Cassandra had begun trembling, wrapping her arms around herself as she tried to fight the tears brimming in her eyes. She failed, and the droplets came, running down her face, splashing her neck and chest.
“I’m so tired of being afraid,” she sobbed. “I can hardly walk alone without fearing every shadow from around every corner. I cannot close my eyes without seeing his face. Do any of you truly think testifying will stop that? Will it really help any of you sleep better at night? Because I can tell you, the odds are most certainly not in my favor.”
Olivia felt herself becoming teary-eyed again, her chest aching with pity for this woman. More than ever, she regretted her choice in hiding, in not running to Cassandra the moment she’d received word that Bertram had begun courting her.
“I would never ask you to do this if you did not wish to,” Daphne said. “There are more than enough ladies here willing to help, Lady Cassandra. I won’t speak for them, but I certainly will not begrudge you for feeling you cannot.”
“And neither will I,” Olivia agreed.
“I will not,” Lady Parham agreed.
Then, the others were chiming in, too, assuring Cassandra that it was all right, that they understood. That only made Cassandra cry all the harder, her body shaking so violently, it was a wonder she did not shatter into pieces.
Olivia skirted caution and approached, reaching out to hug the poor thing. To her surprise, Cassandra did not fight her, merely collapsing with another choked sob against her shoulder. The other woman was so much taller than her, it almost felt ridiculous trying to contain the storm of emotions ripping through her. Still, Olivia did her best.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, patting the girl’s back like she might Serena’s. “I am so sorry, Cassandra.”
Another figure appeared at Cassandra’s back—Lady Parham reaching out to put a hand upon her shoulder in a show of support. Then, Lady Kirby appeared with her hand upon the opposite shoulder. A hand touched Olivia’s back, then another, and before long, all five stood together with Olivia and Cassandra in their midst. As she looked up and met the gazes of those within her view, she saw the same fears and pain in their eyes that she felt coursing through Cassandra … but she also felt their determination. She only wished she could join them in what they were about to do.
Before long, Cassandra calmed, and they all separated. Daphne gave them instructions to meet here at the Bellingham home tomorrow evening, so that they could go to confront Bertram together. She had somehow figured out where he and Adam were set to meet and would ensure they arrived in plenty of time to carry out their plan, with the magistrate in tow.
Niall approached as she and Cassandra pulled apart, offering one large hand in silent offering, his eyes radiating sincere remorse. Cassandra stared up at him for a moment without moving or speaking, and for a moment, she thought the girl meant to shun him out of fear—not that Olivia could blame her. Finally, she placed her hand in his, chin trembling as she struggled for composure.
Niall kept his grip light as he bowed over her hand. “Ye’re a brave one, lass. Never let anyone make ye think ye aren’t.”
Cassandra blinked, clearly taken aback. But Niall was already releasing her hand and stepping away. Then, he put a hand at the small of Olivia’s back and gestured toward the door. Everyone had begun to disperse, meeting the butler and footmen near the front door to gather their things. Winifred, who had remained silent through the entire meeting, stood in a corner whispering with Daphne, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
She let Niall lead her out to await their things, as well as Daphne. She felt Lady Cassandra’s gaze upon them the entire way, until Daphne joined them, and they bundled up before venturing out into the cold night.
The walk home was silent, with Niall holding tight to her hand and Daphne lowering her head against the oncoming winter wind. She wondered how Daphne felt, knowing Bertram had sired another child. Even if that child had not been born, it had to affect her to know how careless her brother had been.
Olivia was relieved to arrive back at the house, weariness having set in after such an emotional evening and the hours of waiting leading up to it. She wanted nothing more than a hot bath and to climb into bed with Niall and not come out until morning. A footman met them in the vestibule, a silver tray with an envelope set upon it in one gloved hand.
“Good evening. There is a message for Lady Olivia.”
Her eyebrows rose as she accepted the envelope. Niall and Daphne looked on, ignoring the other servants waiting for their effects while watching her open it.
A slip of paper inside had been written upon with a neat, scrawling hand.
I do not know if doing this will help me sleep better or not. But I would rather try than go on cowering another second. You can rely on me.
-C
Olivia awoke in an instant, her body jolting as she sped toward consciousness and away from the hellish nightmare that had just gripped her. Her brow was damp with sweat, her limbs trembling as she blinked to allow her eyes to adjust to the near-darkness of the room. It was the middle of the night, and they could not have slept more than a few hours. The meager moonlight streaming through the slightly parted drapes allowed her to see that nothing lurked about in the shadows, waiting to jump out at her. Her chest heaved as she took a deep breath, fighting to calm her racing heart and the panic welling up from the depths of her gut.
I am Olivia Goodall … I am home in London with my family, and Niall is here with me … my daughter is safe, we will keep her safe … it is over …
Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she clung to what was real, what was true. The dream had been as vivid as the ones before it had been—the demon terrorizing her, Mother Dragon berating her, a river of black tears. It had felt so real, she could swear she still smelled the blood, still feel its slickness on her thighs.
Niall shifted on the bed beside her and sat up, brought awake by her sudden movement. His hand was heavy but reassuring between her shoulder blades, and she could feel the weight of his stare upon her in the dark.
“What is it, mo gradh?” he asked, his voice thick and heavy from sleep. “Another nightmare?”
She gathered her knees and hugged them against her chest with a shudder. “Yes. The same one … always the same one.”
He wrapped both arms around her and hauled her to him, until she sat between his parted legs, her body cradled in the shelter of his. She turned her face into his chest, resting against him, waiting for the trembling of her body and the pounding of her heart to stop. He understood her need, remaining silent and holding her as she untangled her reality from the terror of her nightmare, reminding herself of what had passed, and what she had now. It was far easier to do than it would have been without Niall, his warmth and closeness, the sound of his breath ringing out in the silent room in unison with hers.
I am safe … I am safe … I am safe.
She repeated the words to herself, until her heartbeat slowed to match the cadence of the intonation. Only when she felt as if she could speak without falling into a fit of tears and sobs did she lift her head and seek out his gaze in the dark.
“It still hurts, Niall,” she murmured. “As much as it ever did. I do not know if it will ever stop. Even after I’ve defeated the withdrawal, at times like this, the craving for laudanum is as strong as ever. Just thinking about it … I can practically taste it, and its scent is permanently imprinted upon my senses. My belly aches for it.”
He tightened his hold on her, kissing the top of her head. “I dinnae know how to make this stop for ye, mo gradh. I wish I knew how to take it away.”
He kissed her brow, then the space between her eyebrows, then her nose, his fingertips gently lifting her chin to tip her head back for him. His lips sought hers, and she clung to him, returning his kiss with a fervor born of her need to chase something else, to find succor in him instead of that dreadful poison. Her stomach quivered, the gnawing hunger for it unlike any other craving.
“I hate the way it feels,” she whispered between the meetings of their lips. “I hate how hard I must fight what I cannot control, when there’s a part of me that always wants to give in. Tonight, that part seems stronger than ever.”
It went unsaid that perhaps it was that way because of the events of the evening, the revelations that had been made. Telling her story again, hearing about the other child of Bertram’s that had never lived, witnessing Cassandra’s agony … it had torn open something inside of her, something dark and ugly, something she had defeated and locked way that was now intent upon making a resurgence.
“I’m here, mo gradh,” he said, stroking her cheek, then the line of her jaw. “Just tell me what ye need … tell me what to do.”
Turning to face him on her knees, she clutched at his neck, pulling him to her so their foreheads touched. She held him tight, afraid if she let go, she might crumble. She focused upon the sound of his breath, the scent of him, the warmth radiating from his body in the chilled room.
“Make me feel something else,” she whispered. “Make it so that I can only see you, hear you, taste you, feel you … crave you. Please, Niall. I don’t want to fight or try to control it anymore. I need you to make me forget it altogether.”
She felt his penetrating stare through the dark, seeking and searching as he turned her words over in his mind. Shivering in his hold, she could only wait for him to understand, to go against the urge to coddle and comfort her, when what she wanted was for him to obliterate her senses, fill her so completely with himself that she forgot everything else.
After a moment, he nodded and then gripped her chin, dipping his head to seek out her mouth once more. This time, his kiss was deep and searching, his mouth hard and dominating, his tongue probing deep. She went limp in his arms, the tension leaving her spine in an instant. Melting into him, she allowed him to plunder her mouth, drowning in his taste and the dizzying sensation of his lips moving against hers. Pulling away, he gazed at her once more, as if needing to make certain before going forward.
“Ye trust me, don’t ye, Livvie?”
“More than anyone else,” she told him.
He nodded as if satisfied with that, before lifting her and placing her in the center of the bed. He arranged her upon her knees facing away from him. Then, the mattress shifted and bowed as he began to move, his weight leaving the bed altogether.
“Stay there,” he admonished when she tried to turn to look at him over her shoulder.
She obeyed, glancing down to realize she had begun twisting the bottom of her nightgown in both hands. The feeling, the craving, was as persistent as ever, and it took every ounce of her will not to go barreling from the room and out into the night in search of a bottle of laudanum. She fairly trembled with the urge, but held fast, waiting for Niall. She trusted him to give her what she’d asked for.
Orange light flared in her peripheral vision, and the warmth of a freshly stoked fire reached out to her from the hearth. Niall rifled about for a bit longer before she heard his footsteps coming back to her.
Returning to the bed, he climbed up behind her, remaining out of her line of sight. The heat of his body suffused through the fabric of her nightgown when he came up behind her—pelvis pressed against her arse, chest to her back, thighs spread to rest along the outside of hers. One arm came around her middle, his large hand splayed on her belly with a pleasant heaviness that kept her grounded, present in the moment.
“Who’s in control, Livvie?”
“I am,” she replied, letting her head fall back to rest upon his shoulder.
His touch on her belly moved, his fingers working the buttons closing her into her nightgown with swift efficiency. Once he’d opened the gown, he peeled it from her shoulders and eased it down her body, letting it fall in a pool around her on the bed. The chill of the room had begun to dissipate, though it hardly mattered with the warm, hard body pressed against her, offering all the heat and support she needed.
He braced both hands upon her shoulders, skimming them down her arms until he was bringing her wrists together in front of her. Then, he was using something white to bind them together, tight enough that she could not squirm free, but loose enough that she could still wiggle her fingers. His cravat, she realized. Her wrists had healed enough that the pressure did not hurt. It only itched a bit, though she could not dwell on that for long.
Her pulse kicked up a notch, her breath hitching as Niall laid something over her eyes that blotted out the moon and firelight, casting her back into the darkness. Her chest heaved, but she struggled to keep her breathing under control, sinking into him with a slow exhale. The fabric he tied around the back of her head was long and silken—one of her stockings, perhaps.
The darkness disoriented her for a moment, leaving her dizzy and off-balance. Her stomach dropped as if she plunged into that black abyss, the place where she floated on a river of her own tears.
“I’m right here with ye, Livvie,” he murmured against her ear. “And ye are still in control, aye?”
She nodded, focusing upon the sound of his voice and the feel of his body against hers. It balanced her again, a heady reminder that she was not alone, that she no longer allowed herself to be tossed about by the whims of Fate. She’d taken control of her life, and that meant shunning her dangerous wants in favor of something far more wonderful and far less hazardous to her body.
He took her bound hands and lifted them, hooking them around his neck so her arms were pulled taut. Then, he grasped her thighs and pulled them wider, forcing her to sink down into her posture, every part of her exposed for him.
Then, he was touching her, and the darkness was no longer something to fear. It became a warm blanket surrounding her, comforting her, bringing alive the previously deadened parts of herself. He rested his hands at her waist, then skimmed them upward. He cupped her breasts, lightly pinching her nipples and sending a little fissure of delight arcing over her skin. The sensation sank into her belly, suffusing her with warmth from the inside out. His lips pressed against her temple, then her cheek, his mouth tracing a steady path to her ear.
Olivia held her breath as one of his hands traveled downward while the other eased up. He gripped her chin, turning her head as he also skimmed his way down her stomach in an achingly slow journey toward her cunt. She gasped when he cupped her mons, middle finger pressing into the seam right against her clit. He tilted her head, kissing his way from her ear down the side of her neck, then lingering at her shoulder. Shivers wracked her, the light brush of his lips at the juncture of her neck and shoulder sending jolts of sheer bliss down her spine.
She squirmed in his hold, but he merely tightened his hand against her quim, holding her close against him. He delved between her lower lips, stroking at her hidden inner flesh and coaxing moisture from deep inside her. Her gut clenched, her chest burning as she fought to keep quiet and not let the entire house in on what they were doing. She trembled for what might come next, what she’d be helpless to submit to with her hands bound and her eyes covered.
She trusted him without reservation, eager for more—desperate for it, even.
The hand at her chin moved until he was gently clutching the braid running between her shoulders. Giving it a tug, he bent her head back, his fingers steadily stroking her toward climax while he kissed and suckled at her neck and shoulder. All the while, his hips surged against her buttocks, grinding the evidence of his desire against her, teasing her with what was to come. She nearly begged him for it, moaning and weeping and writhing, but she held back. He would know when she was ready, and despite the fact that he’d told her she was in control, she wanted nothing more than to allow him to set the pace.
He took his time, rubbing at her clit in slow, languid circles, his mouth torturing the back of her neck, her ear, every bit of naked skin his lips landed upon. The pressure and tension built in her core, winding tighter and tighter as she strained toward the elusive ending, her mouth practically
watering for it, her legs quivering and her arms tightening around his neck.
Niall waited until she whimpered and squirmed with the first telltale fluttering of her completion, then eased a finger into her passage, the way made slick with her wetness, following it with a second. His other hand clamped over her mouth when she cried out, bucking against his stroking fingers and the busy thumb agitating her clit to heighten the finish. Her cunt convulsed, her insides melting into liquid fire to flood her with a burst of heat that flushed her skin. She moaned against his hand, surrendering to the pull of the darkness and the electric crackle sparking where his hand worked her until the very end. As her climax died away to a light, dull throb, he eased his fingers from inside her and dropped his hand from over her mouth. She had gone limp, hanging from his body by only her tied hands around his neck, the rest of her sinking into the mattress. She was formless and weightless, sated yet still yearning for more. The need had not abated—he had merely taken the edge off.
“Ye’re goin’ to do that again and again before I’m done with ye,” he rumbled in her ear. “However many times it takes until I’m satisfied ye aren’t thinkin’ about that foul poison. And if ye are, ye’ll be lucky if ye can even walk to attempt to go find it.”
She shuddered, her body singing at the promises he made, both spoken and unspoken. The subtle threat of his cock, heavy and hard against her arse, served as a reminder of how completely he could fill her, leaving room for little else.
“Yes, Niall,” she urged. “That is what I want … it’s what I need.”
His only response was to take hold of her arms and untangle her from him, dropping her to fall forward on the bed. She landed on her belly, facedown, bound hands stretched out before her. She turned her head and fought against the instant flare of panic that surged within her at the feel of his heavy body coming down on top of her. Her mind flooded with memories of being pinned down this way, a forearm biting against her back, foul words whispered in her ear.
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