CHAPTER TWELVE
iall and Daphne made good on their plan by noon the following day. Olivia had just sat down to tea with Serena when they came to tell her the news. There would be a gathering of women at the home of Miss Winifred Bellingham this evening—six of Bertram’s accusers had agreed to hear them out. According to Daphne, Miss Bellingham had not been harmed by Bertram, but had been engaged to him for a short time … before Adam had told her of his misdeeds as part of his plan to ruin him. It had worked, as she’d called off the engagement months ago, not long before word had begun to spread that the Fairchilds were now destitute. Apparently, she and Daphne had become friends, and she was keen to help them in any way she could.
“Even if only half of them agree to testify, it will be enough,” Daphne told her, eyes wide and bright as she sat to join them for tea. “But, it is my hope that once they all hear what you have to say, and are made to understand how important this is, every last one of them will be willing to join us.”
“They will be,” Niall remarked, lifting Serena out of her seat, taking it for himself, then setting her upon his knee. “But once they agree, we’ll need to move fast. This morning, Adam told me he means to meet with Bertram tomorrow night. He’s pretended to cave in to the demand for sixty-thousand pounds, but when they come face to face, Hart’ll put a bullet in his skull.”
He muttered all of this while reaching past Serena for a handful of lemon tartlets, then slipped one into his mouth and chewed with relish, as if they were not discussing the potential for murder while Olivia’s daughter sat upon his knee. Thankfully, Serena was too engrossed in her tea and the little scone set in her saucer to notice.
“We will be ready to intervene,” Daphne declared while adding milk to her cup. “And when we do, we’ll announce our intention to prosecute Bertram. If he’s going to die, it must be done within the law. I will not let him drag Adam down with him.”
“Do you think Hart suspects what we are up to?” Olivia asked.
“No,” Daphne replied. “I’ve told him I am getting my affairs in order so I can be ready to depart for Dunnottar with you all when this is over. He actually believed me.”
That surprised her. Adam had always been perceptive, able to see through pretenses and lies. Olivia had certainly never been able to get anything past him—except perhaps, how deep her love for Niall ran. But then, she’d managed to keep that a secret from just about everyone.
“Very well,” she said between sips of tea. “I will be ready this evening.”
The rest of the day passed far too slowly for her peace of mind, the impending meeting putting her on edge. She tried to focus her mind elsewhere—spending an hour at the harp, another hour romping with Serena in the garden, and what was left of her evening reading before dinner. The meal was a solemn affair, with Adam brooding in his place at the head of the table, Daphne attempting to make conversation in spite of his horrid mood, and Olivia trying not to let her anxiety show upon her face. She worried that Adam might inquire why the three of them planned to the leave the house together, and she was not certain what they might say to throw him off the scent.
Fortunately, he announced his intention to spend the evening at his favorite club; they were not to expect him back until late. She wondered if Daphne had anticipated this. Whatever the case, it certainly made things simpler for them.
After she had tucked Serena into bed with kisses and a bedtime story, she found Niall waiting for her in the corridor wearing his greatcoat and hat, her cloak held over one arm.
“It’s time,” he said, holding the garment out to her.
Her hands shook so badly that she could not manage tying the cloak on herself. Niall took over the task, eyes probing hers as he deftly tied the ribbon at her throat, arranged the folds of the fabric over her walking dress, then lifted the hood over her head.
“I willnae ask ye again, mo gradh, but this last time, I need to be sure … Is this really what ye want to do? If ye say no, we can forget about the entire thing.”
Taking a shaky breath, she clenched her hands to still the shaking and squared her shoulders. “I am certain. It has to be done, Niall. I am a bit nervous to be socializing with people other than my family for the first time in years, as well as the nature of this meeting. But, I cannot back down … not now.”
He still looked a bit concerned, but did not argue, instead taking her hand to guide her downstairs. Daphne waited for them in the front vestibule, a pelisse bundling her up from neck to toes.
“Are we ready?” she asked, giving Olivia a long, measured look.
“We are,” she declared, sweeping past both her and Niall to get to the door. The longer they dragged things out, the more anxious she’d become. The sooner they got this over with, the better.
The others followed her from the house and down the front steps. Daphne took the lead then, guiding them the few blocks toward the home of the Bellinghams. They were expected in a quarter of an hour.
Niall kept a hand braced at the small of her back as they walked, the light touch both soothing and bolstering. She could do this. After all, she’d already told the entire story to Daphne. She’d wrestled with her demons, and while she still fought them—felt as if she’d battle them her entire life—Olivia realized she now stood on the winning side of things.
For the rest of the walk, she focused upon how freeing it felt to be outdoors, taking in the cool evening air, her breath turning into white mist on the breeze. They passed several people coming and going from soirées in Grosvenor Square, dressed in all their finery and absorbed in their own conversations. None of them paid her notice, not recognizing her as the sister of an earl who’d disappeared from society all those years ago. It was quite liberating to walk in London’s most exclusive neighborhood without bearing the usual scrutiny.
Perhaps when this had all ended, she could let herself be seen again, to be among people she once knew. It would not be easy, but neither had this been.
One step at a time.
First, she must close this door to the things that lay behind her. Only then could she truly look to the future.
They arrived at the Bellingham residence in record time. As they ascended the front steps, the door swung open, a rectangle of yellow light spilling out over them. A butler and duo of footmen greeted them, accepting their things and directing them to the nearest drawing room.
The door to a drawing room hung open, and as they approached, Olivia could see they’d been the last to arrive. The space was filled with several women and a handful of men—relations or guardians of the ladies, she supposed.
They were greeted by a woman similar to Olivia in stature and coloring—petite, with fair skin, dark hair and eyes. With a warm smile, she curtsied to her and Daphne, then offered Niall her hand.
“I am Winifred Bellingham, but you must call me Winnie, all of you,” she declared, before taking Olivia’s arm as if they’d been friends all their lives. “It is so good to finally meet you, Olivia. We’ve never been formally introduced, but I’d seen you from afar during your first Season. I regret that we are forced to make one another’s acquaintance under such circumstances.”
“So do I,” Olivia replied as she was led toward a half-circle of chairs that had been arranged facing the fire. It was here everyone sat, awaiting her arrival. “But I am glad we are doing this. Thank you for having us.”
Winifred patted her hand, then pulled her into the center of the semicircle. “It was no trouble at all. I am happy to do my part. Now, then … let me introduce you to everyone.”
As Daphne took a seat on the end of the half-circle, Niall hovered near the back of the room, where one of the men offered him a glass filled with what appeared to be brandy. He accepted it and nodded his thanks, remaining silent.
Olivia scanned the faces of the women as they were introduced, and what she found absolutely shocked her. Every last one of them was similar to her in some way.
Miss Agatha Daventry had smooth alabaster skin and dark eyes, though her hair was fair, not brown.
Lady Matilda Parham could have been Olivia’s sister, her features delicate and doll-like, her hair the same mahogany shade.
Mrs. Viola Cathorn … Miss Janet Pleasance … Lady Lily Kirby … all possessed brown hair and eyes and were of diminutive stature.
Apparently, Bertram had a taste for a certain type of woman, as was evident by those gathered, including the fiancée who had jilted him. There was only one woman who did not seem to belong among the others. Even sitting down, Lady Cassandra Lane proved long of limb, her stature setting her apart as taller than the other women in the room—she’d be as tall as most of the men when she stood. Her hair was a shade of strawberry blonde, her eyes a limpid blue behind a fringe of pale lashes. However, there was one thing about her that sparked an instant sense of kinship in Olivia: the gleam of something in her eyes, something dark and deep. She kept it hidden away better than Olivia knew she did, but it was there, marking her as a woman who had been through Hell. In that regard, she was no different than the rest of the women present.
The men were introduced, as well—all relatives of the ladies as she’d suspected, one turning out to be the husband of Lady Viola, Mr. Cathorn. As Winifred began, he crossed the room and reached over the back of her chair, bracing a hand upon her shoulder in a gesture of comfort.
“Now that we are all here, I think it best if I allow Lady Daphne to take the lead. She is, after all, responsible for our coming together. This plan is all her doing.”
Every eye in the room fell on Daphne as she stood, coming beside Olivia as Winifred took her vacated chair. She held Olivia’s hand and faced the assembled group.
“Thank you for coming. We all know why we are gathered, so I will cut to the chase. My brother has been a menace upon London society for years—particularly upon our young debutantes. I must first apologize for my ignorance of the matter. Had I realized what was happening, I might have reached out to you sooner … perhaps some of you would not need to be here. However, now that we are all in agreement that something must be done, the time has come to move forward. With you ladies acting as witnesses, and the name of the Earl of Hartmoor behind us, we have the power to see Bertram prosecuted within the full extent of the law. I know that many of you do not trust me, and I do not blame you. I come from the family of the man who violated you, and his father, who paid for your silence. But, you’ve been gracious enough to hear me out, some of you even going so far as to tell me your own personal accounts of what happened. Nevertheless, I know that my promise to see this done might not be enough … which is why Lady Olivia Goodall has joined us this evening. If you will indulge me, I think you all need to hear the extent of her own ordeal. She might be the most poorly treated of Bertram’s victims, as well as one of the strongest. I urge you to listen to her.”
She moved as if to pull away, but Olivia tightened her grip to prevent that. She glanced up to meet Daphne’s gaze, hoping the other woman understood that she could not stand here alone. She needed the strength of a person who already knew this story. Daphne gave a little nod and remained where she was, clinging to Olivia’s hand.
Straightening her shoulders, Olivia began her story. Holding nothing back, she told them all of it—their meeting at Almack’s, their courtship over several weeks, the sense of security he had lulled her into before striking. Then, she related the rest of the tale, including the discovery of her pregnancy and the asylum, followed by the years of madness she had fought against.
The telling was as difficult this time as it had been with Daphne in the garden, made all the worse by the reactions of her audience. Some of the men swore under their breaths upon hearing of how Bertram had slapped her and pinned her down. One of the women broke out in sobs while her brother held and rocked her as if comforting a child. Lady Cassandra stood from her chair and turned away into a corner of the room, as if unable to abide what was being said. And Niall … he never took his gaze off her, the dark irises simmering with rage and shock. There were so many details she’d never imparted to him, so many things he’d been ignorant of. She could see his conflict over the details he was hearing, the anger at her for holding it back, the fury toward Bertram for doing it to her in the first place, the grief hanging over it all like a heavy cloud.
When she had finished, she found that her cheeks had grown wet with tears she hadn’t even realized she had spilled. Yet, the churning in her gut had eased, and her hold on Daphne’s hand was no longer quite as tight. The sensation of relief that had followed the first recounting came again, and left her feeling less heavy. Only now, she also felt far less alone than before, seeing the expressions on the faces of the other women. They were united by their trauma, made part of a faction by their pain.
Mrs. Viola Cathorn was the first to speak. “You are so very brave, Lady Olivia. To have not only suffered such abuse, but to then give birth to the child of that man … how difficult it must be for you.”
Olivia accepted a handkerchief from Mr. Cathorn, who had come around the circle of chairs to deliver it to her. She thanked him and dabbed at her damp face before addressing his wife.
“The pregnancy and birth were difficult. But Serena is a beautiful, wonderful child. Despite where she came from, I love her. She has been a bright spot in my life these past five years.”
“She must be protected,” said Mr. Cathorn, returning to his place behind his wife. “Under no circumstance should you testify, Lady Olivia.”
“She willnae,” Niall called out from across the room. “Not if I have anythin’ to say about it.”
Before anyone could reply, Lady Cassandra spoke up, turning from her place in the corner. “So, we are all expected to publicly incriminate and ruin ourselves in her stead, then. Is that it?”
Viola was on her feet in an instant, glaring at Cassandra over her shoulder. “Lady Olivia is the only one of us whose rape resulted in a child. Of course she should not be made to testify. I, however, will do it gladly.”
“Well, some of us do not have the protection of our husband’s good name to keep us from being branded the ruined whores of high society, now, do we?” Cassandra muttered, crossing both arms over her chest.
“She is not the only one who became pregnant,” said a soft voice from the other side of the semicircle.
Olivia swiveled to find that everyone had now looked to Miss Agatha Daventry. Her cheeks flushed scarlet, and she looked down to her hands, which she clenched tight in her lap. Daphne let out a strangled sound of shock, obviously as ignorant of this revelation as the rest of them had been.
“Like Lady Olivia, I discovered my condition a few months after Bertram raped me,” she continued. “I panicked, of course, not certain what I would do should my parents discover that not only had I been compromised, but I’d also become pregnant. I was not as brave as you, my lady … I could not bring myself to give birth to that man’s child. So, I searched about the city until I found a woman who … for a price … would help an unwed woman eliminate an unborn child.”
Agatha flinched at the gasps that rippled through the room, choking on a sob. Sniffling, she swiped the sleeve of her gown across her face to dash away her tears.
“She gave me a dose of Widow Welch’s pills,” Agatha said. “They caused a great amount of pain, but no blood like she said they should. When I returned, she charged me thirty shillings to act as a surgeon and … and use this abominable iron instrument to induce the desired result. By the next day, it had happened. I lay abed weeping and writhing in pain, bleeding as the child was purged from me. My maid helped me through it, ridding me of the remains when it had ended. No one ever knew.”
Another of the men came forward, his face tight with emotion he tried to keep at bay. Agatha’s brother, she recalled. Tears glistened in his eyes, his fisted hands shaking at his sides.
“Why did you never tell me?” he ground out with a shaky voice. “How could you have done that? It is abominable … it is wrong … it is …”
“A choice I made, and have mourned every day since,” Agatha declared, coming to her feet to face her brother. “What do you know of what it means to have someone force himself on you, then find that you have been carrying a piece of him inside you for months—to know that you must birth it and look at it every day? What do you know of any of it, Lucien?”
Lucien swiped at his wet face and trembled, shaking his head at her. “Mother would be so appalled.”
“Mother is not here,” Agatha countered before turning to face Olivia. “You did what I could not do. For you, and for that little girl, I will testify. I will ensure he can never lay a hand upon Serena. You have my word.”
“We will be ruined,” Lady Janet Pleasance chimed in, sitting up a bit straighter in her chair. “You all realize that, do you not? Those of us who were not fortunate to find men willing to marry us will not have the same protection they do. Those of us who might have gone on to make matches will face eternal spinsterhood, ostracism at the hands of our peers. They will shun us, gossip about it, blame us.”
“Is that not always the way of it?” Lady Cassandra spat. “The men do whatever they want to us, and not only must we accept it, but we are also to carry the blame for their indiscretion and cruelty!”
“I do not care,” Lady Matilda Parham declared, coming to her feet, as well. “There are only six of us here, but we all know there are others. There might be other children out there, as well. And, may I remind you that each Season brings a new crop of debutantes into our midst? Will we stand back and allow them to become prey, as we once were?”
“Lord Fairchild has been ruined,” Lord Parham, Matilda’s husband, spoke up. “The rumors about him have spread like a plague, and no respectable home will have him. That’s enough to keep the debutantes out of his reach, at least.”
Lady Parham glared at her husband. “I will not take any chances. You may count upon me, Lady Olivia. I will testify, freely and gladly!”
“And so will I,” Lady Lily Kirby said. “I have not been fortunate enough to find a man I trust enough to divulge what has happened to me like some of you. I do not know if revealing what I endured to the world will prevent me from finding a husband … but, I do know that I’d never wish to wed a man who could so callously blame a woman for circumstances outside her control. So, I do not care if any of those pompous lords do not wish to marry me when this has been done. I would rather live the rest of my life a childless spinster than take the chance that Bertram might prey upon another young lady.”
Lady Janet nodded, slowly, as if coming to terms with what they would do as she spoke. “You are right, of course. It will be an honor to stand with such brave women against our common enemy.”
“Thank you all,” Daphne said, turning to give little smiles to each of the women. “You are to be commended for your courage and resolve. I know that together, we have what is necessary to ensure Bertram is prosecuted.”
Her excitement was palpable and spreading through the room like wildfire. Even Olivia felt a bit giddy as she realized how easily Bertram could now be made to pay for his crimes.
It wasn’t until Lady Cassandra spoke that Olivia realized she was the only woman in the room not smiling. She was the only woman in the room who had not spoken in several minutes … the only one who had not agreed to testify.
“Where were you? Where were any of you when I thought that I was the only one—when I thought I would carry the shame of it on my own for the rest of my life?”
The others in the room exchanged shocked glances, a few frowning as if in disapproval of Cassandra’s remarks. Olivia stepped toward the girl, hands outstretched.
“I understand the way you felt, Lady Cassandra. I think it is safe to say that we all do.”
Cassandra recoiled, upper lip curling, blue eyes flashing pure, unfettered rage. “You … you above the rest of them ought to know what I refer to. Your first Season was also my first … before me, there was you. I thought I was alone, but you knew. You knew what he was, and when he had finished with you, you stood back and let him have me!”
Daphne drew in a sharp breath while Lady Parham clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. Niall came thundering across the room, hands clenched, face stretched into an expression not unlike Cassandra’s disdainful one.
“You’ll want t’ be careful how ye speak to her,” he growled, shouldering his way between them. “Ye dinnae know anythin’ about her or what she knew or wanted!”
Placing a gentle hand upon his arm, Olivia urged him to back away, peering at Lady Cassandra, who had shrunk swiftly back from Niall. Eyes wide with terror, she looked ready to collapse on the spot, the bravado of her anger slipping away to reveal a scared girl. Niall was oblivious to the fear he’d caused, intent only upon defending her. While Olivia appreciated his unwavering loyalty, she also pitied and understood Cassandra. There had been a time a man’s raised voice had been enough to send her spiraling, collapsing into herself, drowning in darkness.
“You are right,” she said.
Cassandra met her gaze, mouth falling open. “What?”
“I said, you are right about me. I knew what he was, and I even knew that you’d become his next conquest. Not long after he raped me, word of your new courtship began to spread. It reached me, even as I hid away from society. I knew who you were even though we’d never met, and I feared for you, but I … I was so distraught, and yes, afraid. I was afraid of what he might do. I am certain he threatened you just as he did me. I was afraid everyone would know, terrified of what my stepfather might say. But, that was no excuse. I have thought of you so often and regretted my decision not to reach out to you, to try to prevent what I knew he would do to you. Bertram and that nun from the asylum haunt me daily … you haunt me from time to time, as well. I know it might not make a difference to you after all that has happened, but please know how sorry I am. If I could change anything that has taken place after that awful night, it would be that I’d gone to you when I realized what he was up to and warned you. Perhaps I might have saved you, even when I could not save myself.”
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.
She battled it back down, focusing on the feel of the man atop her, his lips tracing their way down the center of her spine, his tongue laving each ridge as he made his way downward. She breathed slowly, picturing Niall laid over her, his body like a shield against the world, his lips a balm to her agony. There was nothing to fear, not with him handling her so carefully, his mouth both urgent and gentle at once.
With a sigh, she let her body sink into the mattress, her eyes closing behind her makeshift blindfold. Again, she surrendered, letting herself revel and feel. He kissed along the curve of one buttock, then lapped at the sensitive skin where it met her thigh, causing her core to clench with longing.
“Niall,” she whispered, unable to lie still as he went on torturing her, skimming his lips down the back of one leg, before coming back up the opposite one. “Please … I want you inside me.”
He pushed her legs apart, bending them so that she lay with her hips raised and the lower half of her body bowed to the bed. His breath tickled her mons as he held her thighs in an iron grip, holding her open for him.
“Not yet.”
She couldn’t find the words to protest, because then, his mouth was on her, hot and searching. He suckled at the exposed inner flesh of her quim, his hands pulling her thighs even farther apart—until the tendons in her legs cried out in protest, her entire body singing with sensation. Even the strain on her shoulders and the slow stretch of her taut thighs brought her alive, the discomfort mingling with the pleasure of his tongue flicking her clit to make her entire being thrum with feeling. He suckled at the little bud until she screamed into the coverlet, burying her face amongst the bedclothes to muffle the sounds. Then, he was slipping a finger into her, and then another, the different angle offering a new sort of pleasure. She rocked back into him, mindlessly rolling her hips and seeking the second climax hovering just out of her reach.
“Is it enough, or do ye want more?”
She arched and groaned, clenching in desperate need. “More!”
He withdrew, wrenching a frustrated cry from her as she swayed toward him, seeking out that deep, delicious penetration. He gave it to her, only this time, the tip of his first finger—slick with her juices—came up against her rear passage while the others slid back into her cunt. She gasped, her entire body tensing at the tentative press at the tight hole of her arse. Still, Niall persisted, gaining an inch, then another, sinking his finger into the previously untouched entrance while steadily stroking inside her cunt. She breathed and swam in the foreign sensation—slightly painful, but also frightening, delightful, filthy, and a hundred other things at once. Before long, he’d lodged it all inside her, taking up a steady rhythm, his thick fingers filling her so fully and completely, she could hardly bear it.
“Do ye like being filled this way, Livvie?”
“Yes,” she whimpered, forcing the word out between heavy breaths.
The pressure and tension of oncoming climax was building again—stronger and faster than before, stealing the air from her lungs. The power of it would surely kill her, the pounding spasms tearing through her with vicious force. She shook and groaned, the stroke of him in both passages at once heightening her finish in a way she’d never thought possible. He did not ease his touch as he had the first time, driving deeper and harder into her the more she moaned and shivered. He refused to back down until she’d dropped back onto her belly, her extremities limp, her entire body sapped of strength. And even then, he did not pull free of her until the final flutters of her second climax—and what she felt certain might have been a third on the heels of it—had died away.
A moan of regret surged from deep within her chest at the emptiness she felt once he was gone, her channel throbbing and aching, her rear passage still tingling from his invasion. A sense of calm washed over her, suffusing her with a vibrant glow, even as the blindfold kept her submerged in darkness. She might have floated away, falling into a sound sleep, if not for the deep yearning that would not abate until she’d had him completely. Her cunt still clenched and throbbed for want of his cock, and he’d nearly driven her to begging.
Finally, he took hold of her hips and raised her up onto her knees again. Her legs trembled, but she remained how he’d placed her, using her arms to steady herself. The sound of rustling clothing made her lick her lips, her need now a palpable force thrumming through the air between them. She could swear she felt Niall’s desire, as well, a tangible thing tangling with hers between their bodies, the two just begging to be made one.
His weight shifted on the mattress, and then, the head of his cock touched her slick opening, blunt and wide. She shifted to attempt taking him in, but one of his hands grasped her hip, holding her still. She huffed, her patience now paper-thin. He took his time entering her, groaning as her channel opened to him, letting him in and clasping him tight. The sting of his invasion only lasted a moment, her body recognizing him, opening to him more readily than it had before.
He paused once he’d buried every inch in her, his thighs resting against hers, his pelvis snug against her arse. A hand stroked down her back, resting between her shoulders with a gentle push that had her stretching her arms out farther, tilting her hips up and arching her back.
“Niall,” she gasped when he began to withdraw, the slow drag of his cock against her inner walls sparking her need back to a roaring flame in an instant.
His breath quickened, both hands now taking hold of her hips as he drove into her over and over again, the force of his body colliding with hers increasing until she felt as if that hard length of him stroked through her entire body. She felt him buried deep within her channel, in her belly, in her heart which beat at the same rhythm as his thrusts.
“Christ, ye’re magnificent, mo gradh,” he groaned, his movements becoming less precise as he lost his hold on control.
He was driving into her harder and faster, the hands gripping her buttocks now trembling as he propelled her back into each surge of his hips.
“Tell me how it feels,” he urged. “I need to hear it.”
“Please don’t stop,” she cried, encouraging him by matching his pace, throwing herself into the moment. “It feels … God, it feels so perfect, Niall.”
He grunted, seating himself inside of her and staying lodged deep as he parted her buttocks, delving a finger back into her rear opening. The heat and stretch of it was increased tenfold with his cock already inside her, and she practically swooned from the dizzying sensation. He took his rhythm back up, his cock withdrawing when his finger plunged into her arse, then pulling out when he filled her cunt. It was too much, threatening to overwhelm her until she swooned in a dead faint. Nevertheless, she urged him on, aware that the final climax loomed just ahead, and that this one would be the one to end all others—the one to annihilate her senses the way she had wanted, so that she could feel him and only him.
She had not thought her body could take another, but it responded as readily to Niall as it always had. When rapture came, she opened her mouth on a scream that never emitted. The sound lodged in her throat, burning and simmering as she shattered, the spasms of her cunt around him strong enough to rob her of breath. Her heart might have leapt right out of her chest for how it thundered against her breastbone. Niall thrust in and out of her at a pace that drove her into the mattress, her body going limp once again. He followed her instead of bringing her back up to him, his body stretched out over hers, heavy and solid. The black world before her eyes swirled with bits of color and light, her body washed away in a raging hurricane of unfettered release. The climax went on and on, swelling and growing with each stroke of his cock inside her. He gathered her against him, arms holding her tight as he panted and groaned and drove himself toward his own end.
Burying his face against her shoulder, he muttered a string of oaths as his body jerked atop hers, the heat and wetness of his seed flooding her in a rush. She lifted her hips to keep him lodged deep, sighing and weeping at the sensation of spiritual, elemental release following on the heels of her physical one. She could have floated to the heavens if not for Niall’s heavy body laid over hers, the feel of his breath rushing against her neck keeping her grounded.
As he eased himself from inside of her, she moaned, this time with a deep-seated satisfaction. Her arms and legs ached, her wrists chafed from being tied together, her inner channel now throbbing from use instead of need. Yet, the rest of her remained surprisingly still, her belly calmed, her trembling ceased.
His arms enfolded her in a tender hold, and she was being lifted, moved to lay against the pillows. She shivered when his body left hers, wondering if the fire had died down, but not concerned enough to ask. She was dizzy with euphoria, weak with satisfaction, and more content than she’d been in days.
The mattress dipped when Niall returned again, and a cold, wet cloth touched against her mons. She sighed, her head lolling to the side as she fought against drowsiness, wanting to be present for even this—the careful cleansing of her quim and inner thighs. When he had finished, he removed the cravat from around her wrists, then the stocking blinding her. The moonlight encircled him like a halo, white light clinging to the tips of his dark hair. Cupping her face, he took her lips in another kiss, this one tender, slow, and languid. It only drove her deeper into this place of bliss and fatigue, making her feel as if she could curl up into the shelter of his body and sleep for days.
It seemed he wanted her to do just that, because then, he turned her away from him to rest on her side before coming up behind her, one arm holding tight to her waist. The coverlet fell over them, and she could no longer cling to consciousness. So, she surrendered, finding comfort in his embrace as the entire world fell away, allowing her to sink into a deep and dreamless sleep.