Page 23 of The Butterfly
“And now?” she prodded, needing to hear him tell her he was done, that it was all over. No good could come from continuing to pursue vengeance. All she wanted was to move forward with her life, and she wanted Adam to move on with her.
“Now, I want to keep her,” he murmured, still avoiding her gaze.
A spark of something warm surged in her chest, and she nearly grinned as she read deeper than the words he’d said. Whatever had happened between him and Lady Daphne, he’d been affected by it … so much so, that he had not been willing to simply let her go when it had all ended.
A sly smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth, even as she went on shivering. “Y-you always were p-possessive of the people you l-love.”
Finally, he looked at her, eyes narrowing in annoyance. That only further confirmed what she suspected. He would not grow so agitated if he did not havesometender feelings for Lady Daphne.
“Love has naught to do with it,” he snapped. “I like having her in my bed, so she will be. That is the end of it.”
“Only y-you came all the way to L-London for her.”
That he still looked surprised to know she understood all this annoyed her to no end. People talked of such things with her nearby all the time, likely because they thought she was not listening. Going a bit mad had, apparently, reduced her to the status of arm chair whenever people discussed important matters.
“I came to London for Bertram. She is the best way to strike out at him.”
It all came back to this. Adam might care for Lady Daphne, but he would never allow himself to give in to it because of her connection to the man who had ruined Olivia. She could find no fault with the woman if she loved Adam. If Lady Daphne loved her brother, then Olivia would be more than willing to look past her family connections. After all, it was not Daphne’s fault she’d been born into such a family.
“L-let it go, H-Hart. Or y-you’ll d-die alone.”
Adam’s jaw clenched, a muscle in his cheek twitching. Agitation furrowed his brow and carved his handsome face with deep lines.
“I will die knowing I delivered justice for you and Serena.”
The fatigue began to overwhelm her again, so she closed her eyes. Her heart grew heavy for him, as she realized that anger would destroy her brother. It worried her that even if she managed to get better somehow, she might still lose him. Could he not see that vengeance only offered them so much comfort? Once it was over, how would they ever find peace?
“N-not enough,” she managed before allowing her head to grow heavy against the pillows.
Deep sleep was impossible, so she rested, shivering and shaking beneath the bedclothes. For a long time, the room remained silent, so she simply lay listening to Adam breathe and taking comfort in his nearness.
Eventually, more weight was added to the bed, comforting arms coming around her. She did not fight against it, only knowing that the embrace felt familiar and that the pressure of arms tight around her finally helped her to lie still. Once the shivering abated, she was finally able to find peace in sleep.
When she awakened, it was Niall who lay in bed with her, his big arms wrapped tight around her body. For the first time in what she assumed must be days, she lay still, warmth suffusing the surface of her skin and sinking deep. The light peeking out from between slightly parted curtains told her she’d slept through the night—a rare occurrence, even when she’d relied upon the laudanum to put her down.
Tipping her head back to look at Niall, she frowned to find dark circles beneath his eyes. Reaching up with a shaking, tentative hand, she cupped his cheek, then ran one finger along the scar on the left side of his face. The mark never failed to spark guilt deep within her, despite how many years it had been. It served as a reminder of the many times they’d hurt one another, all the ways she continued to hurt him, even when she could not help it. He had always deserved better than someone who could only bring him pain. Even knowing this, she had never been able to stay away.
1814
Five years earlier…
Olivia held the hem of her skirts aloft as she trudged over the grounds of Dunvar House, glancing over her shoulder to ensure she had not been followed. Night had fallen hours ago, the moon peeking out from behind a thick covering of clouds. The cool evening air of early spring came as a relief after the hours she had spent cloistered inside the small but adequate ballroom inside of Dunvar House. The soirée had been planned by herself and the housekeeper at the insistence of her stepfather. The earl had declared the need for a little coming out right here in Edinburgh before her journey to London for her very first Season, where she would be presented at court before a whirlwind schedule of social gatherings.
It was there, in the city filled with the members of thebeau monde, that Olivia was expected to find a husband.
As she made her way toward the stables, she couldn’t help feeling a bit nervous over the entire thing. For certain, she was excited about journeying to London, where under the watchful eyes of her chaperones—a cousin from her mother’s side of the family and his wife—she would indulge in everything the city and social Season had to offer. An entire wardrobe of elegant clothing had arrived weeks ago, just after she’d returned home from school following her last term. Everything had been arranged, from this coming-out ball to the court attire she must wear for her presentation, right down to a list of eligible bachelors her cousin thought might suit her.
Finding the doors of the stable hanging open, she quickened her steps, her pulse fluttering as she thought of the man hidden away inside. Something had changed between them last year, on the night that Conall had caught them together and scarred Niall’s face. As promised, he had stopped avoiding her, and whenever she had returned home on holiday, she’d heard not a whisper of him sneaking off with maids. If it was something he got up to whenever she went away, Olivia at least appreciated that he kept her from knowing about it.
There had been the occasional kiss whenever they found themselves alone, soft presses of their lips turning into a frantic joining of mouths, writhing tongues, panted breaths and busy hands. To her annoyance, there had never been anything beyond that. Despite having been practically raised in a stable, Niall proved the perfect gentleman with her, never slipping a hand beneath her skirts or into her bodice … even though it was plainly obvious that he wanted to. It was as charming as it was exasperating.
Pausing just within the stable, she spied the ladder leading up into the hayloft and smiled. She had never come here at night, seeking him out in the darkness. But, when she had escaped the ballroom, desperate to be away from the crowd inspecting her before her sale on the Marriage Mart, this had been the only place she’d wished to be.
So, she made her way to the ladder, carefully holding her skirts up around her knees so that she did not trip over them while climbing. Once she had emerged through the opening to the hayloft, she spied Niall seated in the square, open window overlooking the back of the stable, paddocks, and land stretching beyond. The moonlight cast his silhouette in perfect form, outlining his bulky frame and the wisps of midnight-black hair falling into his eyes. The white of his shirt gleamed in the moonlight, the rest of him cast in dark shadow. Nearby, she faintly made out the place where he often slept, old, worn sheets and a quilt laid over an improvised mattress of hay.
The wooden floorboards of the loft creaked when she stepped onto them, alerting him to her presence. He turned his head to glance at her over his shoulder.
Despite knowing he likely couldn’t see her well from this distance, she smiled at him. “Stablemaster for an entire year, and still, you sleep in the hayloft.”
