Page 43 of The Butterfly
He had stood back for far too long, letting Adam tend to the matter of the Fairchilds, trusting his friend and master to get the job done. But, no more. He was done standing back and waiting; he was done observing the so called ‘place’ society had put him in because of the father he’d been born to. He was done feeling impotent.
He was Olivia’s knight, and now, he was going to do what knights did best—go to war.
The sun flashed bright when he threw open the door leading into the garden, but he barely registered the way it stung his eyes, narrowing them upon his target. The fool had come into the garden and was now arguing with Adam—who stood between Bertram and Daphne while Serena looked on with wide, curious eyes.
His ire rose even more at the sight of the cur standing so close to their little Serena. It did not matter that Bertram had sired her—he had no claim on the child, no right to come here and set his filthy eyes upon her. Stomping over the path toward them, Niall vowed to make him pay for this … pay for it all.
Whatever they’d been arguing about must have ended, because Bertram was turning to walk away. He did not intend to let the son of a bitch get far.
“You,” he rasped, pointing an accusing finger at Bertram’s back.
As expected, he turned to face Niall, confusion marring his pretty face as he seemed to wonder what the hell a servant might want with him. Niall struck fast, reaching out to fist the lapel of his coat with one hand, then balling up the other and crashing it into Bertram’s face. The impact of flesh and bone against his knuckles and the resulting spray of blood was not nearly as satisfying as it should have been. So, as Bertram crumbled to the ground with a groan, Niall went down on top of him.
The world fell away, and all he knew was that the man who had broken the woman he loved was finally at his fingertips. He was disgustingly pretty like a girl, even with blood splattering his face—the weapon he had used to lull Livvie into a false sense of security before striking like the viper he was. It made each blow to his cheekbones, jaw, and lips that much more satisfying. He growled like an enraged animal with each blow, putting the force of his weight behind every one, now out of his mind with rage. Then, he went to work on the man’s body. If he had his say, the bastard would not walk away from this encounter. For every bit of pain Olivia had suffered, Bertram would pay in flesh and blood. He struck his gut, his ribs, drove a knee up into his groin so hard, he was surprised the man’s balls did not come spewing out of his mouth.
Screams came at him from somewhere far off, high and shrill—Daphne calling out to him, Serena crying. It only made him think of Olivia screaming and pleading for mercy when this cur had forced himself on her.
He roared, the taste of the other man’s blood on his lips ramping up his fury until he was nearly mad with it. Holding Bertram by the throat, he pulled him up off the ground, then slammed him back down, bashing his head and knocking the wind from him. The other man stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes as Niall pinned him down and wrapped both hands around his throat. He began to squeeze, trembling at the feel of Bertram’s windpipe against his palms, a rapid pulse fluttering at his fingertips. It could be done in seconds … Bertram would die wheezing and thrashing beneath him. A just end for the man who had taken away the most precious thing in the world to him, chewing her up and spitting her out when he’d finished.
But then, a strong pair of arms wrapped around him—a grip equal in strength to his wrenching him from on top of Bertram. Niall fought, flailing to be set free as he was dragged across the ground, farther and farther away from his prey.
“Goddamn it, Niall!” Adam bellowed, wrestling him into submission. “I said, stop!”
No … he could not stop. Bertram was struggling to his feet, coughing and spitting streams of blood onto the ground. He was still alive, still moving, still unpunished for his crimes. He growled and tried again to pull away from Adam, but his friend was having none of it. He held Niall down while Bertram began backing away, swiping his sleeve over his swollen, bloodied mouth.
“Three days,” he slurred, glaring at Daphne—his own sister—as if he hated her. “And make it sixty thousand unless you want me to have that cretin prosecuted for attacking me.”
Then, he turned to flee, throwing open the garden gate and stepping out into the lane between houses, quickly disappearing from sight.
Damn it, Niall had to get free! He had to go after Bertram and finish this. He did not know what this sixty thousand pounds was for, but he could only guess. Bertram was using Olivia or Serena to blackmail them in some way; he just knew it. That only made him more determined.
“Get the fuck off me, damn you!” he bellowed.
Adam held him tighter. “Only if you promise to go inside and sort yourself out. I won’t have you going off and getting yourself into trouble. Livvie needs you.”
The mention of Olivia stole the last of his strength, and he sagged in Adam’s hold, his chest beginning to ache. He’d left Olivia upstairs in bed, crying and retreating into herself again. The mere sight of Bertram had terrified her to no end. There was no telling how it might continue to affect her, likely undoing some of the progress she had made. Despite the desire to rip Bertram’s head from his shoulders, Niall found that the need to be there for Olivia outweighed it all. She would always come first.
“I promise,” he muttered grudgingly.
“I mean it, Niall.”
“I promise, ye bloody idiot,” he snapped. “Now get off!”
Adam released him and stood while Niall struggled onto his knees, sitting back on his haunches and struggling to catch his breath. The incident had taken more out of him than he’d thought, and he felt as if he might pass out from fatigue, his head swimming with too many conflicting thoughts and emotions. Raising his right hand, he inspected his knuckles, cringing at the sight they made, already beginning to swell and darken with bruises, Bertram’s blood caking his fingers. It was no matter … he already carried countless scars.
“Well, then,” he grumbled, glaring at Adam as he rose to his feet. “What are ye goin’ to do about it, Hart?”
If the man did not want him to beat Bertram to a bloody pulp, then he’d better bloody well have a plan of his own.
For the first time, he took in Adam’s expression, finding there the same fury he felt certain was etched onto his. Adam narrowed his eyes, jaw tightening as he stared off in the direction Bertram had just taken.
“I’m going to kill the bastard.”
Daphne gasped, one hand coming up over her mouth, the other holding tight to Serena—who clung to her skirts, watching Niall with tears in her eyes. In all the commotion, he’d forgotten her presence entirely. Guilt now fell heavy upon his shoulders at the evidence of his loss of control. The little girl who had always looked at him with admiration in her eyes was now afraid, trembling and watching him as if terrified she’d be next.
“Why shouldyoukill him, after ye stopped me?” he groused, tearing his gaze away from Serena. He could not have this conversation while looking into her innocent eyes.
“Because I’m a peer, and you’re not,” Adam countered, turning back to face him. “You could hang for what you just did, so you ought to thank Daphne for convincing me to stop you.”
