Page 73 of The Villain
Bertram sneered at her, issuing a derisive snort. “You would take Hartmoor’s side over ours? The man who bought your cunt for ten thousand pounds?”
She almost laughed in his face, nearly revealing that she was now wealthier than he could ever hope to be with what Adam had paid her for access to her body.
“Yes,” she declared. “Because for all his sins, Hartmoor never once lied to me. From the moment I met him, I was never mistaken about who he was or what he wanted from me. You, I have loved and trusted my entire life … which has turned out to be a mistake. I will not commit the error of allowing you to engage me with more lies.”
She put him behind her once again, marching back toward the stairwell. Balling one hand into a fist, she shoved the other into her pocket, finding comfort in the feel of the envelope hidden there. Inside it lay her future … and now, she would put the past behind her.
Coming to the ground level, she swept through the vestibule. She hoped to find a hansom cab to take her to her aunt’s home, where her mother had taken refuge. She could not stay forever, but a few nights would give her enough time to get her affairs in order.
So determined was she on her mission, she did not see the hulking shadow of Niall until he was upon her. She shrank away from him, too on edge to allow the hand reaching toward her to land.
“What in blazes do you want?” she snapped, glaring at the man who only reminded her of the one she was truly angry at.
The one who had ripped the veil from over her eyes and exposed the world for what it truly was. The one who had given her a taste of something that had made her feel alive before discarding her like refuse.
“I would rather be well on my way to Dunnottar, believe me,” he retorted. “But my Master gave me strict orders not to return until I had sat here long enough to ensure you did not come back out.”
Wrinkling her brow, she glanced up to find the carriage that had carried her to London coming back toward them up the lane. It had likely been circling the block since she’d gone inside, while Niall waited in the shadows.
“Why?” she murmured, her voice cracking as tears flooded her eyes once again. “Why would he do that? Why do any of this?”
Niall’s expression remained hard and emotionless as he shrugged one big shoulder. “I cannae pretend to know his mind. I only know he suspected ye might leave shortly after arrivin’, and he was most adamant that I ensure ye make yer way safely to yer final destination.”
Swiping at her eyes once more, she sighed. At least, she would not need to ask her mother to pay for the cab.
“Very well,” she relented. “You may take me to my aunt’s address in Mayfair. Once you’ve deposited me there, I trust I won’t be seeing you again?”
“I most certainly hope not,” he countered, leading the way to the carriage.
He offered her a hand up, but she ignored him, pulling herself into the vehicle on her own. It occurred to her that she’d left her sack behind in the flat—the one containing the clothing she’d worn to Dunnottar.
No matter. She had no reason to go back.
Glancing back up at Niall, who now sat across from her, she smirked.
“When you see your Master again, thank him for me,” she said, making herself more comfortable on the carriage seat.
“Whatever for?” he muttered.
The carriage began to move, and for the first time all day, Daphne smiled … a true smile.
“For setting me free.”
EPILOGUE
3 months later …
Adam stomped through the open doors of Dunnottar, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. A footman closed one of the large double doors behind him, shutting out the bitter cold. Despite the hours he’d just spent riding hell for leather across the wilds of Scotland, he was in a state of heightened agitation. His body remained on edge, every muscle stretched taut, every vein pulsating with blood heated to its boiling point.
Niall appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, his ever-present scowl marring what might have been considered a handsome face.
“Enjoy yer ride, Master?” he asked, though he sounded as if he could not care less.
Niall—who was as much Adam’s friend as he was his butler—was angry with him. He had been ever since the day he had relented and allowed Daphne back into the palace after throwing her out on the front steps. When it came to the Fairchilds, the only person who wished for their blood more than Adam might be Niall.
The man did not understand the nuances of warfare. He did not understand that a true general did not dash across the battlefield and stab his enemy in the heart. He drew out the death of his nemesis, strategically cutting pieces of him away bit by bit … until there was nothing left.
He had spent five years methodically destroying Bertram Fairchild, as well as his father and uncle. That had proved far more satisfying than a fleeting duel or bout of fisticuffs.
