Page 60 of The Villain
“You must be,” Adam replied with a smirk, retrieving a dish from inside the basket and pulling back the cloth covering to reveal an array of jam tartlets. “Because I believe you wished these into existence.”
Daphne giggled at Serena’s squeal of excitement. The girl was on her feet in a moment, reaching out for a handful of the little tarts. Within seconds, she’d devoured three, staining her lips, cheeks, and fingers with jam.
Adam urged her to slow down so she did not make herself ill, and the three settled in the sand to enjoy the array of foods Dunnottar’s cook had sent along for them. She gorged herself on meat pies and fruit, and joined Adam at swigging a crisp white wine straight from the bottle.
By the end of the meal, Serena had found her way into Daphne’s lap, where she curled up and promptly fell asleep. She clung to the girl, not caring about the jam-stained fingers clutching at her bodice or the heavy weight in her lap. Arranging the girl more comfortably, she glanced up to find Adam watching them, a pensive expression upon his face.
“I had not realized how strong the resemblance was until I saw you with her,” he remarked. “It is quite uncanny.”
She wanted to smile at that, but was not altogether certain he considered her resemblance to Serena a good thing.
“She seems to like you,” he added. “The only other woman she is ever so happy with is her mother.”
He looked away then, falling silent, and Daphne did not need him to utter the rest aloud for her to understand what he did not say. Olivia could only make Serena happy when she was in a lucid state of mind.
Adam sat staring out over the sea in silence, long tendrils of his hair whipped against his neck by the breeze. An unexpected surge of tenderness swept over her, and before she could think about what she was doing, she had reached out to him. Her hand found his face, her fingers smoothing over the coarse stubble sprouting along his jaw.
He turned to look at her, his jaw hardening against her hand as if the gesture displeased him. Yet, his eyes melted into a warm pool of molten gold at the center as he nestled closer to her touch, rubbing his jaw against her palm as if seeking succor.
“I once called you a villain,” she whispered, still steadily stroking his jaw. “But now that I have come to see why you were forced to become this … knowing what drove you to these lengths … I think that cannot be true at all.”
His eyes burned into hers as he held her gaze, green flames erupting through the gold and disrupting the tranquility of his stare.
“You place too much hope in my goodness, little dove,” he replied. “I am not your hero.”
She shook her head, stroking her thumb over his lower lip. “Not my hero … Serena’s. Olivia’s.”
He did not respond, intently watching her while Serena slept in her arms and the sea rolled and crashed against the shore. Finally, he closed the distance between them and pressed his mouth to hers, surprising her with his tenderness. Resting one large hand over hers, he kept her touch against his jaw and drank from her mouth. She opened to him, no longer foolish enough to think she could fight him. He had stripped her bare, taking away all of her defenses and maidenly sensibilities, revealing the core of her—a part of her no one else had seen.
She gave in and kissed him, knowing it was foolish to wish it would never end … but wishing it, anyway.
After returning from the shore, Adam placed a sleeping Serena in Maeve’s waiting arms and handed the picnic basket off to Niall. Then, taking her hand, he led her up to his chambers, where their attire for the dinner party had been laid out upon the bed. Butterflies began fluttering in her stomach as she waited for Maeve to arrive and see to her toilette, transforming her from sand-speckled siren to an ornamental fixture. It was a role she played well, having been used as a tool for gaining position and power by her father for years. Since her coming out, it had pleased him to dangle her before prospective suitors—men he knew she’d never choose, but whose notice might open the right doors for the Fairchild family.
If there was one thing Daphne knew how to do, it was endure being the center of attention. For the first time, however, the attention would prove her ruination … her social destruction. As she submitted to Maeve’s ministrations, allowing the maid to bathe and dress her before arranging her hair, she thought of Olivia. She thought of the devastation that had been made of the young lady’s life and knew she must go through with this. She must endure this final act of penance for the things Bertram had done. Because it could be far worse. She might not have been allowed to escape Dunnottar with her sanity, something that might elude Olivia for the rest of her life.
She had no idea who might attend this dinner party, but like everything else Adam did, she did not doubt they had been selected with care. They would be influential people … people who had the social standing to see her shunned by the Londonton. Then, the ruination of the Fairchilds would be complete.
“All done, my lady,” Maeve declared after pinning a final lock of hair into place. “My, but you are lovely. Doesn’t she look ravishing, Master?”
Daphne turned to glance at Adam over her shoulder from where she sat in a chair near the window to have her hair dressed. With no vanity in his chamber, she did not sit before a mirror, and so could not see for herself what Maeve had done to her hair or the light cosmetics she had used upon her face. However, Adam’s reaction to her appearance told her everything she needed to know.
His eyes widened, and his nostrils flared, as if he drew in her scent from across the room. His jaw ticked, and one hand curled into a fist—the motion making her scalp tingle. He often did that just before reaching out to grasp handfuls of her hair, so she wondered if he imagined doing it now.
“Aye, Maeve,” he replied, though he did not spare a glance. “She is a vision. You may go now.”
“Enjoy your evening,” the maid chirped before dipping into a curtsy and turning to obey Adam’s command.
Daphne remained in her chair, frozen in his stare as he approached. He looked quite dapper himself—as elegant as she’d ever seen him, in fact. Black evening attire clung to his large frame, expertly tailored and fitting with the latest fashion. A silver watch fob showed against a black and navy blue embroidered waistcoat, his matching blue cravat affixed with a diamond tiepin. His hair had been tamed and tied at the back of his head, emphasizing the chiseled lines of his face. As he moved toward her, the bulges of his muscles rippled beneath the fabric like rolls of the tide, reminding her of the power concealed beneath his finery.
He stood over her, his gaze tracing her from the top of her head to the gloved hands resting in her lap, before looking back up at her face again. Placing two fingers beneath her chin, he lifted it, keeping a gentle hold on her face.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded, though her stomach continued to twist and roil at the thought of going downstairs to face his guests. Offering her his free hand, he waited for her to accept his assistance before pulling her to her feet. He took her hand and pulled her along, guiding her toward the full-length mirror in one corner of the room. He stood behind her, bracing his hands upon her bare shoulders as she confronted her reflection.
The dark blue satin bodice clung to her breasts before falling away from the gown’s high waist, the fabric flowing like water over her waist, hips, and legs. Its off-the-shoulder neckline revealed quite a bit more skin than she’d ever shown in public, along with a generous amount of bosom. White gloves covered her hands and arms to above the elbows. Maeve had pinned her hair back in a whimsical coiffure, with navy blue bands adorning her crown and a cluster of flowers at one ear. Tiny ringlets framed her face, which Maeve had enhanced with just a hint of rouge at her cheeks and lips and kohl around her eyes. As always, a ribbon matching her gown had been tied around her neck, a flirtatious bow resting against her collarbone.
He stroked one cheek while studying her reflection, his fingers trailing down the side of her neck. “Remember what I told you, little dove. What they say, what they think … none of it truly matters.”
