Then, she noticed maids coming and going throughout the castle with freshly laundered tablecloths, polished silver candelabras, and fine china. Remembering the invitations she had seen when rifling through Adam’s desk, she realized he had invited guests to Dunnottar … guests he would parade her in front of. In the days that passed with several more fittings and talk amongst servants of the rich cuisine being prepared for the event, Daphne grew more anxious over the inevitable humiliation.
It would be Adam’s coup de grace … the final blow to her reputation, and by proxy, that of her family. They’d never be able to show their faces in public again without receiving the cut direct.
The party would take place on her last evening at Dunnottar, ending her stay in the same way it had begun—with humiliation.
On the night before the party, she sat on the edge of Adam’s bed, picking at a loose thread on her dressing gown and waiting for him to emerge from the washroom. She’d bathed and donned the robe with nothing underneath—fully expecting him to strip it from her when he entered the room.
Instead, he halted at the foot of the bed and studied her with a furrowed brow. “Is something wrong?”
Shaking her head, she stood and untied the belt of her robe. “Of course not. I am ready.”
He approached, eyeing the bare skin she revealed with her open robe. She held her breath as he reached toward her, bracing herself for the first touch. It never failed to send her blood rushing through her veins and goose bumps rippling over her skin.
However, he did not touch her except to close the open sides of the robe and tie the belt loosely at her waist. “Do not lie to me, little dove. I don’t relish taking a sulking woman to bed. Tell me what is bothering you.”
Sighing, she shrugged one shoulder and tried not to show him how terrified the impending party made her. “Tomorrow. I have an idea of what will happen, but knowing hardly eases my mind.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “It is only a dinner party, little dove … hardly anything to distress yourself over. Besides, I have not even told you who our guests will be.”
She snorted. “Does it matter? You would not invite anyone unimportant. Whoever comes will see me here unchaperoned and know … they will know …”
“That I’ve fucked you,” he offered with an amused smirk. “Aye. They’ll know we fucked and will likely see that you enjoyed it. They’ll see you dressed in finery I provided, and think—”
“They will think me a whore.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What do you care if they do? In fact, why do you care what they think of you at all? As you’ve recently learned, most people are not what they seem. The people who would condemn you for what you’ve done have their share of secrets.”
“Yes, but their secrets will not be exposed to the entire ton,” she countered. “And I … I don’t care what they think of me.”
He gave her a knowing glance. “Tell yourself what you must, but I can see the fear in your eyes … fear of judgment and scorn. Fear that someone might see you as what you truly are.”
“A whore?” she spat, avoiding his gaze, shame burning her cheeks.
Even now, saying the word called to mind the night he’d taken her maidenhead—when he’d lain on top of her and whispered the word in her ear before tearing into her with his cock.
He reached out to tip her chin up with his fingers, shaking his head once she’d met his gaze.
“A woman more beautiful and daring than any of them could hope to be. Do you not understand why those stuffy old windbags and withered-up crones hate ladies like you? It is because they secretly wish they could display their talents with something more than bland watercolors or insipid needlepoint. It is because they want to be the sort of woman a man would swim across oceans and crawl over deserts to claim. Because they wish they were like you … they wish to be you. They might turn their noses up to find you here with me … but they will go home green with envy that no man would pay a ha’penny for their bodies, let alone a grand fortune like thirty thousand pounds.”
Her mouth fell open, the impact of his words leaving her breathless. Was that truly what he thought of her? His words proved the kindest he’d ever spoken to her, even when she considered that he was only fattening her up for the slaughter … preparing her to be flaunted as his lover in a public setting.
“When you walk into that dinner party tomorrow night, you will do so with your head held high,” he told her, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You will let them see how little you care for their opinions. And you will leave the next morning a very wealthy woman.”
Closing her mouth, she nodded, acquiescing as she knew she must. One more day. She could endure it … she had lived through the twenty-nine before it.
Without another word, Adam re-opened the sash of her robe, tearing the garment from her shoulders and tossing it aside. Then, he swept her off her feet and tumbled her onto the bed, where he joined her and proceeded to make her forget about her troubles, offering her comfort in the form of pleasure.
Daphne’s final day at Dunnottar began innocently enough. After breakfast with Adam, she was informed the dressmaker had come to deliver her gown and its accoutrements. The woman insisted on a final fitting to ensure the fit was exact. Satisfied, she had left after collecting a generous reward from Adam for having turned out an elegant evening gown in three short days.
After their morning fencing bout, however, the day took an unexpected turn. Instead of going on their morning ride, they adjourned to the study, where Adam mentioned having some affairs that could not wait until later. The unexpected break in their routine hardly ruffled her. She sat before the harp and played while he worked, taking comfort in the familiar, playing all her favorite pieces on the beautiful instrument. After today, she would never get to touch it again.
Around the time they typically took the afternoon meal, Adam stood and declared his work to be complete. Then, studying the clock standing near one of the hearths, he gestured for her to stand.
“Everything should be arranged now,” he declared, rounding the desk to approach her. “Come.”
Confusion furrowed her brow, but she trailed him, now accustomed to following his commands swiftly and without question. He led her to the main hall of the palace, where Maeve stood waiting for them with a large basket held in one hand. But it was the sight of the person standing beside her that made Daphne’s steps falter. She choked on a gasp and blinked several times, certain her eyes must surely be deceiving her.
Yet, Serena stood before her, looking quite adorable in a walking dress of white muslin, her auburn ringlets tied back with a matching ribbon.
Gaping at her, then at Adam, Daphne tried to wrap her mind around what she was seeing—because, surely, he had not arranged for her to spend time in Serena’s company.
Yet, as the little girl rushed forward and leapt into Adam’s arms, it became clear this was exactly what was happening.
“Are you ready for our walk, Princess?” he asked, the warmth in his voice when he spoke to the child nearly bringing tears to Daphne’s eyes.
He might hate the Fairchild family, but there could be no denying his love for Serena.
“Oh, yes,” the girl replied with a wide smile. “Do you think Cook packed jam tartlets in our basket?”
With a chuckle, he gave one of Serena’s curls a gentle tug. “Perhaps. We shall have to wait and see. If we open the basket now, that would ruin the surprise.”
Setting the girl back on her feet, he took her hand, then extended the other one to Maeve. The maid beamed while handing the basket over, then executed a swift curtsy and disappeared down the corridor.
Daphne lowered her gaze and fumbled with the skirts of her gown, feeling like an intruder. The two of them were part of a family to which she did not belong. That Serena was of her own blood made no difference when the child did not know her.
“Come, little dove,” Adam said, drawing her gaze up from the floor. “Seren
a is quite looking forward to spending the afternoon with us.”
Furrowing her brow, she darted a glance at the little girl, who was watching her with open curiosity while clinging to her uncle’s hand.
“You … you wish me to come with you?”
Leaning in close and lowering his voice so only she could hear him, he murmured in her ear. “I have already secured your promise to keep her existence a secret. So, what is the harm in allowing you a few hours with her?”
Her eyes stung as gratitude over the simple gesture overwhelmed her. While he had done small things that might be considered kind during her time here, they were as beneficial to him as they were to her. Purchasing her garments meant she always looked her best for him. Letting her play the harp entertained him. The gown he’d had made for her would be worn to a party designed to achieve his own aims. Even allowing her to return after throwing her out benefited him, as it meant she went on warming his bed.
But this … allowing her to spend time with Serena did nothing to benefit him. Which meant he had decided to do it for her … and perhaps, in a way, for the child, as well.
“Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely, fighting the urge to weep.
She did not want to upset Serena, who would have no idea why Daphne stood there blubbering like a fool.
Bending the arm holding the basket, he offered it to her with a smirk. She took it, the fit of her hand in the crook of his elbow surprising her in its rightness. If things between their families had not happened the way they did, she might pretend things were different. That the little girl who looked so much like her was her own child, and Adam …
No. She could not think that way. It would be dangerous to allow herself to fall into the trap of delusion. The only thing between her and Adam was a thirty-thousand-pound agreement and weeks of carnal pleasure. That hardly meant he cared about her, and in truth, he had given her no reason at all to care for him.
She would accept this gift as her due—her right as an aunt. Even if she might leave Dunnottar in the morning, never to see Serena again. She would always remember the short time she’d been privileged to know her. Never would she blame Adam for his decision to keep her a secret. That rested upon the heads of her brother and father, who had ensured Serena would never be a part of the Fairchild family.
Leaving the palace, they traversed the large courtyard toward the gatehouse, where the keeper raised the portcullis for them. Instead of taking horses, they walked, Adam insisting they make their way down the northern face of the escarpment, to where the sea lapped at the shore. Daphne’s spirits lifted at the prospect of being able to walk along the beach—something she had not done during her stay at Dunnottar. The weather proved pleasant—mild with just a bit of a crisp breeze.
As they walked down the sloping path, Serena chattered excitedly in the way children were wont to do. Daphne hung on every word, engaging the girl in conversation about the things she liked. Dolls. Seashells. Horses. Ribbon. She clung to those tidbits, storing them in her mind along with other details she picked up. The way Serena’s hair shimmered with golden highlights in the sun, just like hers. How her little nose crinkled when she grinned, and the pitch of her sweet voice.
How had something so precious been born out of such darkness?
It was nothing short of a miracle.
When they reached the sand, Serena released Adam’s hand and dashed off ahead of them, squealing with delight as the wind whipped through her hair. Daphne felt Adam watching her as she observed Serena, and her face warmed, his perusal putting her on edge.
“She is a beautiful child,” she said, for lack of anything better to say.
“Aye,” he agreed. “That, she is.”
Serena had removed her shoes and stockings and now inched toward the edge of the water, giggling in anticipation of the sea washing over her feet.
“She seems so … happy,” she added.
“Niall, Maeve, and I …”
She glanced up at him when he fell silent, her chest squeezing painfully at the sadness turning his eyes into dark pools. He turned to gaze at Serena, his expression softening as if seeing her so happy put him at ease.
“Olivia is in no condition to care for her,” he continued. “Even on days when she is lucid and calm, she thinks of Serena as a playmate. It is almost as if she’s become a child herself. So, Niall, Maeve, and I …”
“You do what you can to care for her,” she supplied. “It seems you are doing a good job of it.”
Shrugging one shoulder, he swiveled his stare back to her. “It never feels like quite enough. She knows she is loved, but I am only her uncle, and Maeve and Niall are only servants. The girl has no mother.”
Joining her hand with the other upon his arm, she clung to him, leaning close. “That is not true. She does have a mother … and even if she realizes Olivia is not perfect, I am certain Serena knows that she loves her. That sort of bond is not easily broken.”
Slowly nodding, he seemed to digest that for a moment before speaking again. “Aye … I suppose you are right.”
They stood that way for a time—Daphne hanging on to his arm, her head rested upon his shoulder while they watched Serena play in the surf.
“Go on,” he chided after some time had passed. “This is your chance to get to know her. Do not waste it.”
Taking his advice, she dropped his arm and kicked off her slippers. After peeling off her stockings, she set off across the sand toward Serena. The girl waved her over, delighted to show her the shells that had washed ashore.
For hours, they splashed and played in the water, dug in the sand for shells, all under Adam’s watchful eye. He kept his distance, seated in the sand beside their picnic basket, his posture and bearing more relaxed than she’d ever seen them.
Finally, they trudged back toward him, the hems of their gowns soaked and speckled with sand, their hair hopelessly tousled by the wind.
“You look like a couple of sea sprites, the pair of you,” Adam quipped as they knelt in the sand before him.
“Are sea sprites magic?” Serena asked, her eyes wide with expectation.
Chuckling, he reached out to swipe a bit of sand from her cheek. “Aye, little one … they are the most beautiful sort of magic.”
The girl smiled up at Daphne, nestling close against her side as Adam opened the basket and began producing its contents.
“Did you hear, Daphne? Uncle Adam says we’re magic.”
She could not help a smile, raising her hand to lay it upon Serena’s head. “Yes, sweetling, I heard.”
“You must be,” Adam replied with a smirk, retrieving a dish from inside the basket and pulling back the cloth covering to reveal an array of jam tartlets. “Because I believe you wished these into existence.”
Daphne giggled at Serena’s squeal of excitement. The girl was on her feet in a moment, reaching out for a handful of the little tarts. Within seconds, she’d devoured three, staining her lips, cheeks, and fingers with jam.
Adam urged her to slow down so she did not make herself ill, and the three settled in the sand to enjoy the array of foods Dunnottar’s cook had sent along for them. She gorged herself on meat pies and fruit, and joined Adam at swigging a crisp white wine straight from the bottle.
By the end of the meal, Serena had found her way into Daphne’s lap, where she curled up and promptly fell asleep. She clung to the girl, not caring about the jam-stained fingers clutching at her bodice or the heavy weight in her lap. Arranging the girl more comfortably, she glanced up to find Adam watching them, a pensive expression upon his face.
“I had not realized how strong the resemblance was until I saw you with her,” he remarked. “It is quite uncanny.”
She wanted to smile at that, but was not altogether certain he considered her resemblance to Serena a good thing.
“She seems to like you,” he added. “The only other woman she is ever so happy with is her mother.”
He looked away then, falling silent, an
d Daphne did not need him to utter the rest aloud for her to understand what he did not say. Olivia could only make Serena happy when she was in a lucid state of mind.
Adam sat staring out over the sea in silence, long tendrils of his hair whipped against his neck by the breeze. An unexpected surge of tenderness swept over her, and before she could think about what she was doing, she had reached out to him. Her hand found his face, her fingers smoothing over the coarse stubble sprouting along his jaw.
He turned to look at her, his jaw hardening against her hand as if the gesture displeased him. Yet, his eyes melted into a warm pool of molten gold at the center as he nestled closer to her touch, rubbing his jaw against her palm as if seeking succor.
“I once called you a villain,” she whispered, still steadily stroking his jaw. “But now that I have come to see why you were forced to become this … knowing what drove you to these lengths … I think that cannot be true at all.”
His eyes burned into hers as he held her gaze, green flames erupting through the gold and disrupting the tranquility of his stare.
“You place too much hope in my goodness, little dove,” he replied. “I am not your hero.”
She shook her head, stroking her thumb over his lower lip. “Not my hero … Serena’s. Olivia’s.”
He did not respond, intently watching her while Serena slept in her arms and the sea rolled and crashed against the shore. Finally, he closed the distance between them and pressed his mouth to hers, surprising her with his tenderness. Resting one large hand over hers, he kept her touch against his jaw and drank from her mouth. She opened to him, no longer foolish enough to think she could fight him. He had stripped her bare, taking away all of her defenses and maidenly sensibilities, revealing the core of her—a part of her no one else had seen.
She gave in and kissed him, knowing it was foolish to wish it would never end … but wishing it, anyway.
The Villain Page 23
