Alison's Scandalous Affair (The Fallen Angels NOVELLA series Book 1)

by Julianna Hughes

  But just then she couldn't remember why she had said such things. Choking back the sob that threatened to break free, she stepped into his arms and buried her face against his chest. His arms closed tightly around her, and she burrowed further into his warmth. His wonderful male scent, accented by the soap he had used that morning, invaded her senses, blotting out everything but the man before her.

  Minutes, or maybe hours, passed in a blaze of memories. His laughter and joy at playing games with her daughters. The love she had seen on his face for his parents when he had greeted them. His delight when Helen had told him he was going to be an uncle again. For the eleventh time, if she recalled all of his nieces and nephews. He wasn't anything like Phillip.

  "Oh please God, please," she whispered against his chest. Please don't let him be like Phillip.

  Slowly, Alison became aware of the silence around her. So much so that the pounding of her heart felt like a cannonade barrage going off in her ears. Then she felt, more than heard, those around them quietly shuffling past them and she could feel her face flush with heat.

  "So much for convincing your family that we're not an item," she muttered.

  His arms tightened momentarily around her, and she felt him exhale. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think my parents believed either me or Helen when we told them you were coming as her guest."

  She pulled away and looked up at him. His face was wrinkled in consternation. "I'm afraid I may have written to my mother about you and the girls a few times." He shrugged his shoulders and then added, "Three times." Alison startled, and he continued a bit sheepishly. "So has Helen."

  He was trying to tell her something, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out what. "What does you and your sister writing to your mother about me and my daughters have to do with this? We are friends, after all. I've written hundreds of letters to family and friends about friends of mine."

  His cheeks turned pink, making him look even more adorable. She had never seen him blush before. "Ali, I am eight and thirty. Twenty years ago I married Imogene Stoughton, the eldest daughter of a duke, and I didn’t tell my parents about it until after she had been murdered. Not that I was ashamed of her or our marriage."

  He had already told her why he hadn't told his parents about the marriage, so she nodded and waited for him to go on.

  "In all the years since, I have never written to my parents about a single woman of my acquaintance. Or so my mother assured me in her last letter."

  She just stared at him in shock. Then an indelicate snort bubbled past her lips. It was quickly followed by a half-smothered giggle that turned into more giggles and finally outright laughter. She buried her face in his coat and, for the first time in three months, completely relaxed with him.

  After the laughter died down, she snuggled against his chest and reveled in the pleasure of having his strong arms around her, holding her, soothing away her fears. Finally, she pulled away and looked around. Once she was sure they were indeed all alone in the middle of his parents' driveway, she leaned her cheek against his chest and listened to the beating of his heart. Its slow, steady rhythm helped to soothe her further.

  Gathering her courage, she said, "Alright, you can court me." His arms tightened around her, and his chest expanded on a sudden breath. "But," she looked up into his beautiful light brown eyes, "it doesn't mean I'll marry you. Just that I'll think about it."

  He grinned down at her and then leaned down and brushed his lips across hers in a gentle kiss. His lips were warm and soft, sending a bolt of awareness washing over her as she tasted the essence of him. It had been years since Alison had felt a man’s lips, but she was sure John’s kiss was unlike anything she had felt before, strong yet tender at the same time.

  All too soon, he ended the kiss and she mourned the loss, even as she snuggled into the warmth of his chest again.

  "I suppose it will make it easier if people think you are courting me," she teased.

  One of his hands began a rhythmic caress up and down her back. "Make what easier, sweetheart?"

  Alison smiled and burrowed into his shirt further. "Having my way with you, of course."

  His hand froze. Finally, he asked, "I beg your pardon, but did you just say you were going to have your way with me?"

  Alison rotated her face just enough to see his. Feeling a bit shy yet also emboldened, she said, "I had already decided to renew my proposal for a discreet affair. This will make it easier, and it will keep people from starting rumors if we are seen together."

  His hand rose and caressed her cheek. "Is that all you want, Ali?"

  Some of the joy she had been feeling evaporated, and reality once again intruded. She wouldn't give him false hope. "That is all I have to offer. I can't promise you anything more. Not right now. Not until... not until I'm..." She couldn't finish the thought. She just couldn't.

  She could swear she saw disappointment in his eyes, but he quickly masked it. "I'll take whatever you are willing to give me, Ali. But just know, I don't intend to give up on us either."

  Chapter 10

  This was going to be much, much worse than her wedding night, but not because the prospect of making love to John was terrifying. Phillip had been a considerate and passionate lover, at least in the beginning. But it had been six years since she had done this. And for several years before that, their bedroom activities had been quite infrequent.

  Alison had reconciled herself that she would never again marry. Which she had assumed meant that she would live a chaste life as a widow. Consequently, until about six months ago she hadn't given much thought to having sex with a man outside the bounds of matrimony. How foolish she had been.

  With a glance at the ormolu clock on the fireplace mantle, she saw that it was almost midnight. Eleven-fifty-three. Seven more minutes and John would be there. Since she had known him, he had proven himself to be reliably punctual. She was now wishing he wasn’t so consistent, while at the same time hoping he would just get there so they could get on with this thing.

  It didn't help that he had given her the entire week to think about this night. But as much as she would have liked to just have the deed done with, Alison understood why he hadn't wanted to do anything at his parents' house. She hadn't wanted to do anything under his family’s roof, either. But why, for the love of God, had he insisted that they wait for the next weekend to begin their scandalous affair?

  Well, it would only be scandalous if someone found out about it. And he had certainly taken extraordinary steps to ensure their affair wasn't discovered. She prayed he was right, at least for her daughters' sakes. She had never cared what people thought about her, but she didn't want her torrid affair affecting either one of her daughters.

  "My Lady, would you care for anything else?" Alison's hand flew to her chest, and a garbled squeak pierced the air as she whirled around to stare at the elderly French woman.

  Margarette, the woman she had met just a half hour before, stood in the doorway of the front parlor. She had introduced herself as Monsieur John's housekeeper and cook. Feeling foolish and immature, she fought to calm her hammering heart and decipher what the woman had asked her.

  "W-what?" she stuttered.

  A knowing smile lit the woman's face. "Do not worry, my lady. You are safe 'ere. Monsieur has brought many 'ere who are in... trouble," Margarette said.

  Images of John bringing countless women here washed away her anxiety and replaced it with something akin to anger.

  "Mister Netterman has brought other women here?" Alison asked for clarification.

  The woman scrunched up her mouth and glanced up. "Oui," she said slowly, and then looked back at her and smiled in a way that made Alison's heart tremble.

  "Monsieur John has brought many 'ere who are in trouble. Both men and women." Her eyes locked with Alison's and a bright smile wreathed her face. "But none like you, my lady. You are the first noblewoman Monsieur has brought 'ere." The woman shook her head. "And I think it is not b
ecause you are in trouble. Oui?"

  Alison was about to correct her and tell her she was not a noblewoman when another voice startled her.

  "Oui, Margarette," John said, eliciting another squeak and setting Alison's heart aflutter. Although, this time the pounding in her chest was not caused by fright. And it was accompanied by a tingling in other parts of her body as well. Places she had not paid notice to in some time.

  "Madame Sheiling is very special to me. And no, she is not like the others. She is not in trouble. Nor is she in hiding. She is here as my guest and nothing more."

  The woman grinned and bobbed a curtsy. "It is about time, Monsieur." She turned and headed through the door telling him, "As you instructed, Monsieur John, I have made a light meal for you and your lady. I will have it sent in before I leave. Bon nuit, Monsieur." The woman paused at the door and looked back at Alison. "Bon nuit, my lady."

  Suddenly there was nothing but silence in the room. It was dimly broken by the clattering of wheels on the cobblestones outside the house as a carriage rumbled past, and the faint sound of voices drifting through the open window as the curtains fluttered gently in the breeze. Finally, the silence within the room was interrupted by the squeaking of leather as John shifted from one foot to the other.

  Since he had entered the room, she had not been able to look at him. And even worse, Alison could feel her face heating up and vividly imagined red blotches blooming on her cheeks.

  The silence was intolerable. Frantically she searched for something to say, but nothing came to her. After all, she wasn't some green girl just out of the school room. She was a mature widow with two daughters. One who had faced countless French bombardments, the horrors of an army hospital after an attack, and had bantered with countless soldiers. Surely she could face the man she intended to begin a scandalous affair with.

  "Is this your house?" she asked at the same time he asked, "Would you care for a drink?"

  Startled, she glanced up and froze. His face was flushed and his body was tense. He was just as nervous as she was. The coiled rope around her chest eased and then fell away. She could feel her lips quivering.

  Smiling sheepishly up at him, she bit her lower lip and relaxed for the first time since they had agreed to this rendezvous. "I would love a sherry if you have some," she said.

  He smiled back at her, and she felt her heart flutter and her body go warm. Pushing away from the door, he turned and walked over to the sideboard. A number of crystal decanters sat elegantly atop it. She had inspected them earlier but had been too nervous to do little more than admire the cut clarity of the crystal glasses and decanters.

  As he poured, he said over his shoulder, "Yes, this is one of my properties. But I have never stayed here before."

  Alison nodded even though he had his back to her. He had an address on Bond Street. It was where she had sent her two notes to.

  He finished fixing their drinks, then turned and slowly walked toward her. With each step he took, her heart beat a little faster and the warm tingling in her stomach grew and spread.

  "I own this house and another one here in London, but I never stay at them," he said, while holding the glass out to her.

  Alison stared blankly at it and then up at him. "Why?" she finally asked.

  John nodded at the glass, and she reflexively took it from his hand. Their fingers brushed, and a spark of awareness shot up her arm and arrowed straight down to the apex of her legs. Her knees wobbled, and the sherry sloshed over the rim a little. He quickly reached out and steadied her hand, sending more arrows straight to the core of her womanhood.

  Patiently, he waited until she regained control of her riotous heart and her hand quit shaking. She then raised the glass to her parched lips. After she took a tentative sip, he smiled and took a step back. Alison mourned the loss of his heat but was grateful at the same time. She needed to regain control of her emotions.

  "I use them as a part of my job," he answered.

  Her eyebrows crinkled and she stared up at him in bewilderment. "What?" she asked. She had no idea what he was talking about.

  He smiled, and her body warmed. "You asked why I do not stay at either of my houses."

  It wasn't what she had been asking. But then again, she couldn't really remember what she had asked him. So she just nodded and prayed he would say something to remind her.

  John took a deep breath. "I want you to know who I am, Ali. Before we go any further, you need to know the kind of man you are welcoming to your bed."

  Well, this was not what she was expecting. But now that he had broached the subject, she wasn't going to stop him. She nodded, as she wasn't sure she could get a word past the rock forming in her throat.

  After downing the contents of his glass, he set it on the table beside him, then turned and began pacing in front of her. After an eternity, he began, "You know about Imogene and what happened to her." She nodded, even though he wasn't looking at her. "And I told you that I found out that Reginald Stoughton was one of her attackers."

  "Yes," she managed to say this time. Her hands were now shaking so much that she reached over and set her own glass down on the table beside his.

  "I became his man of business in order to gather evidence against him."

  He had told her that too. A cold chill washed over her, and she shifted uneasily. "Yes, I remember." Katie had also told her about the man who had tried to kill John. Things she still had nightmares about occasionally.

  He stopped and then turned to face her. "What I haven't told you is that infiltrating Reginald Stoughton's business wasn't the first time I had done something like that."

  Alison’s heart pounded painfully in her chest. Was he trying to tell her he was some kind of a criminal? But no sooner had the thought occurred, she rejected it. He was a solicitor. And from all accounts, one of the best in England.

  "W-what are you trying to tell me?" she asked.

  After a short pause, he walked over and clasped her cold hands in his. "Ali," he whispered as he stared intently into her eyes. "Please," he said, and tugged her forward. Docilely she followed him to a sofa and sank down beside him. His fingers caressed the back of her hand as he looked around the room, as if searching for what to say next. Instinctively, she knew it was important and remained quiet while he rallied his strength.

  Finally, he began in a halting voice. "I was out of my head right after Imogene's murder. Bewildered, and angry, and lost, and... and just plain mad as hell at the world."

  He raised his head and gazed into her eyes, and Alison could see the pain of his past written on his face and in his eyes.

  "I went home to Harvest Hill, and stayed there for months as I sorted through all the things that had happened. Eventually I went back to trying to live my life, accepting a position in a firm and began learning to be a solicitor."

  Alison nodded her head. She wanted to ask questions but was afraid if she did he would stop talking.

  "But I couldn't forget what had happened to Imogene. As you know, the authorities claimed she had been killed in a botched robbery while returning from her father's county estate. But I knew the truth. I was there the night her Scottish relatives confronted her father. Or at least I got there toward the end. The old duke attacked one of them and was killed when the gun a young Scotsman was holding accidently discharged."

  Katie had told her some of this as well. Her husband had been the eleven-year-old Scotsman. "Katie told me about the night Imogene was killed. And Gabriel's part in it."

  He nodded his head and took a deep breath. "There were others there the night my wife was murdered. Men who took part in her rape and murder." She nodded her head. She knew about the other men as well.

  He went on as if not seeing her. "Powerful men. Men of wealth and prestige. Noblemen who were bored and out for a lark. Not all of them took part in the assault on Imogene, but they stood there and allowed it to happen. Not only to her but to other women who were forced to participate in their sick games."
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  "I know, John," she said, and reached over and squeezed his hand. She wanted to enfold him in her arms but sensed he needed to finish first.

  "In time, I began looking for those men. At first, I naïvely believed that I could bring them to justice. But I couldn't. I couldn't even discover their names for a while. They held too much power. Too much wealth. They were too well protected. By each other and by the law.

  "As time went by, I started my own law firm. And then by chance, or fate if you will, one day a woman came to me. A woman who had been accused of a crime by a nobleman."

  He glanced at her, and the torment she saw in his eyes ripped through her. "She begged me to help prove she was innocent. She insisted that she was being falsely accused. At first I didn't believe her."

  He laughed humorlessly. "I was just like all the others born to privilege and wealth. Ali, I simply dismissed her as insignificant. Too far below my exalted self to be bothered with. And, like so many others, I assumed because of her station that she was guilty. If not of the charges against her, then something else."

  He released her hand and turned away. His eyes closed and then opened sightlessly toward the ceiling. "Then she told me she could help me find the men who had murdered my wife." He turned back and fixed her with a tortured look. "She said she knew who they were and what they had done. It was the reason she had come to me." He laughed again without humor. "She thought I would be different, since her accuser was one of the men who had murdered my wife."

  "Oh, John," Alison cried, and flung herself against him. She half expected him to thrust her away but he didn't. He enfolded her in his arms and held her tightly for several minutes.

  Quietly, he continued on, his breath warming the top of her head. "She changed my life that day. I now had the name of one of the men responsible for Imogene's murder. And I had a new calling, a new career, if you will. A law firm that would help those who could not normally afford to hire legal help. I continued on as the firm’s solicitor. And I hired two young, enthusiastic men to act in the roll of barrister for the firm."