Page 20 of The Butterfly
His throat constricted as he realized she was right. Jane was two years younger than him, and before she’d started lifting her skirts for him, she’d been with at least two other grooms that he knew of. There might have been a footman, as well.
“Ye aren’t the same,” he argued, running a hand through his mussed hair. “Ye’re not her, and I dinnae want ye to be.”
“No,” she spat, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from his kiss. “You only want to toy with me when it suits you.”
“Dinnae be a brat, Livvie,” he snapped, his nerves beyond frayed by now. “Ye ken better’n that.”
“Do I? I am not certain any longer, Niall. I used to think you would never hurt me. You were my knight, my friend … you were everything to me.”
“And ye think I dinnae feel the same way? I’m tryin’ t’ protect ye. Ye have a bright future ahead of ye. After school, ye’ll have yer comin’ out and yer first Season in London. Remember how ye always talked about goin’ there? The parties, the balls, the gowns ye’d wear?”
“So, I am to go off for my Season without ever having known what passion is?”
“That’s the way of it in your world,” he argued. “Ye cannae make a good match if ye keep playin’ with fire, Livvie.”
Biting her swollen lip, she edged toward him again, heat turning her eyes into dark coals that simmered with desire and promise. When had she transformed into this siren? He felt as if he would gladly dash himself upon the rocks just to taste her again. She was a danger to him, to herself.
“And you are fire, then?”
He couldn’t stop himself from touching her again, cupping her face and running his thumb lightly over her lips. “Seems so, when it comes to you.”
She placed a hand over his, keeping it against her face. “Don’t ignore me again. I can understand why we should not give in to our desires, even if I do not like it. But, I cannot bear to lose you as my friend again. Promise me, Niall.”
He should push her away and tell her to get as far from him as she could. Otherwise, he couldn’t promise not to lose his head and do something reckless. Once would be all it took to ruin her, and he would never be able to forgive himself for that. But, he’d never been able to deny her. So, how could he push her away now, especially since doing so had made them both miserable? He could be her friend again, and he would keep his prick under control.
“I promise, Livvie,” he declared, unable to resist bending down to kiss her forehead again. “Now, go. It’s gettin’ dark, and ye need to get back into the house.”
She gazed up at him for another silent moment before nodding and moving past him. He turned to watch her go, shoulders sagging with relief once she was out of his sight. It could only be temporary, of course. Now that he’d promised not to ignore her any longer, he would be forced to endure being close to her again. It would be torture, but, hell, so had being apart from her. He could do this. He could endure being near her until she inevitably left him to go off to London and find a husband. Then, she would be taken away from him for good, only coming to visit with her family from time to time.
As he trudged from the stall, his shoulders slumped even more, his chest aching at the thought of watching her return year after year with children in tow, with a husband who would dote upon her—for what man could marry Olivia and not want to give her everything?
It would hurt, but he had always known he would lose her for good someday. Best he became accustomed to the notion now.
He stood before the open doors of the stables, having just decided to take up his vigil in the hayloft, when the sound of heavy footsteps warned him of someone’s approach. He turned just as something black came flying at his face out of nowhere.
The agony of the blow was instant and terrible, its force ripping through him from the point of impact to echo throughout his entire body. His mouth opened on a scream that never came, the sound choking off and remaining in his throat. His eyes began to water as he went down to his knees, the impact rattling his bones. Through the haze created by the tears, he spied the figure of his da looming over him, a horsewhip held in one hand and coiled at his feet.
“Ye bloody idiot,” Conall rasped, raising his hand and the whip with it once more. “Did I teach ye nothin’? What do I always tell ye?”
Niall threw himself to the ground just in time to avoid taking another blow to the face, the whip falling across his shoulders this time. It did not matter how many times Conall had done this to him—it never stopped hurting. The whip had never before struck his face, which now oozed hot, sticky blood, his eye and the corner of his mouth throbbing, making it difficult to see or think straight, let alone defend himself.
“Ye think she gives a bloody damn about you, ye lout?” he roared as Niall turned onto his side, struggling to get to his feet.
If he could only stand, he would snatch the whip away. His da was obviously drunk, and would never have been able to take him if not by surprise.
“She’ll go off to marry some fancy laird and leave ye here shovelin’ horse shite, like ye deserve!”
The whip came at him again, and Niall could only move fast enough to raise a hand in defense. The coil wrapped around his forearm, biting into the flesh and tearing at his skin. He grunted as more blood welled up to stain his shirt, the pain nothing compared to that on his face. He tried to wrestle the whip away from the old man, but Conall proved strong despite his state of inebriation.
He pulled the whip free and raised it again, poised to strike. Before it could land, a familiar voice came booming at them from the opening of the stable.
“Stop that this instant!”
Niall whirled to find Adam striding toward them, his long, wild hair framing a face carved into a mask of pure rage. His eyes blazed with golden fire, meaty hands balled into fists. Home from university for the holiday, just like Olivia, he seemed to have happened upon them at just the right time.
“M-m’laird,” Conall blustered, dropping the whip and swiftly bowing to his master’s son. “There’s nothin’ to concern yerself over here.”
“Like hell,” Adam growled, reaching out to fist the front of Conall’s shirt. “You are inmystables, mistreating one ofmyservants.”
