Page 9 of The Butterfly
They both knew Adam’s propensity for making decisions for the people around him—a habit sprung from the knowledge that he’d been born to command and rule. It often left little room for the people under his protection to decide things for themselves.
Olivia’s answer shocked him, as did her smile before she spoke. “I did. It is time, Niall. I have been dependent upon it for so long, and I … I do not know myself any longer. It has only made matters worse, not better.”
Coming back to his chair at her bedside, he removed his coat, hanging it over the back before sinking onto the seat. After unbuttoning his cuffs, he began rolling the sleeves to his elbows, settling in for the long night ahead. If Olivia was determined to shun laudanum, then she was going to need him at her side, alert and prepared for anything. She had relied on the drug for so long, her mind seeking relief in it.
However, as time went on, its effectiveness had become outweighed by its detrimental effects. Hallucinations, night terrors, paranoia and confusion … all were as much a part of their everyday lives as afternoon tea. Yet, every time they’d attempted weaning her off the drug, she’d become violently ill and begged to have it again. And so, the cycle had continued, with Olivia reeling from a state of melancholy to one of manic torment, her cries and screams echoing through the cavernous corridors of Dunnottar.
“Are you certain?” he asked, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees, never breaking eye contact with her.
He did not want to insult her by assuming she was not coherent enough to make such a decision, but he would not want her to suffer needlessly. If, after all she had been subjected to, she happened to need laudanum to simply survive, then by God, no one would tell her she could not have it.
Arranging herself more comfortably amongst her pillows, she sank deeper under the coverlet, until only her face peered out at him, as innocent as the first time he’d seen her. Womanhood hadn’t stolen any of that doll-like sweetness from her visage. In fact, it had only enhanced it, causing her to appear like a sensual siren and a pure maiden all at once.
“This time, I am sure,” she told him. “I will need your help, Niall. I need my knight to stay with me, to help me fight my way through this.”
His chest tightened at the reminder that he was supposed to be her knight, her sentinel, her protector. He had let her down in the past. Even so, she still believed in him, relied on him, looked at him with the entire world in her eyes.
“Aye,mo gradh,” he vowed. “I am here, always. Ye know that.”
Giving him a little smile, she nodded, but then shuddered, pulling the bedclothes tighter around her. A light sheen of sweat had begun to break out along her hairline, and each time she swallowed, her throat clenched convulsively as if her mouth had gone dry. Already, she had begun to display signs of withdrawal.
Edging his chair closer to the bed, he observed the various items stored on her side table. Reaching into a bowl of cool water, he retrieved the scrap of linen, wringing it out before using it against her face. She sighed, closing her large, dark eyes as he smoothed the cloth over her forehead, dabbing away the sweat, then cooling the rest of her face. That finished, he found a pitcher of water for consumption and poured her a cup, leaning over to brace an arm beneath her body and prop her up so she could drink.
When she’d had enough, he lay her back against the pillows. As he replaced the cup on the nightstand, he caught sight of a stack of books. He identified them as hers by the scrap of old lace used to mark her place in the one sitting on top—an endearing habit of hers. Olivia hated creased pages and had been known to wedge things such as flowers, fabric, and bits of paper inside of whatever she might be reading in order to mark her place.
Picking up the topmost book, he read its title upon the cover and smiled. “Cecilia… an old favorite of ours.”
She nodded. “Would you read a bit of it to me, until I fall asleep?”
“Of course,” he said, opening the book to where she had laid her bit of lace.
Staring down at the words brought back a flood of memories—sneaking off to sit beneath a tree or on a garden bench, where she could read to him—fantastic tales of knights and princesses and fairies.
Before he could settle more comfortably in his chair to begin, Olivia shifted, turning down the bedclothes and staring up at him in a way that sent all the blood rushing straight to this groin. It was the look she’d given him when coaxing him into kissing her for the first time, or convincing him to take her out riding beyond the bounds of her stepfather’s estate, wild and reckless. It was the sort of look that almost always landed him in the best sort of trouble with her.
“Livvie,” he grumbled, attempting to put a scolding edge on his voice.
“I can hear you better if you are close,” she urged. “Besides, once I fall asleep, I always feel safer with you near. Please, Niall.”
He sucked in a long, slow breath and let it out on a sigh. Even in a lucid state of mind, she could not know what a torment it was for him to lie so close to her, holding her tight when she wore nothing more than the thin slip of a nightgown. She had no notion how much a bastard it made him feel for his body to come alive with desire at the touch of a woman who had been broken by lust.
Nevertheless, one more look into those fathomless eyes, and he could deny her nothing. This would not be the first night he had spent in her bed, forced to keep his hands and other parts of his body to himself. He had endured them all thus far and would continue to do so. She needed him strong and resilient, not panting and pawing at her like an animal. If she could overcome all that she’d suffered thus far, then, he could weather this.
“Aye, then,” he relented, setting the book aside and bending forward to remove his shoes and stockings.
He made quick work of his waistcoat and cravat, leaving them in a heap on the chair before rising and pushing his braces off his shoulders. Olivia never took her eyes off him, watching as he flicked open the button at his throat, then the one below it, then the third, baring his chest.
Niall was never more aware of what a giant he was than when he stood over her, dwarfing her with his height and width. Especially now, with her frame slenderer than it had ever been and swimming in the bedclothes, her hair loose and framing her delicate face. It never failed to recall his father’s words, the admonishments that he’d constantly hurled at Niall concerning his relationship with Adam and his obvious obsession with Olivia. He was not made for this world, for rooms like this filled with fine things and a little porcelain princess sleeping in its midst. Yet, he climbed under the coverlet as if he belonged, gathered Olivia against him like she was his, his scarred, calloused hands cradling her with all the care he showed for that bit of broken porcelain.
The book lay beside him, momentarily forgotten as she turned into him, nestling even closer. He stiffened, his arms tight around her as she nuzzled against him, her breath tickling the coarse hairs blanketing his chest. Her legs moved against his, his removed stockings and the hitched-up bottom of her nightgown allowing her soft legs to caress his.
Niall’s lungs burned from the breath he held, his veins beginning to tingle with the rushing of blood that only worsened the longer she lay so near him, seeming to attempt to get as close as possible, until she’d crawled into his skin and lodged herself deep.
If only she knew how much a part of him she was. It felt like she had always been inside him, in his blood, swimming around and finding the tiniest of crevices in which to lodge herself.
“Livvie,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair and inhaling its sweet fragrance.
One of her tiny hands was on him now, smoothing over the muscles stretched over his ribs, across his back, her fingertips playing down the ridges of his spine. The touch sent another surge of heat rushing to his middle. He held in a growl, resisting the urge to roll on top of her and join their bodies. It was the only liberty he’d never taken with her—out of honor in the years before she was sent off for her first Season, and then out of necessity after she’d returned home with a baby girl in her arms. He’d been unable to help giving in to the urge to pleasure her in other ways, but had loved her too much to claim the one thing that he could not give back once taken.
