Free A Midsummer's Kiss (Farthingale Series Book 4) by Meara Platt Page B

surprised and at the same time dreading the news that had put her there. “Is it Brutus?” He didn’t know her father very well, but the man didn’t seem the sort to go back on his word and have the beast destroyed.
    “No,” she said between sniffles and great gulps of air. She was a little thing and the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, but there was a liveliness about her—a stubbornness, too—that gave her a presence beyond her slender size.
    “Has someone been hurt?” His heart lodged in his throat at her nod, his first thoughts drifting to Laurel’s sisters and her parents. Despite their lack of conversation over the past few days, he knew that her family was important to her. He wanted to press her for details, but decided against it. She was distraught and wanted to be held. Indeed, she needed to be held so badly that even his odious touch was acceptable.
    “He didn’t have to go,” she said in a strained whisper, burrowing her soft body against his hard frame as though clinging to him would somehow diminish her pain. Sunlight streamed in through the open window, and a warm breeze lightly blew across her golden curls. The beauty of this day was at odds with her anguish. There ought to have been dark clouds and a tempest raging outside, for the girl was in such torment it was clear something very bad had happened to someone dear to her heart.
    Yet in her torment, she’d run to him.
    Did it signify anything?
    Would she ever admit to herself that it did?
    He ran a caressing hand through her soft, silken tresses. “Lass, I’m so sorry.”
    “He could have bought his way out, but refused.” She spoke into his chest so that he felt the movement of her lips against his heart. Damn. “Julia fainted when she heard the news. She’s Uncle Harrison’s wife. They have a young son. Little Harry. Why did he have to go? And now no one knows where he is, only that he was wounded in battle and possibly captured by the French!”
    Laurel was talking about her uncle’s military service. The Farthingales were wealthy and could have paid to avoid sending any family member to fight in the war against Napoleon. Obviously, Harrison Farthingale was a man of honor who was determined to dutifully serve his country.
    Indeed, he was now paying a dear price for that duty. Would the wife and young son he’d left behind ever see him again? Graelem had experienced enough battles during his service in the Peninsular war to know the odds were against Harrison’s safe return.
    Laurel was still sobbing against his chest as she fitfully continued. “My mother and the female elders are tending to Julia. Daisy’s looking after little Harry. The poor thing, he’s so scared. He’s holding onto Daisy for dear life and refuses to go into anyone else’s arms. The men have gone off to the regimental headquarters to find out more information, and the twins were sent to Rose’s to spend the night.”
    She let out a string of hiccups and sniffles. “I… I felt so lost and useless. I didn’t know what to do… or where I should be.”
    “Right here, lass.” He gently tipped her chin up so that her gaze met his, although he doubted she could see much through her tears. “I’m glad you came to me. This is where you belong. In my arms.”
    “No, I can’t belong with you,” she said in a whispered groan, but her hands slid up his chest and her delicate fingers grazed the nape of his neck as she clung tighter and tighter to him until their bodies were flat against each other.
    “You do, lass.” He had one arm around her slight waist and the other buried in her wild, tumbling curls without a clue as to what might happen next. He’d take his guidance from her.
    She gazed up at him, her eyes at first reflecting her confusion and then subtly shifting to reflect something quite different. Something quite surprising. Blessed Scottish saints! He understood what she wanted, what she yearned for in that moment. She was asking him