Page 45 of The Dove
Olivia had tried to take her own life.
This battle between two men with her trapped in the middle might not end before she had a chance to extricate herself—to save herself from being destroyed.
Adam had backed her into a corner and now had her trapped, refusing to let go.
And she might be carrying his child …
The thoughts swam about, battering the corners of her mind, slamming against one another and wreaking havoc. It was a toxic combination, and no matter how she tried to make sense of it all—to think of some way to make it all right—she failed. Either way things fell, they would end with carnage and pain. What sort of ending could there be for a child in this situation—one created of her bond with a man who did not care enough for her to put aside his quest for vengeance in order to have her?
As she slipped out of her gown, enfolding herself into the heavy damask robe, she realized with startling clarity that she would have given him whatever he asked if he’d given her the one thing she wanted. He did not even have to love her—she hardly thought him capable. But, if he could show that he cared at all … that he wanted her more than he wanted to destroy her brother … perhaps she could give him what he wanted. Perhaps she could let herself be his; his to keep, his to protect and use and defile.
Peering around the screen, she found that a few footmen had helped cart the copper tub into the room under Maeve’s watchful eye. As she waited for the tub to be filled, she turned to the nearest window, drawn toward it by the noises that had died away for a moment, but had now resurged. As she pulled the curtain and peered down into the little courtyard below, where the gardener had cultivated a variety of flowers, she could not help but smile. Heedless of her perusal, Adam dashed about in the small space, chasing the little girl bounding out of his reach with high-pitched giggles and shrieks.
She sank onto the window’s ledge, perching there and resting her head against the glass as she watched Serena with Adam, the clear affection between them making her chest ache. He still looked every bit the monster she knew him to be—large, imposing, half-dressed and indecent with his hair hanging down his back in bedraggled waves. He even snarled and roared as he chased the little girl, not having to try very hard to pretend to be some sort of beast in pursuit of a helpless maiden.
Yet, she saw other things, too. The way he purposely chased her away from the uneven stones on the right side of the courtyard that might cause her to trip and injure herself. The way his hold was so careful when he finally caught her, his hands gentled to touch something so precious, yet still strong enough to bear all her weight. The child squealed and laughed when he swung her up in the air, never seeming afraid that he might drop her. That sort of faith could only come from the years he’d spent caring for her, proving with actions that she could rely upon him to shelter her, to protect her, to give her everything she could ever want.
Another tear wet her face as she watched him take Serena up onto his shoulders, galloping about the courtyard with her, spinning her in wild circles, his laughter ringing out at her through the window. The little girl sitting astride his shoulders with her arms stretched up to the heavens had no notion of how fortunate she was, how easily she’d snared Adam’s heart, when someone like Daphne seemed incapable of even scratching the surface.
Maeve appeared at her side, taking her hand and guiding her from the window. Tearing her gaze away from the heartwarming sight of uncle and niece, she went to the tub, her senses flooded with the oils used to scent the steaming water. Her muscles began unwinding before she even stepped in, the soothing smell of lavender going a long way to calm her rattled nerves.
The maid helped her out of her dressing gown, and if she noticed the light welts still marring Daphne’s skin, she did not remark on them. She did not say anything at all as she guided her into the tub, helping douse her hair with the hot, fragrant water.
Daphne sighed with relief, sinking against the back of the tub and closing her eyes. She submitted to Maeve’s ministrations, her muscles unwinding with the help of the hot water and the maid’s deft hands scrubbing her skin. She seemed content to work in silence, allowing Daphne to enjoy the bath, humming some off-key tune while she washed and rinsed her hair and gently cleansed her face with a soft cloth.
She did not speak until she had settled behind Daphne to begin running a comb through the snarled tangles of her wet hair.
“I am glad you came when you did, my lady,” she murmured, keeping her voice low as if loath to disturb Daphne’s peace. “The Master would never have admitted it … but I believe he needed you.”
She opened her eyes and stared across the room, at the window she’d just been sitting at, knowing Adam was on the other side, even though she could no longer see him.
“What on earth would give you that idea?” she murmured.
She had a feeling that her definition of ‘need’ did not align with Maeve’s. Sure, heneededher as a tool to use against her brother. What else was there?
“You’re still coming to know him the way the rest of us do,” the maid replied while carefully dragging the comb through Daphne’s hair. “But haven’t you ever noticed the way he wants to keep you close when things go sour? Last night, I feared the sort of state it’d put him in to see Lady Olivia so badly hurt. You being here … well, I’m certain it is responsible for his fair mood this morning.”
Daphne snorted, sitting up and turning her body so that she looked Maeve in the eye. “Or perhaps it has more to do with him having discovered yet another way to strike out at my brother through me.”
Maeve’s gaze held a heavy measure of pity as she set the comb aside and sighed. “You have to understand … men like the Master … they aren’t like the others. They are hard and rough because they have to be, because it’s the only way to survive when everyone you’ve ever loved dies, or the people you want to love you give you only scorn. And then,youcome along and make him feel things. Things he might not want to feel, but he can’t help himself. He’s been miserable since you left Dunnottar, my lady, you must believe me.”
“So, he comes here to make me as miserable as he is?” Daphne challenged. “Is that it?”
The maid shook her head, eyes wide and pleading, as if she needed Daphne to understand. “You are only miserable because you keep fighting him. If you would only give him—”
“Give him what?” she interrupted, her voice rising in pitch and volume. “The few parts of me that are left, so he can destroy those, too? My heart, so that he can crush it in his fist? He has made his choice, Maeve. I …”
She deflated, the indignation leaving her body as quickly as it had built. Her heart sank into the pit of her gut.
“You are right,” she whispered. “Maybe he cannot help himself where I am concerned … and I am of the same notion when it comes to him. But he can never give me the things I would want from him; not while he is still so determined to pursue Bertram’s downfall. Don’t you understand? I cannot allow myself to love him … not when loving him will surely be the end of me.”
Maeve furrowed her brow, her expression of sadness warring with that of disappointment. She studied Daphne in silence for a long while before nodding and heaving another labored sigh.
“Perhaps you are right,” she said, seeming resigned to accept Daphne’s words. “I just hoped … I thought … Well, it does not matter what I thought, does it? Forget I mentioned any of it to you, my lady.”
Daphne frowned as Maeve went back to work, falling silent again and avoiding eye contact as she helped her from the tub and prepared her to get dressed.
What did the woman expect her to do? Confess her love for a man who would destroy her to gain his own ends? Didn’t Maeve understand that Adam had too much power over her? The power to tear her open and expose all her most vulnerable parts before tossing her aside and leaving her bleeding to death from the wounds he’d inflicted. She would never survive him.
