CHAPTER TEN
iall rang for a maid a short time later, ordering her to remove the chamberpot filled with Olivia’s vomit and bring the tub for a bath. As they waited for it to arrive, he kept himself occupied in order to avoid sinking into his own fit of despair. Olivia lay abed like a lifeless doll, her breathing gradually returning to normal, the clarity flaring back to life in her eyes. Her tears continued to flow, streaming down her face and back into her hair. No matter how long he sat there, stroking her cheek and murmuring to her, she did not respond, nor did she offer any sign that she had not done herself permanent harm.
He would not give up. He could not. To accept defeat would be to admit that she was beyond saving, and no matter what happened, Niall refused to believe that.
So, he busied himself setting the room to rights—getting rid of the broken commode door, righting the things he’d knocked over on the vanity, stoking the fire to warm the room for Olivia’s bath. He’d sent word to Maeve that she was to stay with Serena, keeping her from her mother’s room for the time being. The girl had suffered enough today without having to witness her mother in such a state.
The bath arrived, and the servants who delivered the tub and filled it with water kept casting curious glances in Olivia’s direction. They’d all come with the townhouse and did not have the loyalty of the staff at Dunnottar. They probably wondered what truly went on with the earl’s half-mad sister, but Niall had all but threatened them upon her arrival. They’d been warned that to speak of the things they witnessed while serving in this house would incur Adam’s wrath—something no sane person would ever want. At his piercing stare, they looked away and went about their task, quickly dispersing from the room once he assured them everything was to his liking.
Once they’d gone, he set about playing lady’s maid, as he did not trust anyone else with her right now.
“Ye’ll feel more yerself after a bath,” he said, urging her onto her side so he could begin opening her gown.
She shifted under his hands, offering him her back, but she did not speak or move otherwise. Stifling a sigh, he began to undress her while continuing to talk, hoping he might coax her into saying something back.
“Serena wanted to see ye, but I thought it best to wait. Maybe tomorrow?”
Olivia stared off across the room, as if having retreated to another world. Only the periodic blink of her eyes set her apart from some cold, stone statue.
“C’mon, then. Off with yer underthings.”
He made quick work of her laces, tossing her stays aside, then freeing her from her chemise and stockings. He’d undressed her so many times, and in so many ways—slowly and languidly while kissing every inch of bared skin; hastily while panting and groaning, in a hurry to access her body. Never could he have imagined removing her clothing under such circumstances.
He guided her to the washstand, where he took the time to help her rinse her mouth and make use of the tooth powder and brush stashed there. She stood listless, arms hanging at her sides, making no move to stop him, but not doing anything to aid him in his ministrations, either.
Once finished, he guided her to the tub. He stopped short of picking her up, realizing he’d have to push her a bit if he wanted to bring her back. So, he gave her a little nudge toward the tub.
“Get in, mo gradh.”
He felt her stare upon him, an almost questioning gaze. He turned to go for a low footstool, leaving her beside the tub and making it clear she would have to climb in on her own. Perhaps this was what she’d needed all along … for everyone to stop coddling her and force her to see that she was strong enough to do things for herself.
By the time he’d settled beside the tub on his stool, she had gotten into the water. She stood for a moment, before slowly sinking in. He kept his gaze upon her face, watching as she leaned back and rested her head on the lip of the tub with a sigh.
He leaned against the side of it, his fingertips trailing in the water as he watched her. The water lapped at her chest, its heat flushing her skin pink.
He remained silent and let her soak, watching and waiting for some sign from her … anything that would give him hope.
It came in the most unexpected way. She shifted a bit in the tub, her gaze raising to meet his. Then, slowly, she lifted one hand and reached out to him. He went stone still, barely daring to breathe as he waited to find out what she would do.
Her fingers brushed against the tips of his, then stroked up over his bruised knuckles. She did not speak, but her eyes were assessing, questioning as she studied first his face, then the redness and swelling on his fingers.
“Did ye think I’d let him get away?” he asked, raising his wounded hand to her face. “I swore if I ever got the chance, I’d spill his blood. I only regret letting Adam stop me.”
Closing her eyes, she nestled her cheek against his palm. “I saw him, and I … I had forgotten him for a moment. For the first time since … I had forgotten that he was real, that he still inhabited this world.”
Relief stole the tension from his body, and he breathed a bit easier to hear her speak to him in full, coherent sentences. He’d lost her for a short time, but she hadn’t been too far gone to save.
“It’s all right, mo gradh. Ye had no way of knowin’ he’d show up here. But he’s gone now. Adam … he’s goin’ to make sure he can never hurt ye again.”
She opened her eyes, tears welling in the depths as she stared at him, her lower lip trembling. “Please, Niall … don’t let him do something reckless. And … and please do not tell him about this.”
He fought the urge to wince as he remembered Adam’s boldly declared words.
I am going to kill the bastard.
“Livvie, yer brother cannae be stopped if he’s got it in his head to do somethin’. Ye know that as well as I do. And Bertram … he deserves whatever happens next for the things he’s done.”
She did not need to know about the blackmail, or Adam’s plans. Just now, he only wanted to think of getting her back to that joyous place she’d been in just that afternoon. At the moment, it felt so far off. But, if she could talk to him and look at him with so much love in her eyes, then he knew she could find that place again. He knew she could do anything.
“I just want it to be over,” she whispered, falling back against the edge of the tub with a little sob. “I want the sadness and fear and fighting to end.”
So did he. It was a difficult thing to admit to himself, after having dedicated the past five years to helping Adam seek revenge against the family who had hurt her. He wanted an end to it, but also realized they might never have that end as long as Bertram was a threat.
“Promise me, Niall,” she urged, reaching out to grab his hand once more. “Promise me you’ll try to put a stop to this.”
He found himself nodding, even as he wondered how he might go about it. If Adam was determined to kill Bertram, then Niall did not know what he was to do about it. But, for his Livvie, he would have done anything. Had she asked him to move a mountain, he would have strained until he died to budge the thing an inch.
“I promise, mo gradh. I’ll do whatever I must.”
Seeming content with that, she fell silent as he resumed the task of bathing her. He took his time, lathering a sponge with sweet-smelling soap and using it to scrub her skin. She remained pliant under his hands, moving about to help him access various parts of her body. Then, she tipped her head back to wet her hair, humming happily as he washed the locks, taking the time to massage her scalp before rinsing.
“I didn’t want to die,” she whispered as he helped her from the tub. “I-I couldn’t make it stop. His face … I saw it in my mind, and I heard his voice … the things he said to me while he …”
Tossing aside the linen he’d used to dry her, he took her in his arms, pulling her nude body against him. She clung to his lapels as if she feared being carried away by a strong wind, shivering in his hold despite the warmth of the fire.
“It’s over, Livvie. He cannae hurt ye ever again.”
She nodded against his waistcoat, her face buried in the fabric. He smoothed both hands over her back, trying to still her shudders and calm her fears.
“The world would be a far dimmer place without ye in it, mo gradh. I know it’s hard for ye to fight it at times, but I need ye to try for me. Can ye do that? Can ye promise me ye willnae ever hurt yerself like that again? If ye promise, then Adam’ll never know about yer relapse. As far as anyone else knows, it never happened.”
Her eyes appeared from the shelter of his waistcoat, then the rest of her face as she stared up at him.
“I promise. I’m so sorry, Niall. I can never understand why you continue to love me when all I’m ever capable of doing is hurting and worrying you.”
“Don’t ye apologize,” he admonished. “Life laid ye low for a time, and yer fightin’ yer way back. If ye find yerself in a bit of a tough spot from time to time … well, no one can fault ye for that.”
Coming up on tiptoe, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body flush against his. The baser parts of him reacted with the predictable rush of blood and heat, his every nerve ending coming alive. He became aware of her nudity again, juxtaposed against his clothing.
“Livvie …”
“I’m so tired of being afraid,” she whispered. “I am weary of craving that vile poison, even when it is the only thing that can chase it all away.”
“I know,” he replied. What other response could he offer? How could he tell her he would take away her pain, when he still had no notion how, other than simply being constant and near?
“I know how hard this has all been for you … loving a broken woman. One who cannot give you all that you deserve.”
He shook his head, then kissed her cheek. “No, Livvie. Ye give me love in all the ways ye can. It’s enough for me.”
“It isn’t for me … not anymore. I want more, Niall. I need more.”
He was so taken aback that he could do nothing but let her pull him along, her grip upon his hand strong and sure as she propelled him across the room toward her bed. It still did not dawn on him completely until she had climbed up onto the mattress, sitting back on her haunches and watching him expectantly.
His mind reeled as he grappled with the things she was saying, the offering she presented to him. He warred with himself, knowing she must be too fragile to even think of touching right now, and realizing it’d been so long since he had handled her in any way that wasn’t protective or caring. It had been so long since he’d even allowed himself to imagine that he could be with her the way he used to … or perhaps even experience her in the one way he never had.
“Livvie, we cannae … what ye just went through—”
“Does not change the fact that we’ve wanted this for so long,” she interjected, moving closer so that she knelt just before him, her hands laid flat upon his chest. “These five years, I’ve been dead inside. I’ve missed so many wonderful things—moments of my daughter’s life, being there for my brother, and for you. I’ve missed all the love and passion we might have shared if I had been able to fight for it. I might not have been strong enough then, but I am now, Niall. I had a moment of weakness today, but you were here for me … you are always here for me.”
He nodded, reaching up to cup her face and trying not to look past the line of her collarbone. She’d always known how to tempt him, how to tip him over the edge of reason and into mindless desire. After the day he’d had, he was tired, weak. He did not think he had the strength to resist her.
“I always will be,” he assured her. “No matter what, Livvie.”
She smiled at him, and he felt as if the sun finally shone down upon him after an eternity of dark clouds. It was the biggest smile he’d seen from her in years, aside from her brief moment of happiness with the harp. It was the sign he had hoped for, prayed for. It was proof that she had, indeed, gotten stronger—enough to smile at him, even in the face of today’s dire events.
“Then be here now. Help me remember what it means to feel something good, pure, and beautiful. Even if it can only last a moment, I need to feel something that isn’t hurt, or sadness, or fear. When I think of what it is like to have someone inside me, I do not want to see his face. I want to see yours. I want to know what it is to have you in all the ways I never did, so that when the memory of him comes back to me, I have yours to dwell on instead … I’ll have you to remind me that this is how it should be, how it ought to have been all along.”
The mention of Bertram had him gritting his teeth and resisting the urge to tear every bit of the furniture in the room to shreds. It had haunted him for years, the thought of that animal taking something from her that had not been his to take, robbing her of the first experience she should have had. She had deserved so much more, and God, how he wanted to be the one to give it to her.
“Ye know I’d give ye anything, Livvie. But ye’ve only just started t’ get better. If I did somethin’ to hurt ye, or scare ye, or … I’d never forgive myself.”
She surged against him, wrapping one leg about this waist, then the other, forcing him to use an arm to anchor her, holding her up against him. She wrapped him in warmth and softness, her sweet scent wafting right up his nostrils and causing him to grow dizzy.
“You could never hurt me,” she whispered, nuzzling his ear and kissing the side of his neck, the touch of her lips weakening his knees, as well as his resolve. “And if I am afraid, it is because of my own mind. I need you to help me beat the fear. I need you to make it so I never have to be afraid again.”
He stood there holding her in his arms, swaying from the impact of so many warring thoughts at once. The honorable thing to do would be laying her abed and walking away, perhaps ensuring her that they could do this another time, when she was stronger. Resisting the urge to throw her down upon the bed and devour her whole, he tried to keep control of his body, of the desires he had neglected for so long.
“Have I changed so much, then?” she prodded when he remained silent, eyes squeezed shut, stomach roiling. “Don’t you want me anymore?”
His eyes flew open, and he met her gaze, wide and probing and perhaps even a bit anxious. He could see the hint of fear underlying her need, the bit of insecurity prompting her to begin untangling her body from his.
“If you don’t, I suppose I understand—”
Niall moved before he could think, dropping her back onto the bed and then climbing on so that he straddled her, his knees on either side of her hips. She gasped when he reached for one of her hands and yanked it to him, pressing it flat against the hard ridge of flesh growing and swelling with each passing second. He kept his gaze locked with hers as he curled her fingers around his erection, compelling her to feel the heat and hardness of him.
“Does it feel like I dinnae want ye anymore? Like I ever stopped?”
Her breath quickened through her parted lips, eyelids growing heavy as he surged his hips, pressing his cock more snugly into her palm.
“N-no,” she whispered. “It does not.”
“Ye don’t know how much a cad I felt, wantin’ ye even when ye were suffering.” He closed his eyes as he made his confession, certain he would find disgust in her gaze if he looked too closely. “Have ye any idea how many nights ye pulled me into yer bed for comfort, only for me to lie there and think about all the ways I wanted ye—on top of me, underneath me, fittin’ around me so tight?”
She was touching him of her own accord now, heat blossoming where her palm teased his cock through breeches, her fingers tightening to take him in a firm grip.
“But there is no reason for you to feel badly, Niall … not when I wanted it, too. In the moments when I could think clearly enough to want it, I did. I always did.”
Then, she was shifting beneath him, sitting up as much as his position over her allowed. Her warm breath seeped through the fabric as she placed her lips against his fall, nuzzling and kissing him with unfettered abandon. As she pressed her mouth to the head of him, over and over, her gaze came up to meet his and held. He could find not a hint of true fear in the depths—not of him. Fear of the unknown, perhaps, of facing this milestone and not knowing if she would come out of it unscathed.
She would. If it killed him, Niall would make sure she did.
Reaching out to cup the back of her head, he gently took hold of her hair, giving it a tug to tip her head back and make her maintain his stare. She trembled again, but made no move to stop him, or push him away.
“Tell me you want this … tell me you can handle it. Dinnae lie to me, Livvie.”
She shocked him by hesitating for a moment, even though she had been the one to convince him that this must be done. He held her by the hair and waited, preparing to remove himself from her if she said no, while simultaneously telling himself just how careful he must be if she said yes.
Releasing a long, slow breath, she went pliant beneath him.
“I want this. I need this.”
He remained where he was long enough to allow the impact of her words to fall on him, letting himself absorb the importance of what it could mean for her, for them both.
He released her hair, then shifted his body so that he lay flush over her, his chest pressed to her breasts, his hips and thighs digging into hers, his cock a heavy weight against her mons.
“This is how we’re gonna do this,” he told her, lips pressed against her brow, then skimming down the bridge of her nose. “Ye’re going to tell me what ye want me to do to ye. I won’t do anything until ye say so, and the moment ye tell me to stop, I will.”
She gave him a little smile, lifting her head to brush her lips against his. “I won’t tell you to stop.”
“Just know ye can if ye need to. Now … I’m yers to do with as ye please, Livvie. Tell me what ye want.”
Biting her lip, she lowered her gaze, her cheeks coloring as she grappled with words. Despite all she had been through, it struck him just how innocent she still was. There were so many things he had taught her, and still so much she did not know.
“I want to watch you undress.”
He grinned at the way she whispered the words, as if afraid they might shock him. If only she knew the sorts of fantasies he’d had about her, the numerous ways he’d considered this happening.
Pushing off from on top of her, he knelt at her side, sitting back on his heels as he reached up to begin working his cravat loose. So much had happened that he had not noticed until just then that flecks of Bertram’s blood speckled his shirtfront and cuffs. He could not be out of the garments fast enough, throwing away the lingering traces of that bastard from between them. He had no place here; not now, not tonight.
He threw the cravat aside, then flicked open the top button of his shirt to reveal his throat. Olivia propped herself up onto her elbows to better see him as he worked at opening his waistcoat, her gaze following his hands as if she didn’t want to miss a single revelation. He took his time, hoping that drawing it out would heighten her enjoyment of it—the falling away of the finery he wore as a butler to reveal the rough-hewn body of the stable groom beneath it.
After shrugging the waistcoat off his shoulders, he pushed his braces down, then yanked the tails of shirt out of his breeches before tackling the rest of his buttons. Urgency built with every passing second, but he slowed his hands, reminding himself that this was for her. Certainly, it would gratify him to finally finish what they had started that summer afternoon when she’d asked him to kiss her, but he would not forget that his every move from now until the end would be for her pleasure.
Once he’d pulled his shirt off over his head, he glanced down at her, eyebrows raised. His hand hovered over the buttons of his fall.
“These, too?”
Her stare dropped from his face to where one of his fingers circled a button, tempting her. She swallowed and gave a swift nod, as if not wanting the opportunity to change her own mind.
“Yes. Those, too.”
She sucked in a breath when he loosened the first button and seemed to hold it as he opened the others, allowing his fall to drop and reveal the thatch of hair covering his groin, then the fully engorged length of his cock.
Coming to his feet, he peeled the breeches from his body, then his stockings, leaving him completely exposed to her gaze. He took his time approaching the bed, allowing her to work herself up to asking for what she wanted next.
Her gaze never strayed, drinking in her fill of him, wandering over the expanse of his chest, the plane of his belly, the bulges of this thighs, and the organ thrusting up from between them. Even knowing the firelight displayed his scars could not bring him shame; not when she already knew all there was to know about him and had seen the parts of him no one else ever had.
“Everything to yer likin’, princess?”
His playful tone made her smile; then, she was coming to him, crawling to the edge of the bed so she could reach out to touch him. Niall bit back a groan at the feel of her nails tickling the hairs on his chest, the tip of one finger trailing through the line leading toward his groin like a guiding arrow.
“You are magnificent … my perfect knight.”
Any response he might have made was choked off on a groan when she took his cock in a light grip and stroked from base to tip. Her thumb circled his head, causing him to grow wet, his bollocks tightening so swiftly, it took his breath away. Even after so much time, her hands were still the softest he’d ever felt. His will began to crumble, his body reacting to the stimuli with the primal urge to thrust into her hand and command her to hold him tighter, stroke him faster.
“Livvie,” he rasped, trembling with the effort it took not to tackle her onto the bed and plunge as deep into her as he could go. “Tell me what to do … tell me what ye want.”
Still fondling his cock, her hand stroking with lazy pulls, her fingertips teasing his moistened tip, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “Kiss me.”
He took her mouth with far more fervor than he’d intended, capturing her lips with a rough groan as he clenched his hands tight by his sides. He had not been given permission to touch her yet, so he would keep his hands to himself unless instructed otherwise. So, he poured all his desire into the kiss, nibbling and sucking at her lower lip, delving his tongue deep into her mouth, plunging as far as he could without being able to take hold of her and tip her head back for the plunder.
Her desperation became evident in the way she responded to his kiss, her tongue darting out to find and tangle with his. Her hands came up to his shoulders, giving his throbbing cock a bit of a reprieve while she clung to him, arching her body to fit against his.
“More,” she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, and his jaw.
“Where?” he asked, hesitating just long enough to hear her response.
“Anywhere … everywhere.”
He aimed for her throat, tasting the long, slender column down to her shoulder, where he gave in to the urge to sink his teeth in. She gasped at his bite, just hard enough to make her pulse raise and her knees buckle.
“Again,” she moaned, holding one hand to the back of his neck to keep him where she wanted him. “Harder.”
She cried out when he complied, her back arching to mash her breasts against his chest. Her other hand came to the back of his neck, and then, she was pulling him along, backing across the bed and urging him over her. He followed her silent commands, her grip on his hair guiding his mouth to where she wanted it—her collarbone, her chest, the curve of one breast.
“Yes, there,” she whimpered when his lips tickled her nipple.
He sucked at the little bud like a man starving, some long dead thing coming alive in him. It remembered the taste of her, the feel of her, the unsatisfied urges that had once hung so heavy between them. He quaked with the effort it took to hold back, to follow her lead, tempering his own impulses in favor of hers.
A tug on his hair had him releasing her nipple and moving to the other, this one reacting to him just as the other had, hardening and furling tight. She writhed beneath him, knees spreading so that he lay between them, hands smoothing down the back of his neck to his shoulders, wandering and exploring. Her touch felt new and familiar all at once, fragments of their past converging into this present moment, one that seemed an eternity coming.
“Put your hands on me, Niall … please …”
He obeyed without question, gripping her waist, then stroking his way up toward her breasts. His mouth moved lower as he reached up to palm her breasts, his fingers plucking at her nipples and his tongue stroking at her belly with slow, lazy circles. She undulated beneath him, back arching to lift her breasts at the perfect angle for him to tease, hips thrusting toward his questing mouth.
Even as she guided him without words, he paused, lapping at the seam of her mons, once. “Here?”
“Yes, there!”
He delved his tongue back into that hidden slit, seeking the tender bud of her clit amongst the slippery, wet folds. She gasped, her legs clenching on instinct, her fingers taking the sheets in a white-knuckle grip. Palming her thighs, he pried them apart, holding her open and using his thumbs to spread her lower lips. She was already glistening with desire, the scent of her arousal making his mouth water and a hunger unlike any he’d ever known clench deep in his gut. He put his mouth to her again, sucking at the swollen nub begging to be stimulated until she screamed. Her thighs shook in his grasp, but he held firm, keeping her spread out and at the perfect angle.
“Good?”
Her answer came on a sharp cry, her back bowing up off the bed, her hips undulating against his face with a wantonness he had not seen from her in some time. It reminded him of their youth, of hidden moments in the hayloft.
He swam in her, losing himself in hot, silken flesh and the wetness coating his tongue, using the sounds she made as his guide. She had changed so much, but some things about her were still there—the things she responded to, the things she liked. That he’d never lost the power to make her squirm and moan came as a pleasant surprise, but also hung over his head in a cloud of regret. They’d lost so many moments, so many days and nights spent in this kind of splendor.
But, he would not dwell on that. He would make the best of what they’d been given, what they had found here and now.
“Your fingers, Niall … inside me … please…”
He could not obey her fast enough, his first finger already pressing to the opening of her channel before the words had finished leaving her lips. She was so wet, the way was eased, one finger caressing her insides before he joined it with a second. She was still so taut, the sight of her opening stretched around his fingers making them appear monstrous. He could barely take his gaze away, enthralled by the way she eased to accept him, his knuckles slick with her wetness. His breaths came in swift pants that rang out in time with hers, his anticipation for her climax nearly strangling him with the suspense of it.
When she threw her head back with her eyes squeezed shut in surrender, no longer fighting to keep from crying out, he latched on to her clit, strengthening her finish. The high, breathy notes held every ounce of her past pain and present joy, every bit of the passion and fire that had lain buried in the depths of her soul for so long. He took pleasure in driving every note out of her, his lips and fingers changing the key, heightening her crescendo, then easing her back down to soft utterances of his name.
Withdrawing, he began kissing his way back up her body, brushing his lips against her mons one last time before moving over her groin, her belly, the valley between her breasts. Then, she was wrapping her arms and legs around him, pulling him to lay flush against her, aiming her mouth at his.
He groaned against her lips, the scent, taste, and slick essence of her lingering between them. The same hot, wet flesh he’d just tasted now pressed against his engorged cock with an unavoidable sense of urgency.
“Now, Niall,” she moaned between touches of their lips, her body taking on a mind of its own, squirming and writhing and igniting a growing heat between them. “I cannot wait another second. I want you inside of me now.”
A shudder rocked him at the realization that they stood upon such a familiar precipice. How many times had she lain beneath him, begging to be taken, her breath harsh in his ear, legs spread in invitation? How many times had he refused her out of some misplaced sense of honor that, in the end, had protected her from nothing? He’d kept his cock out of her … and for what? So she could become prey for some other man, a man who’d nearly broken her.
Upon the reminder that the one and only time she’d been penetrated had ended in trauma, Niall experienced the full weight of his responsibility in this moment. Not only must he please her, he must also ensure she never had cause to fear him, that he did what he could to help her heal in some way.
Coming upright, he sat back on his heels and gazed down at her with an assessing eye. She appeared sated and ready for him, her limbs splayed over the mattress, hair tousled, face flushed, and knees parted. He could quite literally dive into her right then and seek his pleasure. But this was important; it meant too much for him to treat it like any other encounter.
He grasped her legs and opened them even wider, pressing her knees back until they nearly touched her chest, keeping her open and pinned beneath him. Her breath accelerated, and she closed her eyes, her entire body going stiff in anticipation. He’d given her the reins, but it seemed she would now surrender control to him. If it were out of fear she acted thus, he did not like it.
Aiming the head of his cock at her sheath, he nudged her entrance. “Open yer eyes, Livvie. Look at me … talk to me. Yer in control right now, remember?”
Releasing the breath she’d been holding, she nodded, her eyes opening so she met his gaze. He smiled at her, ignoring the tingle that broke out over his body from his prick and overwhelming the surface of his skin—the urge to seek more of the heat and wetness kissing his tip.
“Who’s in control, Livvie?” he urged, never breaking eye contact, even as he gave her the barest half-inch.
She shivered, wrapping her tiny hands around his straining biceps. “I am.”
He nodded. “Aye, ye are. And that means ye dinnae need to hide, or close yer eyes. I want ye to keep yer eyes on me and tell me how it feels, what ye want me to do. If ye want me to stop, ye’ll say so. If ye want more, ye’ll say that, too. Aye?”
“Yes.”
He released a shuddering breath as he went deeper, lodging the thick flare of his head just within her. Pausing for a moment, he let them both adjust to even that small invasion, the tightness of her sheath downright painful. With as much care as he could, he plunged deeper, the way made slick enough for him to lodge half his cock in her at once. She issued a little surprised huff, her wide eyes never straying from his. She trembled beneath him, her fingernails now biting into his arms. He focused on the sting of her mauling him, used it to keep him focused. As it was, the feel of her would surely kill him, and he wasn’t even all the way inside.
“More,” she whispered, her voice tiny and strained, but somehow heavy with certainty.
Pulling back slightly, he paused, arrested by the sight of his cock, glistening wet from her honey, gleaming in the light of the fire. Then, he was thrusting in again, withdrawing, then sinking, creating a slow and agonizing rhythm. The tight clasp of her stole his breath away, making it difficult to think, to function beyond the primal thrust and clench of their joined bodies.
Lips parted, gaze growing heavy-lidded, she watched him with eyes set aflame, the dark coals blazing with heat and light.
“Tell me, Livvie … tell me how ye feel.”
“Full … stretched … but it is good … it’s … it’s so good.”
Yes. It was good—the satiny grip of her around him, the warmth of her body against him, her ragged breaths tickling his cheek. It was more than he’d ever dreamed, even as he knew they’d barely even begun. He took his time, clenching his jaw and keeping an iron grip on his will. This had to be perfect for her, and that meant he had to be slow, give her time to adjust to his length and girth.
“More, Niall,” she urged, one of her hands coming down to clutch at his buttocks, urging him deeper with a squeeze. “Please … I need more … I need to feel all of you.”
“I dinnae want to hurt ye, Livvie. Ye’re so tight … I cannae …”
“I don’t care. I’ve waited too long for this, and now that I know I can do it … please, don’t make me wait anymore. I am not made of glass. I won’t break. Just … take me, Niall.”
Her words were like the crumbling of a dam, releasing the last of his reticence and doubt—the last of the fear he had attributed to her, but that had really belonged to him. He seated himself inside of her with a grunt and a forceful surge of his hips. His pelvis met hers like two pieces of some shattered thing coming together, her slender, seemingly fragile body speared on his powerful one.
She cried out, her fingernails gouging him so deep, he was surprised she did not rend his flesh from his bones. Even if she did, he could not have found the mental faculties to care. She was open for him, stretched and throbbing with every beat of her heart, her chest rising and falling with each rapid, sharp breath she took.
Glancing down to where they were joined, he could not hold in a primitive growl of satisfaction, more aroused than ever by the sight of her wrapped around him. His cock was a bestial thing tearing into her … big, and pulsating, and running her through like some crude sword. However, she did not weep, or struggle beneath him, or beg to be relieved of it. Instead, she tightened her hold upon his arse, holding him against her as if attempting to guide him farther into her. If he were any deeper, they would cease being two people and become one.
He couldn’t resist the need to move any longer, his stare fixated upon where they were joined as he withdrew almost entirely, then thrust into her again, finding a rhythmic ebb and flow. She opened to him even more, her body stretching to accept him, the juncture where her thighs met her hips easing to part her legs even further.
And, just as she had boldly declared, his little doll did not break. On the contrary, she came alive, igniting in his arms, burning like a bit of kindling set aflame. Darting a glance up at her face, he found her intently focused upon the same view he had been so fascinated with—the sight of their bodies finally joined as one after so much waiting and wanting. She moaned and sighed, whispering to him everything he would have ever wanted to hear—that it felt divine, that she loved him, that she never wanted him to stop.
Her words urged him on, his hips picking up a swifter rhythm as he dug as deep into her as humanly possible, releasing her legs so that he could wrap her in his arms. Clinging tight to her, he rested his head on the pillow beside her, face buried in the crook of her neck. He was mindless by now, fucking her with countless years’ worth of need and starvation, driven by the realization that he could never have broken her … not when he loved her so much, he thought it might kill him.
“Mo cridhe,” he whispered, nuzzling and kissing the patch of skin just behind her ear. “Mo gradh … ye’re everything I knew ye’d be … and ye’re more.”
She clung to him, her lips finding his forehead, the arch of an eyebrow, his cheek, her hands wandering over his shoulders and the back of his neck. “Niall … oh, God, I …”
Her words choked off on a gasp, and then, she splintered, shaking and falling apart as her sheath contracted and rippled around him in climax. He forced himself to forestall his own finish, fixing his gaze upon her face—not wanting to miss a single moment of her triumph. She moaned and trembled, tears springing to her eyes as her cunt clenched and spasmed with such force, he thought it might kill them both. Only when she’d stilled beneath him, body gone limp from exhaustion, did he allow himself to follow. His own release proved as powerful as her own, ripping through him with such power, he could barely breathe through it, his body jerking and shaking atop hers as he spilled into her.
One of her arms came around him, her hold weak but reassuring, the touch of her hand upon his back speaking more than words ever could. They lay there in silence for a moment, breaths ringing out in harmony, sweaty bodies pressed together, limbs tangled.
Only when he realized that her heavy breathing had morphed into soft sobs did he raise his head and gaze down at her. Worry clenched his throat, the sting of tears already coming to his eyes as he wondered if maybe he hadn’t gotten so lost in the moment that he truly had hurt her.
However, when their eyes met, she smiled at him, the expression at odds with the tears running down her cheeks and the sobs making her shoulders shake. He cupped her cheek and swiped away a tear with his thumb, then kissed her brow.
“Talk to me,” he urged.
She threw her arms around him and, weeping all the harder, refused to let him go.
“Thank you,” she sobbed. “Thank you, Niall.”
After dozing in each other’s arms for a time, Niall woke to find that the sun had set outside Olivia’s bedroom window. They had wiled the day away in bed, and he could not bring himself to regret a moment of it. Glancing down at the slight figure in his arms, he discovered her peering back at him, apparently having awakened before him.
“Hello,” she whispered, a mischievous smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.
“Hello, ye little minx. How do ye feel?”
“Hmm,” she mumbled, tightening her hold on him. “Hungry. We slept through dinner.”
He snorted. “We fucked through dinner. We slept through dessert.”
She giggled at that, shifting one of her legs and reminding him just how entangled they were. The remnants of dried tears remained upon her face, but her eyes were clear and bright, her cheeks rosy with the glow of a well-loved woman.
“Aside from hungry … Are ye all right?”
“I am more than all right, Niall. I am … sublime. And it is all thanks to you.”
“No. Ye were bold enough to take what ye needed. Ye’ve always been the braver of the two of us, really. I was always too afraid I’d hurt ye, that once would never be enough, or—”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she argued, reaching up to stroke a lock of hair back from his face. “The past is behind us, Niall. Bertram, the Fairchilds, my stepfather … all of it. I just want you. It is all I’ve ever wanted.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead, letting them linger as he inhaled the freshly washed scent of her mingled with his own smell, which had rubbed off and become as much a part of her as her own. “Ye’ve always had me, Livvie. Even when you left Dunvar, I was with you. My heart’s always been in your hands.”
“I want to ask you something, but I am afraid I don’t have the right.”
Niall frowned. “Ye can ask me anything ye want.”
She paused for only a moment before letting the words out in a rush. “Were their others … women, I mean? Not that I’d hate you if there were … and God knows I was too much a mess for you to have found satisfaction with me. In truth, a part of me hates to think of you—”
“There were others,” he blurted, before he could lose his nerve. “Whores … maids … but not often, and it was never with anyone I ever cared about, or laid with more than once, or—”
Placing a hand against his face, she shook her head. “You do not have to explain. It has been five years, and you had a right to seek whatever comfort you could find.”
“That’s just it,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “It was never comforting. It wasnae often, either. Those women … they were vessels for me and nothin’ more. I never cared for a single one as much as I did you—never fucked one without wishin’ she was you. And I never stopped feeling like a bastard for it.”
“Don’t,” she urged, giving him a short, swift kiss. “That time in our lives is over. We have each other now, and none of that has to matter anymore.”
He returned her kiss, a weight lifting off his shoulders now that he’d told her about that part of his existence. It had never sat right with him, using the occasional whore to satisfy his physical needs. Knowing she did not hold it against him made him feel a bit less of a bastard.
“I know that things may not be the way we planned,” she went on. “I know that I may not be who I was, but … I want it to be different when we go home. I want … I don’t know, Niall, something good. For me, and you, and Serena.”
He gave her a little squeeze, allowing the hope he’d kept at bay for so long to grow and swell. There were so many uncertainties—such as the fact that Bertram’s threat still hung over their heads. But, he now had every reason to believe they would be all right. Perhaps not the future they’d wanted, but something better.
“It’ll be different,” he promised her. “But we’ll speak of it later. For now, I s’pose I ought to feed ye before ye collapse in my arms.”
Rolling onto her back, she pulled the bedclothes up over her chest. “A bite would be wonderful, thank you.”
He tucked her in more comfortably and went to throw his legs over the side of the bed, crouching to grasp his breeches. “Will ye be all right until I come back?”
His voice held a bit of the trepidation he still felt at leaving her alone. She seemed all right now, but he could not forget what had occurred that afternoon. Her weight shifted on the bed, and he turned to glance over his shoulder, finding her crouched behind him, the covers fallen to pool around her hips. Her nudity stirred his blood, even so soon after he’d just had her.
“If you’re afraid to leave me, I’ll understand,” she replied. “I feel fine, Niall … more myself than I have in a long while. If it makes you feel better, I will tell you that there is one last bottle of laudanum in the open trunk in the dressing room. You may dispose of it as you see fit, and there won’t be another drop here to tempt me.”
Despite trusting her good mood and steady demeanor, Niall crossed to the dressing room, pulling his shirt on as he went. The odor of laudanum still hung heavy in the air here, reminding him too much of what he’d found when he had last stepped into it. Swallowing past the nausea welling in his chest, he crouched before the trunk he found hanging open, bits of clothing strewn out of it. The empty bottle she had drained lay tangled up with a nightgown, so he retrieved it, holding it in one hand while rifling for the other. He found it and carried it back into the bedchamber with the empty one.
Olivia had left the bed and stood near the hearth with a poker in hand, using it to stoke the dying flames. She had pulled on a dressing gown, the fire casting shadows over half of her face as she straightened to face him.
“I thought we could throw it in here,” she said in response to his questioning glance.
Holding the bottle up between them, he studied the red-brown liquid sloshing about inside. Odd, how something so innocuous had ruled their lives, and how its elimination had changed so much in such a short time.
“Are ye sure?” he asked, glancing back up at her. “Ye needed this for a while. If ye decided ye needed it again, I’d never begrudge ye, and neither would Adam.”
She reached out to take the bottle from him, her hand shaking as she gazed upon it. For a long while, neither of them spoke, Niall watching Olivia while she studied the laudanum, her eyes unreadable and her expression neutral. In a split second, he wondered if she might change her mind—uncorking the stopper and chugging its contents in a fit of deranged madness. Could he give her up for good then, forcing himself to realize that what they’d just shared could only be temporary? Could he watch her destroy herself again?
His worries were assuaged when she turned to face the fire, swiftly flinging the bottle into the hearth. The sound of the glass shattering echoed through the silence of the room, the flames sparking, then sputtering and popping as the scent of the substance filled the room. It made his stomach turn, but he ignored the sensation, coming to her side and taking her hand in his. She threaded her fingers through his and leaned into him.
“I do not need it to survive,” she murmured. “I now realize I never did … not when I have you, Adam, and Serena … and flowers, and music, and art. I have always had the things I need to survive. I’ve been walking about as if dead long enough to be able to see that now.”
He took her into his arms, holding her against him and resting his chin on top of her head as they watched the flames. The last of the laudanum eventually burned itself away, gleaming shards of glass resting among the ashes.
After what felt like an appropriate time, he urged her back to bed while he finished dressing. His own stomach had begun to growl, hunger setting in for the first time in hours.
“I’ll see what can be scrounged from the kitchen,” he told her, before finishing off the buttons of his waistcoat and going to leave the room.
He did not bother with a coat or cravat, having every intention of undressing again so he could climb back into bed with her. Niall left the chamber with every confidence that she would be safe where he’d left her when he returned.
His walk to the kitchen turned up a handful of scullery maids and the cook, who were tidying up before turning in for the night. The meals that had been set aside for them after they’d missed dinner only needed to be warmed, so the maids promised to have it ready for him by the time he returned from the wine cellar.
He went straight there, thinking that Olivia might enjoy Madeira or some such. It had been so long since she’d been able to manage anything other than broth or tea. He made quick work of his selection, settling on a fine bottle of Burgundy, grateful that his time as Adam’s butler had taught him all he needed to know about fine wine and spirits. He’d come a long way from sneaking his father’s bottles for a taste of the blue ruin.
On his way back from the cellar, he encountered Daphne, who appeared to be in search of something—or someone. Not unusual to find her prowling about so late in the evening, as she seemed a creature of the night like Adam, always up reading or playing the harp well past midnight. He would not have bothered with her but for the strained expression upon her face. Apparently, her row with his master that afternoon had not gone over well.
From deeper in the house, he could hear the haunting melody of the pianoforte—Adam’s method of dealing with whatever emotions he might be wrestling with in light of Bertram’s extortion plot. It was what the man always turned to when he needed to think, or exorcise his demons.
“M’lady,” he said, coming to a stop as he met her in the midst of the corridor. “Is there somethin’ ye’re needin’?”
He ignored her wide smile at his use of ‘m’lady’ in addressing her and hoped she would not call him on it. Yes, things had changed between them when she had helped coax Olivia into playing the harp. But, after the day he’d had, Niall did not feel much like rehashing all of that. He would admit a grudging respect for her, and that he’d pegged her all wrong. There was no need to stand about yammering about it.
Glancing over her shoulder as if worried they might be overheard, she took his arm and propelled him behind the nearest door. They stood in an empty, dark drawing room—a small one that was not often used.
“I need your help,” she said, turning to press her back against the door as if to bar his escape.
That was when he understood. Of course she needed his help. Adam was a stubborn bastard. The man wanted to kill Daphne’s brother, and she wanted to stop him. Perhaps her loyalties lay with her family, after all.
Had he been wrong to cease taking his anger out on her?
“I s’pose ye want me to help ye talk him out of it,” he hedged.
Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair, fatigue showing in the dark circles under her eyes. “He cannot go through with it, Niall. You hate my brother as much as he does, but even you must see that.”
That gave him pause. He arrived back to grudging respect as her true motives made themselves apparent. It was not Bertram she wanted to protect, but Adam. Despite being a peer, murder was an offense he might not survive. He could hang just as Niall would, and there would be little any of them could do about it. She must see what he understood—that Adam would only kill Bertram because he felt it was justified, because it was what needed to happen for Olivia to be safe.
“Hart’s a hard man ’cause he’s had to be,” he replied. “But he’s no killer.”
Her eyes grew wide, and she took a step toward him. “Then you’ll help me.”
Niall scoffed, shaking his head. She really was daft. “And have him turnin’ all that rage on me? I’m no fool, lass. Once Hart gets it in his head that somethin’ must be done, there’s no stoppin’ him.”
With a frustrated growl, she pressed her fingertips against her temples as if she suffered a headache. “I know that! Don’t you think I know that?”
Her sharp tone drove his eyebrows upward, then made him smirk as he saw this woman as he never had before. He’d been as blind as he suspected Adam must be. The chit wasn’t daft … she was thinking with her heart, not her head.
“Well, I’ll be damned. You actually love the bastard.”
She scowled as if offended by his assertion. “Of course I do not. How could I after all he’s done?”
The woman had a point. Hart had relentlessly pursued her family’s downfall and ruined her in the process. Even so, it was hard not to see the pull between them, the way she always ran, but Adam continually followed. Daphne never seemed to mind being caught.
“He does you, ye know,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “Too much a fool to know it, but it’s true. Why else would ye two be so bloody mad for each other? It defies reason.”
She looked as if she wanted to argue further, but the matter of Bertram was too important. Niall had to admit, he wondered what Daphne thought he might be able to do to about it.
“Will you help me or not?” she snapped, hands braced upon her hips. “I cannot do this without you, as Adam will never let me leave the house alone, and I need to be able to leave in order to execute my plan.”
He rubbed his chin, mind whirling as he thought of what it could mean to end this once and for all. If they could come out of this with clean hands—Adam included—perhaps they all might go on to live some sort of life together, as the family they’d always been. If things went well, Daphne could even become a part of that family. Adam would never let her go, anyway. He’d said himself that he intended to drag her with them to Dunnottar. Niall doubted she had been given much choice in the matter.
“So, ye’ve a plan, then?”
“I do,” she said. “And it will work, but only if we can convince Adam that I need to go to my townhouse to prepare my own things. He wishes me to have my servants do it, but we must come up with some reason I must be the one … and if you insist you can escort me, then he might relent and allow me to leave. Please, Niall.”
Thinking of the woman waiting for him upstairs, he realized that this was the opportunity he’d been waiting for—his chance to do something to help do away with Olivia’s tormentor. He could not stand back and let the bastard go on torturing the people he loved, but neither could he allow his best friend to potentially go down for murder. As much as he wanted to take Adam’s side in this, the events of the day had shown him that things had to change. Something had to give, and as long as Bertram was made to pay, what did it matter if he, or Adam, were the ones to deal the blow?
“Aye, then,” he relented. “I’ll help ye. But, if we’re caught, ye’ll take the fall for it, lass.”
With a wide smile, she threw herself into his arms. The collision of their bodies knocked the wind from him, shock heightening the effect when she wrapped her arms around his neck and bussed his cheek.
He would never have expected it. He’d never been anything but gruff toward her, and here she was kissing him as if they were family or some such. It caught him so off guard, he could only pat her back with a grunt, then set her away from him. He had only just decided he did not hate her, after all. It would be some time before he was ready for more than that.
“Dinnae think this makes us friends, me and you.”
To his surprise, she only grinned wider. “Oh, never that, Niall.”
Taking up his Burgundy, he left her alone without another word. As he made his way back to the kitchen, he tried not to let his hopes rise too far. If Daphne were as smart as he assumed, her plan would work. By the end of this week, Olivia could be a free woman.
What would happen beyond that, he did not know. However, the state of not knowing made him smile, as he found it far preferable to an existence of bleak torment and pining after a woman who could not love him back the way she once had.
Not knowing loomed before him in a wide expanse, and this, in turn, opened up a world filled with opportunity.