Page 53 of The Butterfly
“I do not need it to survive,” she murmured. “I now realize I never did … not when I have you, Adam, and Serena … and flowers, and music, and art. I have always had the things I need to survive. I’ve been walking about as if dead long enough to be able to see that now.”
He took her into his arms, holding her against him and resting his chin on top of her head as they watched the flames. The last of the laudanum eventually burned itself away, gleaming shards of glass resting among the ashes.
After what felt like an appropriate time, he urged her back to bed while he finished dressing. His own stomach had begun to growl, hunger setting in for the first time in hours.
“I’ll see what can be scrounged from the kitchen,” he told her, before finishing off the buttons of his waistcoat and going to leave the room.
He did not bother with a coat or cravat, having every intention of undressing again so he could climb back into bed with her. Niall left the chamber with every confidence that she would be safe where he’d left her when he returned.
His walk to the kitchen turned up a handful of scullery maids and the cook, who were tidying up before turning in for the night. The meals that had been set aside for them after they’d missed dinner only needed to be warmed, so the maids promised to have it ready for him by the time he returned from the wine cellar.
He went straight there, thinking that Olivia might enjoy Madeira or some such. It had been so long since she’d been able to manage anything other than broth or tea. He made quick work of his selection, settling on a fine bottle of Burgundy, grateful that his time as Adam’s butler had taught him all he needed to know about fine wine and spirits. He’d come a long way from sneaking his father’s bottles for a taste of the blue ruin.
On his way back from the cellar, he encountered Daphne, who appeared to be in search of something—or someone. Not unusual to find her prowling about so late in the evening, as she seemed a creature of the night like Adam, always up reading or playing the harp well past midnight. He would not have bothered with her but for the strained expression upon her face. Apparently, her row with his master that afternoon had not gone over well.
From deeper in the house, he could hear the haunting melody of the pianoforte—Adam’s method of dealing with whatever emotions he might be wrestling with in light of Bertram’s extortion plot. It was what the man always turned to when he needed to think, or exorcise his demons.
“M’lady,” he said, coming to a stop as he met her in the midst of the corridor. “Is there somethin’ ye’re needin’?”
He ignored her wide smile at his use of ‘m’lady’ in addressing her and hoped she would not call him on it. Yes, things had changed between them when she had helped coax Olivia into playing the harp. But, after the day he’d had, Niall did not feel much like rehashing all of that. He would admit a grudging respect for her, and that he’d pegged her all wrong. There was no need to stand about yammering about it.
Glancing over her shoulder as if worried they might be overheard, she took his arm and propelled him behind the nearest door. They stood in an empty, dark drawing room—a small one that was not often used.
“I need your help,” she said, turning to press her back against the door as if to bar his escape.
That was when he understood. Of course she needed his help. Adam was a stubborn bastard. The man wanted to kill Daphne’s brother, and she wanted to stop him. Perhaps her loyalties lay with her family, after all.
Had he been wrong to cease taking his anger out on her?
“I s’pose ye want me to help ye talk him out of it,” he hedged.
Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair, fatigue showing in the dark circles under her eyes. “He cannot go through with it, Niall. You hate my brother as much as he does, but even you must see that.”
That gave him pause. He arrived back to grudging respect as her true motives made themselves apparent. It was not Bertram she wanted to protect, but Adam. Despite being a peer, murder was an offense he might not survive. He could hang just as Niall would, and there would be little any of them could do about it. She must see what he understood—that Adam would only kill Bertram because he felt it was justified, because it was what needed to happen for Olivia to be safe.
“Hart’s a hard man ’cause he’s had to be,” he replied. “But he’s no killer.”
Her eyes grew wide, and she took a step toward him. “Then you’ll help me.”
Niall scoffed, shaking his head. She really was daft. “And have him turnin’ all that rage on me? I’m no fool, lass. Once Hart gets it in his head that somethin’ must be done, there’s no stoppin’ him.”
With a frustrated growl, she pressed her fingertips against her temples as if she suffered a headache. “I know that! Don’t you think I know that?”
Her sharp tone drove his eyebrows upward, then made him smirk as he saw this woman as he never had before. He’d been as blind as he suspected Adam must be. The chit wasn’t daft … she was thinking with her heart, not her head.
“Well, I’ll be damned. You actually love the bastard.”
She scowled as if offended by his assertion. “Of course I do not. How could I after all he’s done?”
The woman had a point. Hart had relentlessly pursued her family’s downfall and ruined her in the process. Even so, it was hard not to see the pull between them, the way she always ran, but Adam continually followed. Daphne never seemed to mind being caught.
“He does you, ye know,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “Too much a fool to know it, but it’s true. Why else would ye two be so bloody mad for each other? It defies reason.”
She looked as if she wanted to argue further, but the matter of Bertram was too important. Niall had to admit, he wondered what Daphne thought he might be able to do to about it.
“Will you help me or not?” she snapped, hands braced upon her hips. “I cannot do this without you, as Adam will never let me leave the house alone, and I need to be able to leave in order to execute my plan.”
He rubbed his chin, mind whirling as he thought of what it could mean to end this once and for all. If they could come out of this with clean hands—Adam included—perhaps they all might go on to live some sort of life together, as the family they’d always been. If things went well, Daphne could even become a part of that family. Adam would never let her go, anyway. He’d said himself that he intended to drag her with them to Dunnottar. Niall doubted she had been given much choice in the matter.
