Page 49 of The Villain
Her good mood lasted for the rest of the afternoon, which she spent reading in the garden.
It was there that Olivia happened upon her, seeming to have wandered away from her wing of the house.
Daphne gasped at the sight of her, frozen in place upon the bench she occupied with an open tome in her lap. She held perfectly still, not wanting to startle the girl, but captivated by the sight of her.
She wore a demure morning gown of spring green muslin, her dark hair unbound and hanging down her back. She walked through the courtyard barefoot, her steps slow and fluid. She moved with the same grace Daphne had noticed in Adam, though with her slender form and dainty feet, the motions appeared more dreamlike—as if Olivia floated instead of walking.
Approaching a rosebush bursting with open blossoms, she smiled, reaching out to touch one. She must be the reason Adam kept the garden so well-maintained. The girl looked at home here—as much a part of the scenery as the flowers blooming around her.
She appeared far more peaceful than she had the night she had attacked Daphne. As Olivia plucked a blossom and turned to face her, she realized why. Her eyes glistened with an unfocused sheen that told her she had recently come out of the haze induced by laudanum. The effects still lingered, keeping her passive.
A soft smile curved Olivia’s mouth when their gazes met, and she brought the rose up to her nostrils to inhale.
“Hello,” she murmured, her voice soft and lyrical when not strained from screaming. It carried the same soft Scottish brogue as Adam’s. “I do not believe we’ve met.”
Daphne closed her book and set it aside, trying not to move too quickly lest she startle the girl.
“I am Daphne Fa-”
She paused, clearing her throat, realizing the error she’d almost committed. Telling Olivia her last name would only set her off again.
“Just Daphne,” she amended. “I am here as a guest of your brother.”
With a giggle, Olivia came closer, twirling the stem of the rose between her fingers. “Hart always did have good taste in women. You’re absolutely beautiful.”
Daphne’s smile was genuine this time. “Thank you. I find you to be quite lovely, as well.”
But Olivia paid no heed to her compliment. Instead, she kept the rose in one hand while reaching out to Daphne with the other.
She held as still as possible and let the girl touch her hair, pulling the long rope of her braid from over one shoulder to trail it between her slender fingers. They were the hands of a harpist—dainty and feminine, with long, slender fingers she imagined would glide over the strings with ease.
“Such a lovely shade of red,” Olivia murmured. “Just like—”
“Livvie!” a man’s voice boomed from across the courtyard.
Both women turned to find Niall approaching them from the door leading to the main hall. His black coat strained at the seams, his shoulders and arms rippling with power as he clenched his hands into fists at his sides. He did not appear pleased, his dark eyes narrowing when they landed on Daphne, his mouth turning down.
Yet, Olivia seemed unaware of his displeasure, giggling as she shot to her feet and dashed toward him. “Niall!”
The butler turned his attention to the young woman, his expression softening considerably when their gazes met. Daphne looked on in shock as the girl threw herself at him, laughing as he caught her up against his body. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, bringing her up to meet his gaze. Her diminutive size made her feet dangle off the ground, her small hand cupping his face.
“Such a grumpy thing you are,” she teased. “Careful, Niall … so much frowning brings wrinkles.”
He grunted as she began kissing him, her lips brushing his forehead and the bridge of his nose, then his lips. “Ye’ll give me wrinkles on yer own, wanderin’ off like that. And with no shoes, to boot. Hart’ll kill me if ye injure yerself.”
Daphne’s mouth fell open at the clear evidence of affection between them. Despite Olivia not being in her right state of mind, there existed a familiarity here that could not be denied. She cared for Niall, and by the way the large butler handled her, he obviously returned the sentiment. Daphne would never have thought him capable of such gentleness; yet, he held Olivia as if she were made of glass, as if she were more precious to him than a handful of priceless gems.
“Come on, then,” he murmured, turning to walk back toward the open door with her still in his arms. “Let’s get ye back to yer room and into a pair of slippers.”
Olivia clung to him, her arms wrapped tight around his neck as he carried her away.
“Good-bye, Daphne,” she called out cheerily. “It was lovely to have met you!”
As if he’d forgotten about her presence, Niall turned to glare at her over his shoulder. “You … stay there. We’ll speak when I return.”
She watched them go with a slack jaw. Niall had seemed like a different person in Olivia’s presence, his careful handling of the girl baffling. Especially considering the man looked fit to kill her anytime she was in the room with him.
She sat quietly in the garden and waited—not because Niall had all but ordered her to, but because she needed to connect another thread in this convoluted tapestry. She needed to know what else Adam was keeping from her. It would seem there was more than met the eye … so many facets of this situation she remained ignorant to.
