He nodded, understanding her despite her broken speech. “Aye. Father is gone … I am the earl now. Which means I have the power at my disposal to make this right for you. Let me make it right.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, her head lolling on her shoulders as if she’d begun to fall asleep. Then, they flew open, and she turned her head. Her gaze landed on Niall, and she seemed to notice his presence in the room for the first time.
“Niall,” she whispered, leaning away from him and reaching for the groom. “My Niall …”
“Aye, mo ghrahd,” he replied, his voice thick and heavy with emotion as Adam let her go, allowing her to fall into Niall’s embrace. “I’m ’ere.”
She grinned at the Gaelic endearment, one that seemed to spark something in her. She cupped his face, her eyelids growing heavier by the second.
“I should’ve stayed … with you … always protecting me.”
Niall made a rough sound that might have been a sob … one he tried to hold down, keep buried in the column of his throat as he lowered his head toward her shoulder.
“I shoulda never let ye leave me,” he declared. “But never again, mo ghrahd …never again.”
They clung to each other while Niall wept against her neck, his large body convulsing with the force of his grief.
Adam looked away, unable to abide the sight that only added kindling to his rage. Seeing them this way—even knowing they’d never had a chance to truly be together—tore him apart. Because, even if they couldn’t have been together, they had deserved better. She deserved to remember Niall fondly even as she found a husband to wed and bear sons with. Niall deserved to know she’d left him to find happiness … and perhaps find someone of his own someday—someone of his own class to settle down with.
Now, neither of them would ever be able to move past this. Olivia, because of her broken mind, and Niall because of the same guilt that had begun eating him alive. The three of them would remain like this—locked in madness and grief—until …
Until he had made things right.
Standing from the bed, he left the room as fast as his legs could carry him. Niall and Olivia deserved some time alone if they wanted it—if it did anything to make her feel any better.
And he … he needed time to think, to plan. To piece together the perfect strategy.
If it was the last thing he ever did, he would see to the destruction of Bertram Fairchild and anyone who called him family. Just as his entire world—the only people he truly loved—had been destroyed, so would they be.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kincardineshire, Scotland
Castle Dunnottar
Five years later …
Standing before one of the hearths in his study, hands clenched behind his back, Adam stared into the flames. As always, he was restless, unable to find peace in sleep. This bone-deep weariness had become a part of him, something he’d learned to accept. He didn’t sleep. He almost never slept. Even after five long years, he could hardly push aside his rage long enough to rest for more than a few hours at a time.
It made his disposition even surlier than it had been before, but that did not matter when he spent most of his time alone. At the edge of the country, on a cliff overlooking the sea, he’d found his new home. A lavish purchase, this castle, but it was part of his heritage. As well, it proved the perfect place to hide Olivia, to keep anyone from disturbing her or Serena. Here, no one could take them away from him … no one could insist the mother needed an asylum, or that the daughter would be better off with her father.
He gritted his teeth at the thought of Serena’s sire. He had just returned from London a few weeks past, carrying out one of the final steps in his plans to ruin the Fairchilds. He’d spent years setting things in motion, manipulating events in order to lead to their downfall.
It had been surprisingly easy once he’d looked into the family more extensively. Already heavily in debt, the viscount had paid several large settlements to the families of ruined women—driving them further toward the edge of bankruptcy.
Truly, all Adam had done was tip them over the edge … goading the weakest of them into gambling it all away. William Fairchild had been an easy mark, due to his obvious guilt and penchant for drink. Adam had spent weeks engaging him at the card tables, luring him into bets he could not possibly win. And when the man no longer had the funds to back his bet, he’d laid down the deed to his townhome—which Adam had also taken.
William, being the one who had tricked his sister into trusting him before spiriting her away to the asylum, had been the target of much of his rage … second only to Bertram. The man had been in a position to do the right thing, to demand his wastrel of a nephew find the bollocks to make right what he’d done wrong. Instead, he’d come up with the idea to trick her … to take her away to a place where she’d almost died giving birth to Serena. According to his sister—who had related more details to him during her more lucid moments—he’d intended to return for the babe. Adam shuddered to think what might have happened to his niece if he had not intercepted them in time.
This was why, on the day he’d arrived to inform William that he would be forced to vacate the townhome, he’d slipped a pistol into his coat pocket. It was why, upon finding the man halfway through a decanter of brandy, sobbing at his desk in the study, he had refrained from using it on him. The man had been reduced to a pitiful creature—one who had not only lost everything, but was fully aware of what a cretin he was.
William had gazed up at him with bloodshot eyes, his cheeks splotchy and glowered. “Hartmoor … I s’pose you’ve come to toss me out.”
That was exactly why he’d come, and yet …
“No,” he’d declared aloud. “I’ve come to deliver your reckoning.”
The man had scoffed, the dry sound followed by an inebriated hiccup. “You have no idea the reckoning I am owed.”
Coming closer to the desk, Adam had reached out to brace his hands upon the surface, leaning over the man. “Oh, but I do.”
At William’s frown, he grinned. The man was right where Adam wanted him, and suddenly, beggaring the sod wasn’t enough. He wanted true vengeance for Olivia’s ruination.
He wanted blood.
Bertram’s blood, specifically … but he wasn’t nearly finished with him yet. William, however …
“You see, I know why you drive yourself to the bottom of the bottle every night … why you gamble in order to distract yourself from the guilt of your sins.”
William squared his shoulders, blustering up enough confidence to defend himself. “See here, Hartmoor. Just because you’ve managed to procure my home—”
“Her name is Olivia Goodall,” he growled, cutting the man off midsentence. “Do you remember her?”
William blanched, his pupils dilating and darkening his limpid, blue eyes. “Wh-what do you know of her?”
“I know that your nephew raped her,” he rasped, fury making his arms tremble, shaking the contents on top of the desk. “I know that she became pregnant as a result of said rape … and I know that you and your brother decided together that something must be done to destroy the evidence … to destroy her.”
Shaking his head as if in denial, William whimpered. “That wasn’t the way of it. She would have ruined us—”
He slammed a hand upon the wood, sending a paperweight tumbling to the floor. “So you ruined her instead? Did you know that the nuns in that asylum barely fed her? That they forced her to work to earn her keep, even when she’d grown heavy with child … that they almost let her die during birth because it was her penance to pay for being raped!”
William burst into sobs, tears wetting his face as he lowered his head to the desk. “They assured me they would care for her … they told me …”
“You knew better,” Adam accused, disgust curling his upper lip as the man went on sniveling and sobbing like an infant. “By leaving her there, you knew exactly what you were doing. You knew she’d be in no condition to fight when you r
eturned to take her child.”
Lifting his head, William frowned through his tears, inclining his head. “How do you know these things? What business is Lady Olivia’s fate to you?”
Leaning closer, so close he could smell the gin soaking the man’s breath, he snarled. “She’s my stepsister, and the only family I had left. You destroyed the only family I had left!”
William fell back against his chair and covered his face with his hands, trying to wipe away his tears, but more of them came. “You’re right … you are right about me. I think about that poor girl every day. I regret having let Gilliam talk me into it.”
“You were capable of thinking for yourself,” he told the man, refusing to allow him to lay blame someplace else. “Yet, you chose to help destroy an innocent young lady’s life.”
Sighing, William stared off across the study, hands shaking as they rested on top of the desk. “If there was anything I could do to make it right, I would. As it is, I have nothing left … I am nothing. And it was all your doing, I suppose. Repaying me for what I’d done to your sister. As is your right. Is that it? Are you done with me? Or are you here to put me out of my misery?”
Reaching into his coat, Adam retrieved the pistol and held it up so the candlelight glinted off it. William gasped, but calmed when he seemed to realize Adam did not intend to pull the trigger. He merely laid it upon the desk, staring pointedly up at the man.
The revolver was a plain black affair, some old relic his father had owned. It only held one bullet.
It only needed one.
“I thought of it,” he admitted. “Pressing that gun to your forehead and pulling the trigger. But, coming here tonight and seeing you here like this has been more than enough. How can I take the life of a man who is half-dead? You are not worth the pull of that trigger to me … not worth the bother of squashing you like the vermin you are.”
William began to sob again, rising to his feet again and reaching out toward Adam as if begging for a hand up out of the mire. “Please … I beg you to end it. I cannot go on any longer. I do not deserve to live after what I’ve done.”
“No,” he agreed. “You do not. But if you want out of this mess you’ve made, then you are going to have to find that way yourself. As of this moment, I am done with you.”
Giving him a knowing glance, then letting his gaze flit to the pistol lying on the desk between them, Adam left no doubt to his meaning. Then, he began to back away, taking one last look at the man before turning to quit the room.
Yes, this had been better … he’d seen that as he’d left the house, trotting down the front steps.
Because, just before his conveyance pulled away down the lane, the sound of a single shot rang out from inside the house.
He had not stayed in the aftermath, pounding on the roof of his carriage to signal his driver. As word had spread the following morning that the brother of Lord Gilliam Fairchild had put a pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger, Adam had quit London altogether. There was nothing left for him to bask in. The family was ruined, and he owned the home of one brother. The seeds he’d planted would begin to flourish soon—tarnishing Bertram’s reputation and ending his engagement to a woman far too good for the likes of him. It was all done with.
Now, as he stood before the fire, watching the red and orange flickers dance and spark, he searched his mind for some reason to his restlessness.
Why did it not feel like enough? After five years of seeking revenge, justice, some restitution for what he’d learned Bertram had done to countless women, why was he still so angry? Why could he not stop trying to fathom some new way to pour salt into the wounds he’d inflicted?
The answers continued to elude him. He had almost given up, deciding to attempt sleep once more, when the door to his study swung open.
Only one person would enter without knocking, so he did not bother to turn around to greet Niall. However, the man’s voice, the words he delivered, had him whirling away from the hearth to face him.
“The Fairchild chit is here.”
His eyes widened as he searched Niall’s face, looking for any sign that he might be joking. The man was austere as ever, his black butler’s attire only adding to the severity of his big body and harsh face. Unusual, to elevate a man from the position of stable groom to that of butler, but he’d needed someone he trusted to run the household at Dunnottar. Besides, after the way he’d helped Adam care for Olivia these five years, it was the least he could do—offer a position with good pay and benefits that would see him set for life upon retirement. Niall deserved so much more, but it was all Adam had to give.
“What was that?” he asked, inclining his head and leaning closer.
Niall raised his eyebrows. “She attempted to gain entrance usin’ her brother’s name, but I saw through that easy enough. It’s the sister, and she’s here alone.”
Lady Daphne.
He’d known of her existence, of course—the beautiful, unwed daughter of the viscount. However, when setting out to ruin the family, he’d purposely steered clear of the viscountess and the daughter. They would suffer enough when Gilliam became a pauper.
“What do you suppose she wants?” he mused aloud, though he did not require an answer from Niall.
If she’d come all the way from London for an audience with him, she must know. She must have puzzled out that it was him orchestrating events to ruin her family. Most young, unmarried chits would cower and hide beneath their fathers, lamenting their fate.
But, coming to Dunnottar alone? Either she was incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.
“Perhaps she’s out for a bit of revenge herself, eh?” Niall offered.
That got his attention, and he rubbed his chin, staring pensively at Niall. “Revenge …”
Yes, this was it … the answer he’d been searching for. The one way to ruin Bertram Fairchild that he had not yet thought of. This was why he could not rest, could not stop thinking that he had failed.
An eye for an eye.
A tooth for a tooth.
A sister for a sister.
But, unlike Bertram, he would not simply tackle his prey to the ground and ravage her—though, in his present state, he was more than capable of such behavior. No, it would not do to simply ravage Lady Daphne. He had to seduce her, thoroughly and completely defile her. And he would make sure Bertram, Gilliam, and the entire ton knew he had done it.
Then, and only then, would he feel as if he had finally and truly won.
“Niall, see Lady Daphne in,” he said, glancing up at the butler with a smile. “Then, have a guest chamber prepared for her … one of those off the main hall. Find a maid to replace Maeve as Olivia’s personal maid for a time … I will have need of her, as well.”
Niall, who knew Adam’s mind as well as he knew it himself, raised an eyebrow. “Ruin the sister … it is a sound plan. A good and just one.”
He nodded his agreement. “Aye, I thought it would be. This is it, Niall … the final nail in his coffin.”
Niall inclined his head before turning the leave the room.
“Make it count,” he shot over his shoulder before disappearing from the study.
Turning back to face the fire, Adam ruminated over all the possibilities Lady Daphne’s presence here offered. All the ways he could use her to strike out at Bertram. No man he knew would be able to stomach his sister being debauched, and even as heartless as Bertram was, Adam could not fathom him turning a blind eye.
Another smile spread across his face, and the surface of his skin began to tingle as the thrill of the hunt began to spread over his body. The final kill … the coup de grace.
The door swung open behind him again, and the energy in the room seemed to shift, some unknown thing pulling at him, calling upon him to turn around. He took his time, savoring the feeling and making it last. He would enjoy every moment of this, relishing it in a way he hadn’t enjoyed anything in quite some time.
As he turned to face her, he felt
Lady Daphne’s gaze upon him, tracing the lines of his body through his clothes. He could practically smell her fear, the uncertainty she must feel as she found him to be far different than what she’d expected. He’d been told he had that effect on people.
When, at last, he faced her, he was taken aback momentarily, the tingle on his skin sinking deep, transforming into a pounding in his blood.
She wore a heavy man’s coat over breeches and boots, a hat covering her hair. But she could hide nothing from him—the pert little nose smattered with light freckles, the shape of a lush mouth and Cupid’s bow upper lip, the dainty point of a chin, and sloping cheekbones. As he moved toward her, she tipped her head to look up at him, revealing her eyes to be an intriguing shade of sapphire blue. A blue so dark and deep, he had to look close to detect the deeper prisms of indigo.
Soft strands of auburn hair framed her face, having fallen loose of her hat. He could see that hair now, a thick braid disappearing into the collar of her coat.
He imagined pulling that braid free and wrapping it around his hand, pushing her to her knees and stuffing her beautiful mouth full of his cock. The organ stirred in his breeches, his mouth going dry as he fought to keep his urges under control.
Not yet … he would not touch her yet. If he touched her, he would go mad, because as they stood staring at each other, he saw something else in her eyes. Something he’d seen in the eyes of his little kitten, Fiona, and the signora in Italy.
He saw the one thing designed to call to a man like him.
The longing for something more, a restlessness at having never found it. A taste for submission, for being hunted and overtaken. The lure toward danger.
She looked like an angel, but she smelled like prey.
Untouched, unsullied, delicious.
He could not have asked for a better twist of fate if he’d tried. Not only was he going to ruin Bertram Fairchild’s sister … he was going to ruin her for any man who would come after him. She wouldn’t be able to close her eyes without seeing him, feeling him, craving him.
Hart: A Villainous Short Story Page 5