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.
"You already have your room here, as long as you don't mind living in a bachelor's residence," he said, and having decided that the servants were taking too long, he opened the door and shouted his butler's name down the hallway. Closing the door again, he continued as if nothing had happened, "Though Hefferton Place belongs to me and not our aunt and uncle. I could always send them back to the Midlands, and you can live there by yourself. We could get you a lady's companion. The only reason they have been living there is to care for you, and you're old enough now not to need them."
"That... That seems harsh." No matter what, the Grants had left their own house and their own lives to come to Hefferton Place when her and James's parents died. They had not been the best caretakers, but they had been there when no one else had been available. It had to count for something.
"Very well, I won't. As long as they behave," James grumbled as he resumed pacing the room.
There was a light rasp on the door, and he quickly pulled it open to find the butler on the other side.
"You called, my lord?" Dobbins said calmly, as if the viscount hadn't just been shouting his name down the hall, and looked as if he'd just walked through the fires of hell with a bottle of brandy as his only companion.
"I would like you to inform Miss Grant that I should like to see her in the library in an hour," James said.
"Certainly, my lord. Right away."
"You may wish to take a bath," Angel suggested helpfully.
Her brother let out a long-suffering sigh. "And please have a bath drawn."
"I will have it done immediately," Dobbins agreed with a glitter of amusement in his eyes before quickly leaving the room to do as he'd been told.
"What are you planning to say to Joan?" Angel asked once the door shut.
"I don't know yet," James admitted, scratching his head.
"Try not to lose your temper." She stood. "It's going to be a difficult discussion either way."
"I will try." He made a face. "I've never been particularly good at speaking to Joan. She always seems to step around the subject."
Knowing her cousin, Joan would claim it was all a terrible misunderstanding. Hopefully, her brother would not fall for the innocent act that Aunt Christine happily believed every single time.
Giving James a reassuring smile, she bid him farewell and left the room. No matter the outcome of his confrontation with Joan, he had offered her to live with him, and that knowledge lent a fresh spring to her step as she walked back to her room. She tried to keep busy by rearranging her porcelain figurines and writing in her diary, but eventually gave up, as she could not stop worrying about what was about to happen. Deciding to distract herself with a book, she left again—after making sure there was no sign of Joan in the hallway.
She'd reached the library and was halfway across the room to the shelves of books before she realised she was not alone. Nathaniel lay on a chaise longue, fast asleep. That would explain how James had found out so soon. The marquess must never have left. She shifted from one foot to the other as she watched his sleeping form. It did not escape her that this was the second time she'd walked in on him sleeping in her brother's house.
Lying on his back with his face turned to the room, he looked relaxed with a hand on the floor where his arm had fallen off the chaise. He had removed his waistcoat and cravat, leaving him in only his black trousers and white shirt. Taking a few steps closer, she noticed that the top buttons had been undone, leaving a deep V of smooth, tanned skin visible. The temptation to touch him was ever-present, and she had to clasp her hands behind her back to ensure she did not reach out towards him. He was always handsome, but when asleep and relaxed, he was simply beautiful. Surely it must be sinful for a man to be so good-looking?
Dark eyelashes rested lightly on his cheeks, the tanned skin a darker olive hue than what was common in England, making her wonder if perhaps he had ancestors from southern Europe. His mouth was sensual, with a full lower lip and a little upward bend at the corners, giving him a slightly wicked look.
He stirred, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath, making her smile. Then he blinked a couple of times before his dark eyes focused on her. Newly awake, his gaze was unguarded, and the heated hunger in it made her skin tingle. She couldn't help but imagine that he was undressing her in his mind. Or was she undressing him in hers? She wasn't entirely certain, only knew that she suddenly felt very hot.
Nathaniel sat up and ran a hand through his hair. When he looked at her again, the heat had left his eyes. "Good morning," he said hoarsely.
"Good morning," she replied, happy to hear that her voice sounded normal. Nodding towards the chaise, she gave him a mischievous grin. "Sleep well?"
"Not particularly. I haven't been asleep long, and that chaise is not comfortable," he admitted with a wry grin as he stood. Even without his boots on, he towered over her, and she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. A look of concern crossed his face. "How are you feeling?"
"Well enough that I did not enjoy being ambushed outside my room first thing in the morning."
"Ah, Gowthorpe has spoken to you then." He didn't look surprised. With a yawn, he lifted his arms and stretched. The motion made his white shirt stretch taut over his chest, showing more of his tantalising skin.
Her fingers itched to touch that alluring piece of skin, so she forced herself to keep her eyes on his face. It wasn't much better, but it helped a little.
"Yes." She barely remembered what they were talking about. Memories of last night flashed before her. How hot and smooth that skin had felt against her hands. The slow, drugging kisses.
The object of her feverish thoughts seemed to sense her heightened emotions but attributed it to the wrong thing. He reached out to gently touch her face, his gaze searching hers. "Are you sure you're all right?"
She nervously wet her lips with her tongue, making his eyes drop to her mouth. The hand on her cheek twitched, and her breath hitched.
With a groan, he bent his head and his lips were a mere breath from hers when they heard voices out in the hallway. James! Her brother was planning to meet Joan in the library soon. Nathaniel's hand fell to his side as he quickly stepped away from her. They both turned to the door as it swung open and James came inside after making a final comment to his butler down the hall.
When he caught sight of them, he froze for a moment, as if he wasn't sure what to believe. She imagined he would have had a similar expression had he walked in on a group of kelpies dancing a jig on his desk. It didn't look great, she had to admit that. She was alone in the library with his friend, who was far from properly dressed.
Not looking at either of them, James continued into the room and stopped at his desk. For a moment, it looked as if he wasn't sure what to do. Then he turned around to look at them, leaning his hips against the wooden surface. She fought the urge to touch her hair to make sure it hadn't somehow come out of its coiffure. They hadn't even kissed. Not today. If James noticed her cheeks heating, he didn't say.
"I'm sorry about this morning," he said. "I slept little and my mood was rather foul after finding out about what happened."
His eyes searched hers, and her stomach dropped. Did he know about her and Nathaniel? "N... No apology needed," she stammered.
"Are you all right?" James dragged a hand through his still-damp hair. After a bath and with a fresh set of clothes, he looked infinitely more presentable than he had not that long ago.
The same could not be said for Nathaniel, whose dark hair was ruffled from sleeping, his clothes wrinkled, and a dark shadow of stubble covered his jaw. Walking over to the chaise longue, he shrugged into his waistcoat. When he buttoned up his shirt, she couldn't help but feel deprived. Remembering that her brother had asked her a question, she guiltily looked back at him. His brows were knotted as he stared at her.
"I am now," she said. "But I will admit to not handling it well last night."
"You've always had problems with small spaces."
She looked down at her feet. Embarrassed about how violently she reacted to being locked in. "I don't know why I'm like that. It feels like I can't breathe, and I panic until I just... blackout."
James ran a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, Angel. I never realised it was this bad."
"How could you? It's not exactly something I tell everyone."
"You've been like this since you were a child. When you were little, you would refuse to even ride in a closed carriage. We couldn't even have you in a small room if the door was closed."
She thoughtfully chewed on her lower lip as she tried to remember any of the things her brother was talking about, but nothing came to mind.
"You were probably too young to remember," James continued. "It got better after a while. You didn't always have this problem. Only after our parents died."
"Carriage accident, wasn't it?" Nathaniel asked, coming closer as he pulled on his tailcoat. "Does that have something to do with her fear? Did she hear about it and it made her frightened of carriages?"
James sighed. "I'm afraid it's worse than that." He met her gaze, and she almost shouted for him to stop. A sudden fear of knowing the truth gripped her. Maybe she was better off not knowing what triggered her fear. "When our parents' carriage slid off that road and toppled over, you were in there too."
She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Closing it, she shook her head. No. She'd remember something like that, wouldn't she? "I... I don't remember."
"It's probably better that you don't. You were only five years old." James's hands reached down to grip the edge of the desk as if he needed to ground himself in the face of the memories. She might not remember much of their parents or their demise, but he had been thirteen and must remember it all.
"Please, James... What happened?" Now that the box was open, she wanted to know. There was no hiding, and maybe if she knew why she reacted the way she did, she could somehow stop it from happening again.
"We—" He stopped and took a deep breath. "We don't know how you survived. The carriage must have turned around several times as it went down the hill. Both our parents died, but somehow you came away with only a few bruises. With our parents and the driver dead, there was no one to help you. We found the carriage lying on its side, and you were too small to reach the door above you. So you were stuck inside with..." He fell silent again as his blue eyes met hers, and the sadness etched on his face stole her breath away.
Stuck inside with their parents' dead bodies. He didn't say the words aloud, but they both knew it was the truth. No. It couldn't be. How? A coldness had seeped into her bones, making her shiver. "I don't remember any of this."
"No one knows how long you were there." James's lips flattened into a thin line as he thought back to the day they had found her. "We don't know exactly when the accident happened. By the time we found the carriage, you were completely silent. Just sitting there, staring into the distance. Staring at nothing. You didn't react to anything, and you wouldn't speak. It took months before you uttered a single word. The only sound I heard from you for what felt like an eternity was your screams and panicked crying whenever we tried to put you in a carriage, or someone left you alone in a room."
A warm hand clasped hers, startling her. Glancing down, she saw Nathaniel's tanned hand embracing her cold fingers. The simple touch comforted her, returning some of the warmth to her limbs. Turning back to James, she noted his frown as he stared at their linked hands, but he said nothing.
"Then what happened?" she asked, strengthened by Nathaniel's presence.
"I don't know," James admitted. "I had to go back to school. The next time I came home, you were speaking again. Though I will admit you were never much of a chatterbox." The shadow of a smile played across his lips. "You never spoke about what happened in that carriage, so we assumed you had forgotten. You were so young."
"I suppose you were right because I still don't remember. At least now I know why I react the way I do. Thank you for telling me."
"Maybe I should have told you sooner, but I didn't want to bring back any terrible memories that you were better off forgetting. But if your fear is this strong still, you deserve to know."
Walking up to her brother, she touched his face with her hand. "It's all right," she said with a smile she hoped was reassuring. "You did what you thought was best for me."
"It's all I've ever wanted to do," he muttered. "I realise I've failed at times. Especially if this is the type of treatment you've had to deal with from Joan. I never realised. You've never mentioned anything."
"It's..." She pursed her lips as she considered her answer. "Most of the time, the best course of action has been to step away and not engage. Maybe it's not always served me, but it's been the easiest way."
"Easiest is not always the best," James pointed out as he moved around the desk to sit down in his chair.
He was probably correct there. She had become so used to the way her aunt and cousin treated her that she had stopped fighting. Maybe it was time to take a stand. She had done it with Philip. She could do it with them.
James moved a few letters around on his desk before casually looking over at his friend with a hard glint in his eyes. "Should I be concerned about repeatedly finding you alone with my sister, Pensington?"
"Repeatedly?" Nathaniel scoffed. "You found us together just now, and I told you I had been alone with her yesterday."
"That makes twice. Which is more than once. That is repeatedly."
Nathaniel gave him a dark look. "Don't be an arse."
"I didn't come here to see him. I just wanted to get a book," she blurted, hoping to avoid a conversation she wasn't sure anyone wanted to have. Moving over to a bookshelf, she quickly grabbed the first book she caught sight of. "Since you're meeting Joan soon, I will leave now."
Before her brother could object, she darted out of the library to take refuge in her room. To her dismay, she noticed that the book she'd brought with her was 'Debrett's Peerage'. It was probably for the better. After finding out about the origin of her fear of closed-in spaces, she doubted she had the presence of mind to read anything. It was strange to think she had forgotten something like that, even if young. But it appeared her body had not forgotten as it reacted primitively every time she was in a small room.
Throwing herself on the bed, she stared up at the ceiling as she absent-mindedly rubbed the hand Nathaniel had embraced. He had made it perfectly clear he did not want to court her. So why had he nearly kissed her? Again.
Inside the library, Gowthorpe stared at Nathaniel for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke again.
"Surely you can see why I would be concerned?" he said. "Despite the circumstances, you must have been alone with Angel in her room last night. Some men would force you to marry for that. It's hardly proper."
"I would never do anything to compromise your sister," Nathaniel said. It was a blatant lie. Had anyone seen them, they would definitely have been on their way to the altar right now. "I have more honour than that. After all, I am not the rake here."
He wasn't sure that was at all relevant to the discussion, but something about the situation just made him want to be difficult. Gowthorpe wasn't falling for it.
"Perhaps," he allowed. "But you don't see me alone with any of your sisters, do you?"
Touché. Nathaniel was far from innocent. Despite his vow to stay away from Angel, he seemed unable to. But he'd be damned if he was going to admit to kissing his friend's sister.
"When she came into the library, I was still asleep." At least that much was the truth. "Not one of us got much rest this night. While you had a bed to spend a few hours on, I've been in here. She came in, I woke up. We shared a few words, and then you arrived. Nothing untoward happened here."
Unlike her room the previous night. He prayed his friend would not ask more about it. Gowthorpe seemed to sense his frustration with the topic because he nodded tersely. Maybe he had decided to trust him, which was ironic since he apparently could not be trusted around Angel any further than Gowthorpe could throw him.
"Angel admitted it was Joan who locked her in," Gowthorpe said, changing the subject.
"Damn. I knew it!" Nathaniel exploded, followed by a few less-than-exemplary words. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm meeting the girl shortly, and I will tell her that if she ever does anything like that again" —Gowthorpe's brow lowered over his eyes— "I'm throwing her and her parents out on the street, and they can return to their old homestead in the Midlands."
"Sounds fair to me." He ran a hand through his hair. "I had better return home. Aunt Jane will have my head for not returning home last night."
Moving to pull on his boots, he could feel his friend watching him silently. As he tied his cravat loosely without Gowthorpe having uttered a single word, he finally snapped, "Spit it out!"
The viscount narrowed his eyes. "Are you certain I have nothing to worry about regarding Angel?"
"Nothing at all," he replied in clipped tones. Lying to his friend was not his finest moment, but what could he possibly say? I can think of nothing these days but how good your sister feels in my arms when I touch her. Gowthorpe certainly would not appreciate hearing that.
"Very well then." Gowthorpe stood. "Will I see you at White's this afternoon?"
He nodded, then left the library before his friend could read the truth in his eyes. There was most definitely something to worry about.
~~~~~~