EPILOGUE
3 months later …
Adam stomped through the open doors of Dunnottar, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. A footman closed one of the large double doors behind him, shutting out the bitter cold. Despite the hours he’d just spent riding hell for leather across the wilds of Scotland, he was in a state of heightened agitation. His body remained on edge, every muscle stretched taut, every vein pulsating with blood heated to its boiling point.
Niall appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, his ever-present scowl marring what might have been considered a handsome face.
“Enjoy yer ride, Master?” he asked, though he sounded as if he could not care less.
Niall—who was as much Adam’s friend as he was his butler—was angry with him. He had been ever since the day he had relented and allowed Daphne back into the palace after throwing her out on the front steps. When it came to the Fairchilds, the only person who wished for their blood more than Adam might be Niall.
The man did not understand the nuances of warfare. He did not understand that a true general did not dash across the battlefield and stab his enemy in the heart. He drew out the death of his nemesis, strategically cutting pieces of him away bit by bit … until there was nothing left.
He had spent five years methodically destroying Bertram Fairchild, as well as his father and uncle. That had proved far more satisfying than a fleeting duel or bout of fisticuffs.
“You know very well I did not, so sod off,” he snapped, storming past Niall and down the corridor.
He did not have it in him to endure Niall’s censure, or Maeve’s moping about. One of them was angry for letting Daphne stay while the other would not stop glaring at him because he’d let her leave.
Bugger them both.
He wondered what either of them might say if they knew that though he had sent her away, she was not truly gone. She haunted him daily, traces of her seeming to linger in every nook and cranny of Dunnottar. He saw her in the meadow where he’d first revealed Bertram’s true nature to her, her bonny face wet with tears, the sun glinting off her hair. He heard her in the music room, the heavenly sound of her fingers against harp strings soothing him like no amount of spirits or fucking could. He smelled her scent in that room, too, heard her cries of surrender as he’d taken her down to the rug and torn through her maidenhead. He even saw her in his study, kneeling quietly at his feet with a book in her lap, eyes demurely lowered.
The chit had no knowledge of how she’d enflamed him, the simple act of dropping to her knees on the floor enough to fill his cock with blood to near bursting. He’d had her in every way he had imagined, but now that she was gone, he found himself imagining more.
“It is over, you bloody moron,” he groused at himself as he stormed into his bedchamber and slammed the door. “She served her purpose.”
That was certainly true enough. He’d gotten what he wanted from her, striking out at Bertram through her. What else was there?
Forcing his gaze away from his bed, he gritted his teeth, a primal growl tearing through his chest. She even haunted him here, her cries reverberating from the walls and ceilings, the memory of spanking her until her buttocks glowed red before impaling her tight arse disturbing his dreams.
Bringing her into his private sanctuary had been a mistake … he realized that now. But, what else was he to have done after she’d stumbled upon Serena, disobeying his direct order?
As he entered the washroom, he told himself he only missed having an available cunt around whenever the mood to fuck struck him. That he’d merely been obsessed with the novelty of bedding Bertram’s little sister … defiling her in every conceivable way.
However, even that did not calm him, his body as restless as ever, his cock hard as stone … despite that fact that he’d frigged himself upon waking this morning. As well as right before he’d gone to sleep. And the night before that … and the night before that.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, pacing toward the washstand and gilded mirror in the corner where he stood to shave.
Niall often referred to him as a barbarian for not hiring a valet, but he’d always preferred dressing and grooming himself.
Bracing his hands upon the washstand, he bowed his head. He closed his eyes and attempted to tear his wayward thoughts away from Daphne. Yet, closing his eyes only worsened the effect, the red swirls moving about on his eyelids reminding him of her hair. Clenching one hand into a fist, he imagined wrapping that hair around his hand and yanking until she cried out … until her eyes watered and she whimpered.
God, he’d never seen anything more beautiful than the sight of her surrender, of the moment fear left her eyes and submission to his will settled in. He had been right about her all along, having seen it in her eyes the first time he’d laid eyes upon her.
Daphne craved danger, the thrill of a threat, the promise of destruction. She danced upon the precipice, taunting the darkness, beating her pristine white wings as if to flaunt herself, to goad the beast lurking in the depths.
Come and get me, her every movement seemed to say.
He had enjoyed every moment of stalking, and eventually, overcoming her.
Opening his eyes with a strangled sound of frustration, he spied a little scrap of silk lying beside the basin a chambermaid had filled with clean water for him.
Taking it up, he smoothed his fingers over it, lifting it to his nostrils. It still held her scent … though its strength faded more and more with each passing day.
It was one of the ribbons she’d worn around her neck—he’d found it in the guest chamber she had once occupied. He grinned at the memory of throwing her up on the dining room table after tearing off her gown—her body stripped of everything except for this length of ribbon.
With a grunt, he tore open his breeches, unable to abide this torment any longer. He could no longer fight what felt like a force of nature, a gust of wind blowing him in a certain direction.
With the ribbon still in his hand, he fisted his cock, wrapping himself in silk and a rough, calloused palm. His head already seeped with moisture, he was so wound up, and he stroked himself with a brutal desperation born of a need she had created. He jerked his cock while imagining holding her down and drilling her like a madman, one hand wrapped around her throat. He recalled the way her eyes had widened the first time he had compressed the vital veins in her neck, slowing the flow of blood. She’d been afraid, but that had only made his lust surge, and he had tightened his fingers, wanting to test her mettle.
As expected, she had performed beautifully, closing her eyes and allowing the sensation to heighten her climax, sucking in a mouthful of air just as she spiraled into oblivion.
He doubled over from the force of his own completion, grasping a scrap of linen just in time to catch his seed. He pumped his hips, wringing himself dry despite knowing it would never be enough. By evening, he would be right back where he’d started, wanting a woman who no longer lay within his reach.
But … she had never been completely out of reach. He held the entire Fairchild family in the palm of his hand. With one closed fist, he could smite them into dust. She would never be completely free of him.
Glancing down at the scrap of ribbon stained with his seed, he came to a decision. His body unwound, his muscles relaxing.
Peace washed over him, and he found balance once again, the sort of calculating calm that typically ruled him.
The answer was simple.
He felt this way because they had unfinished business. She was not completely out of his blood, but this was a problem easily remedied.
Adam made quick work of cleaning himself up before leaving the washroom, stalking into his chamber and retrieving a large trunk from beneath the bed. He threw a few items inside before having a sudden thought.
He found the bell cord to ring for Niall and went back to work.
By the time his friend and butler had arrived, the trunk had been half-filled with the things he would need for his journey.
“What’s this, then?” Niall asked, brow furrowed as he took in Adam’s erratic packing method.
“Prepare a carriage for travel, Niall,” he barked. “I am leaving immediately.”
“Why? Where are you going?”
Ignoring his first question, Adam chuckled, the excitement of the hunt to come making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This time, when he got his hands on his little dove, he was going to exorcise every debauched fantasy of her he’d ever had. She would not escape him until he was well and truly ready to let her go.
“London, Niall,” he declared with a feral grin. “We are going to London.”