Page 44 of The Dove
Her eyes stung at the venom in his tone, the harsh bite to his words. She knew what he would say before he would even open his mouth to utter the words, driving the dagger even deeper into her heart.
“Yes,” she whispered, even as she knew that she was only hurting herself by forcing his hand, by demanding that he prove to her in some way—any way at all—that he simply wantedher. That he needed her for something other than his vengeance. “Choose, Adam. Me … or him?”
He stared at her in silence for so long, she nearly passed out from holding her breath, waiting for him to land his final blow, to rip her heart out and devour it.
When he did not immediately respond, she almost allowed herself to hope, to lean in to hear his answer, praying that once … just this one moment, he would choose her. Even if it did not last … even if he changed his mind … even if it was a lie.
“You make demands of me as if I actuallyhavea choice,” he murmured, releasing her hand, flinging it away as if she’d burned him. “It’s him, little dove. Even if I had a choice, it would be him … because I will not rest, Icannotrest until he has paid with everything he has left.”
She sank onto the piano bench and looked away so he could not see her tears, so he could not see how deeply he’d wounded her. Because even when she told him she hated him, it proved as much a lie as the one she tried to make herself believe—this notion that she did not crave him with every fiber of her being.
His voice came at her again, lashing against her like the crack of a whip.
“But I am not going to choose,” he continued. “I want my revenge, but I also want you … and I will have both. You are staying, and that is the end of it. Try to leave … test me if you wish. You will not like the outcome.”
Without another word or glance in her direction, he was gone, thundering through the drawing room door and leaving her there alone.
Dashing away the tears clinging to her eyelashes, she muttered an oath under her breath, cursing herself for the fool she was. She had known from the beginning that this man would destroy her if she let him; yet, she could not stop placing herself in his hands, submitting to his will and his desires only to be torn apart and left lying in the remnants of his rage.
This was how she knew, without a shred of uncertainty, that even if she found a way to escape him, she would never truly be free.
Daphne was not certain how much longer she slept once she trudged back up the stairs to what had once been her mother’s chamber and fell back into bed. She had been wrung dry by her confrontation with Adam … emotionally spent and so exhausted, she could hardly keep her eyes open. So, she slept until the sun stung her eyes through her lowered lids, until the warbled sounds of voices coming through the bedroom windows pulled her toward consciousness. She frowned and blinked her bleary eyes, trying to make sense of her surroundings and the noises coming from outside.
It was odd, being in this room, in the home her family had been forced to sell. Everything was just as she remembered it, mostly untouched by its new occupants.
She left the bed, feeling surprisingly refreshed despite the turmoil of the previous night and early hours of the morning. After she’d rubbed her eyes, she noticed the subtle changes that marked Adam’s return to the room, as well as his departure. The scraps of his clothing he’d left on the floor had been cleared away—including the leather braces. The washstand appeared to have been prepared for her—the basin filled, and various bottles and vials surrounding it. A stack of clean linens awaited her use.
She noticed other small touches here and there—her dressing gown thrown over the privacy screen, a stack of books she’d been reading laid on a table near the window. Most damning of all … a large trunk on the floor in the center of the room.Hertrunk.
As she approached it, her stomach churned to find it filled with her clothing. Just as he had promised, he’d sent someone for her belongings. Her hands shook as she dug through the trunk, finding a wide variety of clothing—enough to cover just about every contingency. He’d been thorough, just as he had been when having her outfitted during her time at Dunnottar.
“Oh, my lady!” chirped a voice from across the room. “You’re awake!”
She glanced up to find Maeve in the doorway, her smile bright, her hands clasped together against her chest. Despite the circumstances, she found herself happy to see the woman who had acted as her lady’s maid during her time in Scotland. She stood as Maeve rushed toward her with open arms. The two embraced, and something within Daphne snapped, the emotions she’d been trying to hold at bay rushing to the surface faster than she could stifle. Before she knew it, she was crying, her body wracked with sobs while she buried her face in the maid’s shoulder.
To her surprise, Maeve simply held her, stroking her hair and crooning comforting words, seeming content to allow Daphne to let it all out.
“There, there, my lady,” she whispered. “I know … it has all been so hard. For you, most of all, I suspect. I cannot imagine.”
Shaking her head, she hiccupped, trying to reel it all back in, bottle it up inside. Maeve did not need to hear about her troubles; not when Daphne suspected she had been the one to care for Olivia … the one to bring her to Adam after the harrowing incident. She must be distraught herself, having come so close to losing the person she’d been responsible for.
Still, when she looked up into the other woman’s eyes, she could not help the sudden urge to lay her burdens at someone else’s feet. Someone who understood this connection between her and Adam, this convoluted web of pain and vengeance tying them together.
“I do not know what to do, Maeve,” she said hoarsely, trying to dry her own tears. “Everything is so … I do not know what to do.”
Nodding and giving her a sympathetic look, the maid patted her shoulder. “I know. Why don’t we start with the things wecando? Things will seem a bit less muddled after a hot bath and a bite to eat.”
Her stomach rebelled at the thought of food, but the bath did sound heavenly. After the things Adam had put her through, a long, hot soak would go a long way toward making her feel whole again.
“Very well,” she relented, forcing a strained smile. “Thank you, Maeve.”
The maid smiled back at her, giving her a little nudge toward the privacy screen. “You get out of that frock and into your warm dressing gown … I will go arrange the bath. You’ll see, my lady, you will feel ever so much better.”
Daphne obeyed Maeve without thinking, grateful for her presence as well as the way she’d so easily taken charge. Her mind was in such a muddle, she could hardly think past her turbulent thoughts, so many of them slithering about her mind like a nest of snakes.
Adam might have impregnated her.
Her brother had outed her to the entiretonas a whore.
