A Midsummer Night's Kiss (Howertys #1)

Chapter 29: Aftermath

Nathaniel watched as Mrs Grant stiffly stood and left the room in a huff. He was of two minds to follow her to make sure she packed up her belongings and vacated the premises at that minute. Coming into the drawing room after Gowthorpe to see Angel sobbing on the floor with Chettisham stepping away from her had been awful. He flexed his free hand. It still smarted after the punches he'd aimed at the other man. Chettisham should be grateful he could still walk.

With a weary sigh, Gowthorpe sank down on the sofa his aunt had vacated and ran a hand over his face.

"I should have thrown them out long before," he muttered. Shaking his head, he looked at Angel. "I'm sorry. This would never have happened if I had tossed them out on their arses after Joan locked you in the dressing room."

"I'm the one who asked you not to. None of us thought Aunt Christine would go this far." She looked down at her hand in her lap. The other was still in Nathaniel's "I knew she cared little about me, but to finally hear how little I mean to her for her to be willing to put me in a room alone with Philip, I—"

Her voice broke on a sob, and anger rushed over him. If he didn't think she preferred having him close, he would happily have found Chettisham for another round. Pulling her into his arms, he let her cry against his shoulder as he looked at Gowthorpe over the top of her head.

"Make sure everyone knows of Chettisham's finances," he said coldly, and his friend nodded.

"All of London will know before the day is over," he vowed. Glancing at his sister in Nathaniel's arms, he sighed and stood. "I will find a servant and have them draw her a bath. It might help her relax."

Gowthorpe disappeared. Nathaniel remained on the sofa with Angel as she continued crying. Not knowing what he could do to help, he sat still and stroked her back, murmuring nonsense words of comfort, until she finally quieted. Pulling back slightly, she looked up at him with the shadow of a wry smile.

"I beg your pardon," she mumbled, drying her eyes. "I seem destined to cry and wet your coats."

"You can wet any coat of mine any time." Reaching out, he tucked a finger under her chin and gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. He wasn't sure he managed, since the signs of her struggle with Chettisham made his blood boil.

She stroked a lock of hair out of her face to fasten it behind her ear. Some of her hair had come loose, and her topknot hung off to the side. A red mark covered her cheekbone where she must have been slapped or hit. He tamped down his fury. Angel needed him. This was not the time to run off in a hot-headed rage, no matter how tempting.

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently.

"In desperate need of a bath." She sighed. "I'm just sad to realise how little I mattered to Aunt Christine after all. It's no wonder I've always felt unwanted."

"You are wanted now." The words left him before he could stop them, and her eyes flew to his. He quickly added, "My aunt and sisters love you and cannot wait for you to be a part of your family."

A shadow of disappointment crossed her face, and he felt like an arse, but he didn't want to give her false hope. It was important to remember that while he liked her, and was quite content to take her as his wife, their relationship would never go beyond that. Could not go beyond that. He would never love anyone. Would never risk finding out if he was as weak as his father had been.

"I look forward to that, too. Your family is lovely. I will see if my bath is ready."

She stood and walked across the room. He wanted to call out. To tell her... He wasn't sure what. Something—anything—to make the sadness radiating from her evaporate. But he remained silent, watching as she left the room and closed the door behind her.