you might want to make it something that we didn’t already know.” Rob grinned.
“He told me yesterday,” Simon said smugly.
Nic could only stare at them.
“You know?” he asked.
“Of course, we know. We have eyes.”
“The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
“Well, as to that – she’s angry with me.”
“Which is presumably why she’s locked herself away?”
“I’m sorry about that,” Nic said.
“It’s fine,” Robert said quickly. “I sent Abigail out into a storm.”
“Senna got shot because of me.”
They all looked to Simon.
He shrugged.
“Amelia has to put up with me every single day.”
Nic laughed along with the others, his chest loosening slightly.
But the hard part was yet to come.
The Saint of St. Giles Page 18