The Butterfly Formatted

by Vale, Victoria

  Panic rose up into his throat, swift and burning. He wanted to believe she had simply gone to find him, or even to the nursery for Serena. Yet, he could not brush off this feeling … this premonition causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end, telling him that something was terribly wrong.

  Raking a hand through his hair, he glanced about the room once more, searching for any clue to where she might have gone. That was when he noticed the door to the dressing room hanging open … and a pair of tiny feet stretched out through the opening.

  “Livvie!”

  He was across the room in an eye’s blink, the wind knocked from him as if he’d taken a fist to the gut when his gaze landed on her. Splayed across the carpet with her gown twisted about her legs, she appeared half-dead—motionless, pale, her eyes wide open and fixated straight above her. Her limbs appeared disjointed, strewn this way and that, her hair fanned out around her face in an almost picturesque display. If it were not for the rapid rise and fall of her chest, or the sound of her harsh breaths filling the space, he might have thought her dead.

  Falling to his knees at her side, he muttered a string of oaths, catching sight of the empty bottle overturned on the floor beside her. The half-empty flagon that had been on her washstand, brought from Dunnottar, had been removed upon Olivia’s request. She’d claimed not being able to abide the sight or smell of the stuff and had not wanted the temptation of it so near. There must have been a spare bottle hidden away he hadn’t known about … and in her state of despair, she’d gone right to it.

  “Livvie,” he called out, crouching over her and waving a hand before her face. “Livvie, how much of this poison did ye drink?”

  She remained unresponsive, failing to even blink as she stared straight through him and into some place he could not see. He had no way of knowing how much she’d ingested, but he did realize that her usual dose would never have put her into a stupor. However much she’d drunk, it was sure to have been too much. She’d never survive so great a dose.

  “What have ye done?” he whispered, his eyes stinging with oncoming tears, his chest so tight, he felt as if it might cave in and obliterate his heart into dust.

  He forced himself to breathe, to remain calm, to think. He had not been gone that long, she couldn’t have drunk it all at once … which meant there was still a chance she could be saved.

  “Ye won’t leave me so easily, mo gradh,” he declared, slipping his arms beneath her body to lift her. “I willnae let ye.”

  Carrying her back into the room, he glanced about for something … anything he could use to rouse her. Terror threatened to unman him, but he fought against it with every ounce of his will. If ever there was a time he needed to have his wits about him, now would be it. Throwing her none-too-gently upon the bed, he rushed to the vanity table, where a vinaigrette stood amongst the other jars and vials. He snatched it up and went back to the bed, frantically waving it about beneath her nose.

  She blinked, her eyelids fluttering for the first time since he’d come upon her. Still, she did not move, did not speak, gave no sign that she was anything close to coherent.

  “C’mon, Livvie,” he urged, grasping her shoulders and giving her a shake. “Snap out of it!”

  The vinaigrette proved all but useless, so he threw it aside and shook her again, raising her shoulders off the bed and trying to jolt her back to the real world. She simply lay limp in his hold, her head lolling heavy from her shoulders, her breathing still harsh and far too swift.

  Cringing, he drew back one hand and gritted his teeth, already hating himself for what he would do next.

  “Forgive me.”

  He let his hand fall, his palm connecting with her face with only about half his strength. Still, it was enough to create heat between his skin and hers, the sting blossoming against his palm, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the room. She shook, her limbs jerking and her eyes going even wider before beginning to water.

  He blinked back his own tears at the sight of her reddened cheek. Still, she was rousing, whimpering and struggling to breathe.

  “There ye are. Come back, Livvie … I’m right here. Come back to me.”

  She trembled, squeezing her eyes shut and groaning as if pained. He glanced about the room again, his mind racing as he tried to think through the anguish overwhelming him with crushing force. She’d ingested far too much of the laudanum and needed to be purged of the stuff if she were to have a fighting chance.

  He leapt from the bed and dashed to the commode resting in the corner. Snatching its doors open so hard that one of them flew off the hinges, he found a clean chamberpot inside. He took hold of it and ran back to the bed. With one hand bracing her back, he sat her up and dropped the heavy pot into her lap. Her head fell back against his arm, and her eyes snapped up to focus upon him. He gazed into them and found her in the depths, the tiniest spark enough to convince him he hadn’t lost her yet.

  “This may hurt, but it’s for yer own good, Livvie,” he warned, before plunging two fingers into her mouth, aiming for the back of her throat.

  She gagged, lurching in his hold and dropping her head over the pot. He withdrew his fingers just in time, moving clear of the contents of her stomach as they came rushing forth while she coughed and heaved. The stench of laudanum flooded his senses, and he nearly retched himself, but held firm, refusing to let her go. Taking hold of her hair, he held it out of her face and kept her bent over the pot, crooning to her as she cast up everything her tiny body could have contained.

  “That’s it … ye’re gonna be fine, mo gradh. It’ll be over soon.”

  Once he was certain she’d finished, he released her, going to the far side of the room to set the pot aside. When he came back to the bed, he found her lying amongst the cushions, shaking and sobbing, her eyes far more focused than they had been. He sat and reached for her, drawing her up so that she lay across his lap, her head resting on his chest.

  “I’ve got ye, Livvie,” he whispered against her hair, the quaver in his voice giving truth to his own state. He was scared witless, his stomach in knots, his heart pounding. “Ye’ll be all right. I promise … I willnae let him hurt ye.”

  She clung to him, one weak hand wrapped in the front of his shirt, her face buried against the fabric. He was shaking now, violent tremors ripping through him as the rush of blood and pounding of his pulse began to slow and the reality of what could have happened came crashing down upon him. He went on holding her, rocking her, trying to soothe her with words, promising things he was not certain he could deliver.

  That she would be safe, that she would get better, that the world would seem brighter once this had passed.

  He was not certain if any of it could ever be true.

  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.<
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  “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.”