“No,” she moaned, pressing her hands against her ears and shaking her head, trying to blot out his voice. “No, no, no!”
She could still hear him panting in her ear, grunting as he struggled to pin her down, laughing when he saw that she realized she had lost.
Slut … whore!
“Stop,” she whispered hoarsely. “Please … make it stop!”
There was no stopping this. It all came flooding back, overwhelming her to impotence, a state similar to the one she’d been brought home in. Tortured. Wrung dry. Broken.
Tossing the coverlet aside, she rolled off the bed, landing on the floor with a thud. She could barely lift her head, the crushing weight of it too much to bear. Somehow, she managed to get to her hands and knees, crossing toward the dressing room. There lay her trunks, all her things that had been brought from Dunnottar. Inside one of them, Maeve had stashed a few spare bottles of laudanum, knowing that one would not be enough to get her through once they’d reached London. Olivia had forgotten about them after casting the potion off altogether, had not thought of them because she had not needed them.
But now, her mouth watered for the stuff, her stomach quivering as she imagined its taste, the feel of it running down her throat, the oblivion it would offer. That was what she needed. It was the only thing that ever drove Bertram’s voice from her head, chased the coppery scent of blood from her senses, washed it all away.
She pushed the door open and crawled, her knees aching, her entire body sore as if she’d been pummeled by fists on all sides. The pain had sunk as deep as her bones, as deep as her soul. It had become more than she could bear in a matter of moments.
Had she truly believed she could do this—become whole again? How, when this sudden despair was so acute, so crushing, so insurmountable? As she forced open trunk after trunk, her breath racing as she searched desperately for the key to the dulling of her senses, she tried with all her might to fight it. She tried to remember how far she had come, how happy she had been just a short while ago. Apparently, she was not strong enough, and the weight was far too heavy to be cast off.
No force within her could prevent what she did next.
She located the bottles, pulling one free of a tangle of clothing with a sigh of relief. Leaning back against the trunk, she worked the stopper free, even that requiring more strength than she possessed at the moment. She managed it somehow, dropping the cork as the medicinal yet sweet odor of the laudanum filled the dressing room.
She hesitated for only a moment before bringing the bottle to her lips, then tipping her head back and letting the potion flood her mouth.
Niall stormed through the house with a single motivation driving him. He was going to murder Bertram Fairchild with his bare hands. He would wrap his hands around that pale throat and squeeze, crush his skull with both hands, and bathe in his blood. It could be his only recourse after the sod had dared to come here and threaten the peace they had worked so hard to cultivate, the joy that his Livvie had found after so much heartache.
He had stood back for far too long, letting Adam tend to the matter of the Fairchilds, trusting his friend and master to get the job done. But, no more. He was done standing back and waiting; he was done observing the so called ‘place’ society had put him in because of the father he’d been born to. He was done feeling impotent.
He was Olivia’s knight, and now, he was going to do what knights did best—go to war.
The sun flashed bright when he threw open the door leading into the garden, but he barely registered the way it stung his eyes, narrowing them upon his target. The fool had come into the garden and was now arguing with Adam—who stood between Bertram and Daphne while Serena looked on with wide, curious eyes.
His ire rose even more at the sight of the cur standing so close to their little Serena. It did not matter that Bertram had sired her—he had no claim on the child, no right to come here and set his filthy eyes upon her. Stomping over the path toward them, Niall vowed to make him pay for this … pay for it all.
Whatever they’d been arguing about must have ended, because Bertram was turning to walk away. He did not intend to let the son of a bitch get far.
“You,” he rasped, pointing an accusing finger at Bertram’s back.
As expected, he turned to face Niall, confusion marring his pretty face as he seemed to wonder what the hell a servant might want with him. Niall struck fast, reaching out to fist the lapel of his coat with one hand, then balling up the other and crashing it into Bertram’s face. The impact of flesh and bone against his knuckles and the resulting spray of blood was not nearly as satisfying as it should have been. So, as Bertram crumbled to the ground with a groan, Niall went down on top of him.
The world fell away, and all he knew was that the man who had broken the woman he loved was finally at his fingertips. He was disgustingly pretty like a girl, even with blood splattering his face—the weapon he had used to lull Livvie into a false sense of security before striking like the viper he was. It made each blow to his cheekbones, jaw, and lips that much more satisfying. He growled like an enraged animal with each blow, putting the force of his weight behind every one, now out of his mind with rage. Then, he went to work on the man’s body. If he had his say, the bastard would not walk away from this encounter. For every bit of pain Olivia had suffered, Bertram would pay in flesh and blood. He struck his gut, his ribs, drove a knee up into his groin so hard, he was surprised the man’s balls did not come spewing out of his mouth.
Screams came at him from somewhere far off, high and shrill—Daphne calling out to him, Serena crying. It only made him think of Olivia screaming and pleading for mercy when this cur had forced himself on her.
He roared, the taste of the other man’s blood on his lips ramping up his fury until he was nearly mad with it. Holding Bertram by the throat, he pulled him up off the ground, then slammed him back down, bashing his head and knocking the wind from him. The other man stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes as Niall pinned him down and wrapped both hands around his throat. He began to squeeze, trembling at the feel of Bertram’s windpipe against his palms, a rapid pulse fluttering at his fingertips. It could be done in seconds … Bertram would die wheezing and thrashing beneath him. A just end for the man who had taken away the most precious thing in the world to him, chewing her up and spitting her out when he’d finished.
But then, a strong pair of arms wrapped around him—a grip equal in strength to his wrenching him from on top of Bertram. Niall fought, flailing to be set free as he was dragged across the ground, farther and farther away from his prey.
“Goddamn it, Niall!” Adam bellowed, wrestling him into submission. “I said, stop!”
No … he could not stop. Bertram was struggling to his feet, coughing and spitting streams of blood onto the ground. He was still alive, still moving, still unpunished for his crimes. He growled and tried again to pull away from Adam, but his friend was having none of it. He held Niall down while Bertram began backing away, swiping his sleeve over his swollen, bloodied mouth.
“Three days,” he slurred, glaring at Daphne—his own sister—as if he hated her. “And make it sixty thousand unless you want me to have that cretin prosecuted for attacking me.”
Then, he turned to flee, throwing open the garden gate and stepping out into the lane between houses, quickly disappearing from sight.
Damn it, Niall had to get free! He had to go after Bertram and finish this. He did not know what this sixty thousand pounds was for, but he could only guess. Bertram was using Olivia or Serena to blackmail them in some way; he just knew it. That only made him more determined.
“Get the fuck off me, damn you!” he bellowed.
Adam held him tighter. “Only if you promise to go inside and sort yourself out. I won’t have you going off and getting yourself into trouble. Livvie needs you.”
The mention of Olivia stole the last of his strength, and he sagged in Adam’s hold, his chest beginning to ache. He’d left Olivia upstairs in
bed, crying and retreating into herself again. The mere sight of Bertram had terrified her to no end. There was no telling how it might continue to affect her, likely undoing some of the progress she had made. Despite the desire to rip Bertram’s head from his shoulders, Niall found that the need to be there for Olivia outweighed it all. She would always come first.
“I promise,” he muttered grudgingly.
“I mean it, Niall.”
“I promise, ye bloody idiot,” he snapped. “Now get off!”
Adam released him and stood while Niall struggled onto his knees, sitting back on his haunches and struggling to catch his breath. The incident had taken more out of him than he’d thought, and he felt as if he might pass out from fatigue, his head swimming with too many conflicting thoughts and emotions. Raising his right hand, he inspected his knuckles, cringing at the sight they made, already beginning to swell and darken with bruises, Bertram’s blood caking his fingers. It was no matter … he already carried countless scars.
“Well, then,” he grumbled, glaring at Adam as he rose to his feet. “What are ye goin’ to do about it, Hart?”
If the man did not want him to beat Bertram to a bloody pulp, then he’d better bloody well have a plan of his own.
For the first time, he took in Adam’s expression, finding there the same fury he felt certain was etched onto his. Adam narrowed his eyes, jaw tightening as he stared off in the direction Bertram had just taken.
“I’m going to kill the bastard.”
Daphne gasped, one hand coming up over her mouth, the other holding tight to Serena—who clung to her skirts, watching Niall with tears in her eyes. In all the commotion, he’d forgotten her presence entirely. Guilt now fell heavy upon his shoulders at the evidence of his loss of control. The little girl who had always looked at him with admiration in her eyes was now afraid, trembling and watching him as if terrified she’d be next.
“Why should you kill him, after ye stopped me?” he groused, tearing his gaze away from Serena. He could not have this conversation while looking into her innocent eyes.
“Because I’m a peer, and you’re not,” Adam countered, turning back to face him. “You could hang for what you just did, so you ought to thank Daphne for convincing me to stop you.”
He looked to Daphne, but she had eyes only for Adam, the horror she felt at his declaration written all over her face. “Adam …”
“He’s seen Serena,” Adam said to Niall, ignoring Daphne completely. “He knows she is his and is threatening to force us before a judge to have her taken from us. He’ll expose Olivia’s condition and take Serena unless we pay him fifty thousand pounds … well, sixty thousand now, thanks to you.”
Despite having known it all along, Niall still could not believe his ears. “Surely, ye don’t mean to pay it?”
“No,” Adam replied. “Because I am going to kill him, just like I said.”
Then, turning to face Daphne, he glared down at her, fists tightening and eyes blazing.
“And no one will convince me otherwise.”
Without another word, he was gone, long legs eating up the distance between the garden and the house. Everything about his posture declared he was in no mood to argue—stiff shoulders, rigid back, clenched fists. Fool that she was, Lady Daphne took it upon herself to go after him.
“Adam … Adam, wait!”
Niall watched them go, his hand throbbing like the devil, his head spinning from all that had just happened.
Bertram had appeared out of nowhere and upended their lives with his little extortion plot—endangering both Olivia and Serena in the process. Just thinking of it made him regret that he’d allowed himself to be stopped. It would not matter if he hung for killing the bastard. Niall had been born no one, and would die no one. If he were going to face death, he would gladly do so knowing he’d destroyed the one thing with the power to hurt them, the one person responsible for their misery or pain.
Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breaths, cranking his neck side to side to loosen the tense muscles. He was beginning to feel more himself, bringing his turbulent emotions under control. It would not do to go back to Olivia in such a state. Bad enough he would have to explain the state of his knuckles, though he would hope she’d understand and perhaps even thank him for what he’d done.
When he opened his eyes again, he was confronted with Serena, who still stood in the garden with him … neglected in all the chaos. She sucked in short, ragged breaths between hiccups, tears wetting her cherubic cheeks.
Shame flushed his face at the fear in her wide eyes, the way she trembled as he approached. If he’d been thinking at all, he might not have acted the barbarian with her looking on. It would have been better to come out here, pick her up and carry her inside, allowing Adam and Daphne to tend to the matter of Bertram. But he had not been thinking, and now, she was terrified of him.
He knelt before her, retrieving his handkerchief to wipe the tears from her face. “C’mon, a bhobain, let’s get ye inside.”
Taking her hand, he attempted to pull her toward him, but she yanked away with a shake of her head as a fresh flow of tears began. He did not think he’d ever loathed himself more.
“Serena, I’m sorry,” he said, gentling his voice as best he could. “That man … he was a very bad man. He could have hurt yer maw, and I couldnae let that happen. Do ye understand? I’d never hurt ye, or yer maw. I love ye both too much.”
She eyed him warily, chubby fingers wrapped up in the skirt of her gown. “What about Lady Daphne? Would you hurt her?”
Niall sighed, wondering if even this child could see the disdain he’d felt toward the Fairchild chit. Was he so easy to read, so naked in his emotions?
His answer came easily as he recalled Daphne helping nurse Olivia during her period of withdrawal, putting her fingers to those harp strings, doing what she could to make up for the abominable behavior of her family.
“Of course not, a bhobain. I’d never hurt an innocent … only bad men like that one who just left. Ye’re my little love, aren’t ye? Ye know how batty I am about ye.”
Her lips shifted into a little smirk, causing a dimple to appear in her cheek. It wasn’t her radiant smile, but it was a start.
“I’m tired,” she declared, coming closer and throwing herself against him.
He took her up with one arm, holding her close while she tucked her face against his neck. “Let’s get ye to yer room for a nap. After ye wake up, I’ll take ye to yer maw.”
She nodded her agreement, then wrapped her arms around him, holding fast. He sighed with relief, bringing his hand up against her back in reassurance. Apparently, it would take more than one little outburst to make her stop trusting him. He had frightened her, but hadn’t lost her love, and that was all that mattered to him.
After they’d entered the house, they encountered Maeve coming from upstairs. She paused on the landing, gaze curious as she glanced toward the closed door of the nearest drawing room. Behind it, Adam’s voice thundered and roared, interspersed with the sound of breaking glass and what might be a piece of furniture being overturned. Daphne argued in lower, though no less determined tones.
Niall raised his eyebrows at Maeve, who gazed at him with a silent question in her eyes.
“A long story,” he told her. “I’ll tell ye about it later. For now, would ye take her to her room? She needs a nap, and I must look in on Livvie.”
“Of course,” the maid replied, coming forward to take Serena from his arms. “I do hope everything is all right.”
He wanted to reassure Maeve that it would be, but the words died on his tongue. If he spoke them, they might turn out to be a lie.
“Send for me when she wakes,” he said, kissing the top of Serena’s head before turning to head upstairs.
He squared his shoulders, steeling himself for what he might find when he returned to Olivia. It had taken so long for her to begin finding her way back, only for Bertram to appear and destroy it in a matter of
seconds. Just thinking of it made him angry that he had not finished the job, that he’d allowed himself to be stopped.
Adam’s words came back to him then, a stark reminder of what was at stake here.
Livvie needs you.
Little did Adam know just how much. He hadn’t seen the look on her face when she had noticed Bertram standing in the garden, hadn’t felt the panic radiating from her in tangible waves.
He’d left her in such a state. After so many years of this, Niall knew all-too well how swift and heavy the darkness could fall over her at any given moment. How much more acute would that be now that the object of her nightmares had turned up to disturb her peace?
She needed him right now, which meant the problem of Bertram and Adam’s declaration could wait. Turning in the direction the others had taken, he walked with purpose, his feet moving him swiftly through the house and up the stairs, his heart in his throat. Things had been going so well, he was not certain he was ready to be confronted with a broken and melancholy Olivia again.
He stopped in his own room to make use of the clean water on the washstand—cleansing his hands of Bertram’s blood and using a scrap of linen to bathe his face. Olivia did not need to see him this way. There was no time to change his clothes, his need to see and reassure her propelling him along his way.
Entering her chamber, he pushed the door closed behind him and made a beeline for the bed. Halfway across the room, he faltered, realizing that the bedclothes had been tossed aside and Olivia did not lie among them.
“Livvie?”
He frowned, glancing about the room, thinking maybe she huddled in a corner. Silence greeted him. As he turned in a slow circle, searching out every inch of the chamber, he realized she was not here.
“Where are ye, mo gradh?” he murmured, going to peer back out into the corridor.
Had she recovered and gone off in search of him? No sign of her returning to her room, so he went back inside and crossed to the door connecting her suite to Adam’s. The muffled sounds of him and Daphne arguing came at Niall from downstairs, so he knew they were not inside. Neither did he find Olivia when he threw open the door and swept through the chamber calling her name.
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