Page 46 of The Butterfly
“There ye are. Come back, Livvie … I’m right here. Come back to me.”
She trembled, squeezing her eyes shut and groaning as if pained. He glanced about the room again, his mind racing as he tried to think through the anguish overwhelming him with crushing force. She’d ingested far too much of the laudanum and needed to be purged of the stuff if she were to have a fighting chance.
He leapt from the bed and dashed to the commode resting in the corner. Snatching its doors open so hard that one of them flew off the hinges, he found a clean chamberpot inside. He took hold of it and ran back to the bed. With one hand bracing her back, he sat her up and dropped the heavy pot into her lap. Her head fell back against his arm, and her eyes snapped up to focus upon him. He gazed into them and found her in the depths, the tiniest spark enough to convince him he hadn’t lost her yet.
“This may hurt, but it’s for yer own good, Livvie,” he warned, before plunging two fingers into her mouth, aiming for the back of her throat.
She gagged, lurching in his hold and dropping her head over the pot. He withdrew his fingers just in time, moving clear of the contents of her stomach as they came rushing forth while she coughed and heaved. The stench of laudanum flooded his senses, and he nearly retched himself, but held firm, refusing to let her go. Taking hold of her hair, he held it out of her face and kept her bent over the pot, crooning to her as she cast up everything her tiny body could have contained.
“That’s it … ye’re gonna be fine,mo gradh.It’ll be over soon.”
Once he was certain she’d finished, he released her, going to the far side of the room to set the pot aside. When he came back to the bed, he found her lying amongst the cushions, shaking and sobbing, her eyes far more focused than they had been. He sat and reached for her, drawing her up so that she lay across his lap, her head resting on his chest.
“I’ve got ye, Livvie,” he whispered against her hair, the quaver in his voice giving truth to his own state. He was scared witless, his stomach in knots, his heart pounding. “Ye’ll be all right. I promise … I willnae let him hurt ye.”
She clung to him, one weak hand wrapped in the front of his shirt, her face buried against the fabric. He was shaking now, violent tremors ripping through him as the rush of blood and pounding of his pulse began to slow and the reality of what could have happened came crashing down upon him. He went on holding her, rocking her, trying to soothe her with words, promising things he was not certain he could deliver.
That she would be safe, that she would get better, that the world would seem brighter once this had passed.
He was not certain if any of it could ever be true.
CHAPTER TEN
iall rang for a maid a short time later, ordering her to remove the chamberpot filled with Olivia’s vomit and bring the tub for a bath. As they waited for it to arrive, he kept himself occupied in order to avoid sinking into his own fit of despair. Olivia lay abed like a lifeless doll, her breathing gradually returning to normal, the clarity flaring back to life in her eyes. Her tears continued to flow, streaming down her face and back into her hair. No matter how long he sat there, stroking her cheek and murmuring to her, she did not respond, nor did she offer any sign that she had not done herself permanent harm.
He would not give up. Hecould not. To accept defeat would be to admit that she was beyond saving, and no matter what happened, Niall refused to believe that.
So, he busied himself setting the room to rights—getting rid of the broken commode door, righting the things he’d knocked over on the vanity, stoking the fire to warm the room for Olivia’s bath. He’d sent word to Maeve that she was to stay with Serena, keeping her from her mother’s room for the time being. The girl had suffered enough today without having to witness her mother in such a state.
The bath arrived, and the servants who delivered the tub and filled it with water kept casting curious glances in Olivia’s direction. They’d all come with the townhouse and did not have the loyalty of the staff at Dunnottar. They probably wondered what truly went on with the earl’s half-mad sister, but Niall had all but threatened them upon her arrival. They’d been warned that to speak of the things they witnessed while serving in this house would incur Adam’s wrath—something no sane person would ever want. At his piercing stare, they looked away and went about their task, quickly dispersing from the room once he assured them everything was to his liking.
Once they’d gone, he set about playing lady’s maid, as he did not trust anyone else with her right now.
“Ye’ll feel more yerself after a bath,” he said, urging her onto her side so he could begin opening her gown.
She shifted under his hands, offering him her back, but she did not speak or move otherwise. Stifling a sigh, he began to undress her while continuing to talk, hoping he might coax her into saying something back.
“Serena wanted to see ye, but I thought it best to wait. Maybe tomorrow?”
Olivia stared off across the room, as if having retreated to another world. Only the periodic blink of her eyes set her apart from some cold, stone statue.
“C’mon, then. Off with yer underthings.”
He made quick work of her laces, tossing her stays aside, then freeing her from her chemise and stockings. He’d undressed her so many times, and in so many ways—slowly and languidly while kissing every inch of bared skin; hastily while panting and groaning, in a hurry to access her body. Never could he have imagined removing her clothing under such circumstances.
He guided her to the washstand, where he took the time to help her rinse her mouth and make use of the tooth powder and brush stashed there. She stood listless, arms hanging at her sides, making no move to stop him, but not doing anything to aid him in his ministrations, either.
Once finished, he guided her to the tub. He stopped short of picking her up, realizing he’d have to push her a bit if he wanted to bring her back. So, he gave her a little nudge toward the tub.
“Get in,mo gradh.”
He felt her stare upon him, an almost questioning gaze. He turned to go for a low footstool, leaving her beside the tub and making it clear she would have to climb in on her own. Perhaps this was what she’d needed all along … for everyone to stop coddling her and force her to see that she was strong enough to do things for herself.
By the time he’d settled beside the tub on his stool, she had gotten into the water. She stood for a moment, before slowly sinking in. He kept his gaze upon her face, watching as she leaned back and rested her head on the lip of the tub with a sigh.
He leaned against the side of it, his fingertips trailing in the water as he watched her. The water lapped at her chest, its heat flushing her skin pink.
He remained silent and let her soak, watching and waiting for some sign from her … anything that would give him hope.
