by welis
She frowned, dread making her blood run cold while her mind raced to try to decipher his cryptic words. “What do you mean? What’s happening, Adam?”
He spared her a quick glance and sighed. “Bertram. He’s made it clear that he has not learned from his past mistakes.”
She gritted her teeth, both worried and annoyed at the mention of her idiot of a brother. Why could he not quietly slink into the shadows and lick his wounds? Could he not see that provoking Adam would not end well for him?
“Does it matter?” she asked. “He is ruined, and will never be the same. Even when he inherits the earldom, it will come with nothing but debt and a tarnished legacy. Can’t that be enough for you?”
His jaw tensed, the leather of his gloves creaking as he tightened his fingers around the reins. “No. Not when he still walks about with that smug sense of entitlement … the bloody arrogance that makes him operate under the delusion that he’s better than the rest despite the things he’s done.”
“That makes you the better man,” she whispered, knowing her words fell on deaf ears … knowing his was the sort of anger that could not be reasoned with. “And it doesn’t mean you haven’t won. You got what you wanted … it has to end someday.”
He nodded in agreement. “Aye … someday. But not today, little dove. Not until I’ve taken the rest.”
Gazing down at her hands, she folded them in her lap and tried to get a hold of herself. If Adam was on the warpath again, that meant she stood in the crossfire as she had before—trapped in the never-ending battle between him and her brother.
“When?” she asked. “When should I expect you to make your first move?”
He reached out to her, the warm, soft leather of his gloves caressing her jaw as he lifted her chin and looked her in the eye. She saw not an ounce of regret in his gaze as he answered her, his voice a low, gruff rumble that made her stomach twist.
“Right now, little dove.”
It took her a moment to realize what he could mean … how she’d managed to step into yet another one of his traps. Turning her gaze to the lane before them, she released a strangled cry, the twisting in her gut turning into a sinking feeling that made her feel as if she would be violently ill.
They rode down one of the several lanes leading into Hyde Park—which, at this time of day, was filled wall to wall with members of the ton out to see and be seen.
Turning back to him, her chin trembled, her resolve crumbling as she realized what he was about. “Could you not have warned me first?”
He stroked her cheek for a moment before dropping his hand with a tight smile. “Would you have gotten in the carriage if I had?”
No, she would not have gotten inside an open-air barouche, on full display at his side as they made slow progress down the lane while being gawked at by every person who passed them.
On foot, on horseback, and in vehicles, the faces of the ton swam before her unfocused eyes. Women whispered behind gloved hands, and men smirked knowingly at her, as if undressing her with their eyes. Of course they did … these men thought her a plaything, a whore, a bit of skirt to be passed around when Adam was finished with her.
And for all intents and purposes, it now appeared as if he was not done with her. She had not agreed to be his mistress, but she might as well have for all the damage this would do to the remains of her reputation.
“You see, Daphne,” he said, his voice low while he kept his expression neutral for the benefit of their audience. “There is one member of your family who will never be safe from me. As long as he makes a nuisance of himself, I will make it my business to cut him down to size … to take away any and everything that he holds dear. And if I have to continue using you to do it, I bloody well will.”
Her eyes began to sting with the beginnings of tears, but she blinked them back, determined not to crumble. She could survive this … she had certainly endured worse at his hands. The gossip did not bother her as much as it would Bertram. She supposed that if she had to search for a reason for her hurt, she would find it all-too closely entangled with her confused emotions where Adam was concerned. And she did not wish to even attempt untangling those snarled, convoluted threads.
“I pity you,” she murmured, still avoiding his gaze, as well as those of the passersby. “Not because you’ve been hurt by what was done to your sister, or because your father turned you into a cold brute … but because someday, this will end, and I am going to finally have peace. And you, I fear, will still wrestle with your anger. When Bertram has taken the last of your blows, what then? When he has been vanquished to your satisfaction, what will you have left but your hatred?”
He did not reply, and they spent the rest of their ride in silence, avoiding looking at each other as Adam navigated Hyde Park. They paused a few times while he was greeted by acquaintances, most of whom simply wished to gawk at her. She ignored them all, staring listlessly out over the pristine grounds of the park. After what felt like ages, they broke free of the square, exiting on the opposite side and coming out onto a clogged thoroughfare.
She felt his gaze resting on her from time to time, though he did not speak … not until they had arrived in front of her townhome. Before she could turn to step down from the vehicle, he reached out to grab her arm, holding her with a light but firm grip. Forced to confront him, she turned to face him, not bothering to fight his hold. He would let her go when he was good and ready, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“I’ll have peace, little dove,” he said, leaning closer, until she could make out the flecks of amber and gold amid the dark brown of his eyes. “Knowing that the person who hurt my Livvie has paid for it with everything he has. If I have nothing else when this is over, I will find peace in that.”
She could see he truly believed that, and perhaps this was why he’d pursued Bertram’s downfall so relentlessly … because until he had gotten the desired outcome, the guilt he carried over having been in Europe during Olivia’s ordeal would not abate. He truly thought to ease his own conscience by making amends the only way he knew how.
For the first time since coming face to face with him at Dunnottar, she felt as if she truly understood Adam—what drove him, what haunted him. That only made her pity him more.
“If you truly believe that, then you are lost,” she declared. “And I hope you are able to see that for yourself before it is too late, Adam. I really do.”
She pulled away from him, and he released her arm, seeming content to let her go. Climbing down from the perch, she turned to face the barouche, tipping her head back to look up at him. He stared down at her with pinched lips, his eyes as inscrutable as she’d ever seen them, dark and glowing with amber cinders. They stood that way for what felt like hours, locked in each other’s eyes, the rest of the world still moving around them.
Finally, he spoke, breaking the thrall.
“Prepare yourself, little dove,” he said, his voice coming out clipped and biting. “The consequences of my next move will make themselves apparent soon.”
Before she could reply, he was gone with a snap of his reins, the little barouche disappearing around the corner. With a heavy sigh, she turned toward the house, her shoulders slumped. Amazing, how a short time away had completely changed her mood, dragging her right back into the doldrums. Selling her townhome and finding some far-flung cottage in the country to live in began to sound like heaven.
With a sarcastic snort, she told herself not to be ridiculous. It didn’t matter where she went; Adam would always find some way to reach her and exploit her connection to Bertram.
Ascending the front steps, she found Rowney waiting for her, the door held open.
“My lady,” he said as she entered the house. “You have a—”
“Daphne!” came a desperate voice from the doorway of the drawing room.
She turned to find Bertram barreling toward her, his hair tousled and his clothing mussed, eyes wide and wild with panic.
Furrowing her brow, she bac
ked away a few steps, her nose stinging from the putrid odor of spirits emanating from him. It had a strong, acrid scent that she could not associate with port or brandy.
Gin, she realized. Her brother had taken to swigging gin. Likely because it did not strain one’s pockets quite as much as a more dignified drink.
“Bertram, what are you doing here?” she asked, taking him in from head to toe.
He looked as if he’d slept in his clothing from the previous night, then rolled out of bed, doused himself in gin, and appeared on her doorstep.
Scowling at Rowney, who watched them with a heavy measure of censure and curiosity, Bertram took hold of her arm and guided her back to the drawing room. She squirmed in his grasp, the bite of his fingers hard and relentless.
“Let go of me,” she insisted, wrenching away from him and rounding the couch, putting large pieces of furniture between them.
She was not certain what had gotten into him, but she did not trust him in such a state.
Raking his hand through his hair again, he paced to the window, peering out between the closed curtains. “Was that him? Hartmoor … I saw you leaving a man’s barouche. It looked like him.”
She fought the urge to scream and tear out her hair. Even when Adam was out of her sight, he dominated every space she occupied. She could not even escape talk of him.
“That is none of your affair,” she hedged.
Bertram snorted, turning back to face her with a scowl. “It is when you allow yourself to be used against our family. The man has a vendetta against me, and you join him for afternoon rides as if you’re being courted.”
Weariness slumped her shoulders, and she wanted to sink to the floor and curl into herself, closing her eyes and shutting Bertram out. She’d been twisted and wrung dry, and did not possess the energy to answer him, to explain to him how and why she’d come to be in the barouche with Adam. Not to mention, she did not owe him an explanation for anything.
“Bertram, I am not in the mood to have another row with you,” she replied. “Besides, I know that you tried to provoke him. What could you have been thinking?”
His lips tightened, nostrils flaring as his entire face flushed. He turned red all the way to his scalp, hands shaking as if he wanted to hit something. Hit her.
“While he was at it, did he tell you that he’s moved into his new townhome in Grosvenor Square?” he retorted. “Everywhere I’ve gone today, I’ve had to hear about it.”
Wrinkling her brow, she shook her head. “What does that have to do with us?”
Coming closer, he reached out to grasp her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “His new home is Fairchild House, Daff.”
Shock stole her breath for a moment—her words. She could not make sense of what Bertram was saying. It couldn’t be true. The papers had reported that Adam had taken up residence at a Mayfair hotel. He didn’t own a London residence, as he preferred to remain in Scotland—something she now knew to be because he wished to stay close to his sister.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, trying to bring her racing thoughts under control. He had just warned her—hadn’t he?—that his next move would make itself known to her soon. Had this been what he meant? That he had publicly proclaimed his ownership of her family home?
It was so good, she almost laughed in Bertram’s face. Adam was rubbing her brother’s nose in his defeat, publicly flaunting her at his side, and ensuring he, and everyone in London, knew that he’d purchased the home their father had been forced to sell. If she weren’t so bloody weary of all the games and schemes, she might have been amused by it. As it was, she only experienced a sense of foreboding, because she knew this was not the end of it. Bertram’s pride would not allow him to take this lying down, which meant she could expect him to retaliate, and for Adam to act accordingly.
“Have you heard a word I’ve said?” Bertram snapped, releasing her and backing into the nearest armchair before falling into it with a huff. “The blackguard is making certain I can never set foot in any respectable establishment or home ever again … not without becoming a laughingstock.”
“Perhaps you ought not have incited him,” she replied, sinking into the couch across from him. “If you had just left well enough alone …”
“He ruined you, and then publicly flaunted the fact,” he countered. “You would not expect me to appear a coward in public, would you?”
“Yet, you are surprisingly content to act as one in private,” she muttered, leaning back in her seat and pressing her fingers against her throbbing temples. “Leave, Bertram. I am not interested in listening to you whine and moan about Hartmoor. You’ve brought this all on yourself, you know … and me, as well. He isn’t finished with you. If you were smart, you’d leave London quietly and pray he does not come after you. Perhaps then, we might all be able to get on with our lives.”
He gaped at her in silence for a long moment, red splotches painting his face. He appeared like a petulant child, prepared to throw a tantrum. It only made her despise him more.
“I cannot believe you would turn your back on your own family,” he whined.
Shrugging one shoulder, she rose from the couch, determined to see him out herself if he would not leave. “You saw to that with your despicable actions, Bertram. Now, we have nothing left to say to each other. I trust you will not return here again.”
Their gazes met and held, her brother seeming to vacillate between anger and disbelief. It truly amazed her that he’d seemed to think she would eventually forgive him. He clearly operated under the belief that he’d done nothing wrong … that she was the one being unfair by not wanting to have anything to do with him.
Finally, he moved, shaking his head with a derisive snort. He glared at her as if she were some loathsome creature he wished to smash beneath his heel.
“You have always been so high and mighty, thinking yourself better than the rest of us,” he hissed, venom lacing his words “Do you think I do not know about your wanton behaviors? Even before Hartmoor, you were always a shameless tart. I know about you and Robert … all those summers the two of you would sneak off to be together without me … you coming home with grass stains all over your gowns. Yet, you have the nerve to look down your nose at me, judging me, finding me to be beneath you.”
Instead of the shame his words had been meant to inspire, she experienced only anger, her palms itching to slap him, to ram those words back down his throat. That he could think the follies of her youth comparable to his sinister actions proved to her how delusional he truly was. There was no reason she should allow it to get to her, to let him needle her into flying off the handle.
Taking a deep breath, she gestured toward the door. “I asked you to leave. If you need help locating the door, I am certain my footmen can help you find it.”
His gaze became downright murderous as he swept toward her, then past her, putting her behind him as he made for the drawing room exit. “You are going to regret this … mark my words.”
She followed him to the door, watched as he thundered through the vestibule and out the front door—which Rowney held open for him. As the panel closed behind him, she swallowed past the lump of anxiety his words caused. Not because she truly believed he would harm her, or that he could ever be strong enough to hurt Adam, but because it only confirmed what she’d known to be true for quite some time now.
This thing between Bertram and Adam might never end … not until one of them was dead. Considering the hell both men had put her through today, she was not certain she cared which of them killed the other, so long as they did it quickly and left her out of it.
Turning to Rowney, she put both men out of her mind for the moment.
“I will take tea in my personal drawing room,” she declared. “Oh, and in the future, Mr. Fairchild is no longer welcome in this house. Should he turn up on my doorstep again, you are to turn him away.”
“Yes, my lady,” the butler answered as she turned and made her way up the st
airs.
CHAPTER SEVEN
dam took a sip of champagne while he stood perusing the occupants of the crowded ballroom. What he wouldn’t give for something stronger—brandy or port—and perhaps a room without quite so much light or as many people. Who on Earth had thought it was a good idea to light hundreds of candles in a room crammed with people wall to wall? It was too bright, and the din set his teeth on edge. The music harmed as much as it helped, the pleasant strains of the various country dances, quadrilles, and waltzes nearly overtaken by the voices. Greetings, gossip, politics, planned assignations … all of it jumbled together in a continuous sound that made him want to take a dagger to his ear.
Someone, hundreds of years ago, had decided that not only was this a good idea, but that all people of title and wealth should indulge as often as possible. They had called these abominable events ‘balls’, and every young debutante he’d ever met thought of it all as being romantic. He found it a waste of time, but his presence here tonight had a purpose.
After moving into Fairchild House that morning—while most of Grosvenor Square swarmed with those making morning calls, ensuring that everyone would see him coming—he had set Niall to work determining if Daphne had plans for the evening. He had it on good authority that she’d received several invitations and wanted to know if she’d accepted any. While a chit with even a lick of self-preservation might have chosen to hide away at home, his little dove was built differently. She would wish to boldly show him that she wasn’t frightened, that his threats would not rule her every action. As well, being cooped up indoors was sure to have driven her batty by now.
He’d known she would wish to go out, and his assumption had been proven true when Niall returned to Fairchild House, informing him that she had accepted the invitation to the Mallorys’ winter ball. So, despite hating balls, and dancing, and making small talk with people he barely knew and did not much like, he’d laid out evening attire. He’d shaved and tamed his hair and adorned himself in all the finery an earl would be expected to display at a public event. And he’d come here to lie in wait, to watch for Daphne from his corner of the room.
