A Midsummer Night's Kiss (Howertys #1)

Chapter 19: Well, Good Morning to You

Dear Diary,
Is it normal to be unable to stop thinking of
someone? All I can think about these days is
a certain man. It's quite disconcerting.

When Angel left her room the next morning, she stopped short as she came face to face with her brother, who stood leaning against the door on the opposite side of the hallway with his arms crossed over his chest. She had never seen him out of his bed this early, so this could not be a good sign. His blond hair was unruly as if he had done nothing to tame it that morning, and his clothes looked as if they'd been slept in.

She frowned. "James, are you wearing yesterday's clothes?"

"Yes," he admitted, then abruptly took her arm and unceremoniously dragged her into his bedroom opposite hers.

As he let go of her in the middle of the room and closed the door behind him, she could do nothing but stare. This was not the good-natured brother she was used to. His countenance was dark and forbidding, his lips pressed tightly. Had Nathaniel already told him? But when?

James strode past her, pacing back and forth across the floor.

"You smell," she pointed out, wrinkling her nose at the distinct odour of alcohol that wafted over her as he moved closer. He stopped pacing to stare down at her. It didn't seem like her attempt to distract him had worked.

"We're not here to discuss my smell."

"Well, we should be," she muttered.

"I want to know who locked you in the dressing room last night." His voice was low, but the tense set of his shoulders gave away his anger.

She should have known Nathaniel would find a way to tell him. Needing a moment to collect her thoughts, she sat down on his bed and rested her hands on her lap. It wasn't that she hadn't planned to tell him. No, that wasn't true. She had not planned to tell him because in her experience, Joan always got away with every petty, hateful thing she did to her. While James might actually punish their cousin—unlike Aunt Christine—once the season was over, Angel would still have to return to Hefferton Place and live with them. And Joan was not exactly the forgiving type.

"I take it you've spoken to Lord Pensington?"

"Yes. Who did this, Angel?"

She looked up at her brother. He stared back at her with his hair on end, ready to pounce. Ready to protect her. Warmth surged through her at the realisation that he cared. She knew he loved her, but having been apart more than together the last few years, she had never thought he would be this protective.

"It... It doesn't matter," she whispered.

"It bloody well does matter," he snapped. "Was it Joan? Pensington seems to believe it was, and I am rather inclined to believe him unless you tell me differently."

There seemed to be no point in denying it any longer, so she nodded. James let out a string of expletives before taking a deep breath to calm himself.

"Why would you try to protect her?" he muttered as he moved across the room to call for a servant.

"I wasn't," she said. "Not exactly. I was trying to protect myself. Unlike you, I have to live with them when I leave London."

He jerked on the cord that would make a bell go off in the servants' quarters. "You can live with me from now on if you prefer. I thought you preferred the countryside, but you are old enough to come live with me here if you'd like."

Yes. She nodded, unable to get the words out through the knot in her throat. The thought of no longer having to live with the Grants felt like the light at the end of a dark tunnel. Yes. Yes. Yes. Especially since if she went ahead with this accusation, Joan would never forgive her. And neither would Aunt Christine.