‘I wanted her since Lucien made her his,’ Nathaniel snarled. ‘For eight years I have worked towards this moment. I shall not let her go so easily.’ He gave a humourless laugh. ‘If I can’t have her, you certainly shan’t!’
Max did not move. ‘You’re vanquished, Reverend, and you know it.’ His voice carried across the three yards that separated them, a low and controlled murmur. ‘Drop the pistol and let her go.’
Nathaniel’s left arm squeezed her tighter; the other pressed the pistol harder into her flesh just below her breast. Her neck was clammy from his foul, hot breath. She could smell his desperation and knew he would never relinquish her willingly.
‘Right through the heart, Atherton. Or should I say, “my lord”?’ Nathaniel sneered. ‘You have me to thank for that! Where is your gratitude?’
‘It is my birth-right.’
Olivia trained her gaze on Max’s beloved face. Anything to block out the fear engendered by the barrel of the pistol which stabbed into her.
The tone of his voice continued to reassure her. ‘Olivia tried to tell me that a long time ago, but I was too obtuse to understand her.’
A ray of sunshine burned through the heavy cloud and slanted across Max’s face, revealing the love for her that kindled in his eyes. He was speaking from the heart; here to save her and exonerate her in the process. Her fear of Nathaniel dissipated, despite the noxious smell of him that burned her nostrils and the painful, threatening hold he had upon her.
Not ten feet away Max represented her salvation. His expression confirmed her greatest longing: that in his arms she would bask in the loving warmth of his embrace, revel in the urgency of his kisses and glory in the knowledge that he was her future.
But Nathaniel held the upper hand and he was unpredictable.
‘She considered her son more important than either you or the truth!’ Nathaniel spat.
Max raised one eyebrow but said nothing.
‘Max, I wrote to tell you …’ she said, brokenly. How wicked, how venal the truth sounded when distilled. How calculating it made her when presented in its essence.
‘Hush, sweetheart,’ he soothed with a smile for her. ‘I’ve no doubt that man intercepted it.’ He took a step forward. ‘Despite your lies, Reverend, and the lies you forced Olivia to publish to the world, I know what kind of woman Olivia is—’
‘The kind who will dance naked on the table, who will let the men line up to lick the cream from her!’ Edgily, Nathaniel pressed the barrel of the pistol harder into Olivia’s flesh. ‘Tell me, Mr Atherton, have you ever kissed Lady Farquhar’s Butterfly?’
With a cry of shame, Olivia brought her hands up to her face.
‘I look forward to doing so when it is not a sin,’ said Max with a wry smile. ‘I daresay you have not, either, Reverend.’
‘Do you want me to kill her?’ Kirkman screamed, pushing her so hard that her upper body snapped back over his supporting arm. ‘Are you so arrogant you believe you can arrive like an avenging hero and everything will go your way?’
Ignoring him, Max’s voice continued, low and mesmeric. ‘At every opportunity you prevented Olivia from telling me the truth when she was desperate to unburden herself.’
Nathaniel laughed. ‘The truth? You don’t know what to believe! That’s your eternal problem. Look at her!’ Roughly he gripped Olivia’s chin and turned her face upwards. ‘Beneath this perfection lies a heart and soul more corrupted than mine! Olivia and I are soulmates, Atherton. I will never give her up!’
Olivia wrenched her face free. ‘I would rather die knowing Max loves me and believes in me than suffer a lifetime with you, Nathaniel!’ she cried, as she tore herself from his grasp.
‘Olivia! No!’
She heard a dull thud, realized it was her head striking the edge of the sarcophagus and Max’s cry, echoing through the chamber.
She heard the scuffle of feet; the heavy toe of a boot that clipped her ear before it was swallowed up by the darkness. A body thudded to the ground before hauling itself upright, disappearing into the gloom amidst shouts and scuffles.
She felt … Nothing.
Certainly she felt no pain, but when she tried to raise herself she could not move.
Closing her eyes she listened to the muffled cries of fighting men: a wail of pain, a shout of anger.
A muttered curse. Max’s voice, tight and desperate: ‘Oh God! Olivia! You’re bleeding!’ followed by a cry, a snarl, low and heartfelt, ‘I will never forgive you if she is harmed.’
Fearfully, she blinked open her eyes, orienting herself towards the fading daylight, the entrance to the crypt where she could see Max and Nathaniel locked in a violent dance of mastery over her.
Her life lay in the balance. She would belong to the victor. Nathaniel had a gun and if it found its mark and Max was vanquished Olivia would forever remain in Nathaniel’s power.
She put her hand to the sting at her forehead. In horror she stared at her bloodied fingers. As she struggled on to her elbows she wondered how deep was her wound. If Nathaniel was to claim her she did not care. She’d rather die.
But while they fought hope remained. The possibility of a future with Max, lies and twisted truths untangled, confessed, accepted, forgiven and condoned was her greatest hope. As it always had been.
The cacophony of grunts and groans was pierced by a single cry. Something stung her knee. Her swimming vision came into focus. Upon Lucien’s sarcophagus she saw Nathaniel stretched over Max who struggled beneath him, hands reaching up to clasp the other man’s throat. Against the noise of labouring breaths and muttered curses Olivia could hear the rapid beat of her own heart, or so it seemed.
She struggled to her knees and nearly swooned. Blood dripped from her head wound on to her dress. Her life blood. Draining away before her very eyes. She had seen the same thing when her first baby had died. In her pain she had cried out that she wanted to die, too. Now, never had the need to live battled so strongly within her.
She had responsibilities she could not forsake: a child whose tenuous future only she could safeguard. A man she loved whose respect she would fight for to the death.
Trembling, she gripped the side of the sarcophagus and dragged herself to her knees.
She heard Nathaniel’s gloating snarl, ‘Too bad you were so ready to jump to the worst conclusions, ye of little faith, my lord!’ He had the upper hand. Olivia could see Max struggling for air. She tried to heave herself to her feet, but pain shot across her vision and she slumped into a pool of weak, ineffective passivity.
The woman of strength and conviction was dying within the empty husk Nathaniel derided. The woman she so wanted to be would not be heard.
Her heart screamed out in pain. In the echoing cavern it came out a muted whimper.
Dear God, please give me one more chance, the fading, flickering voice of hope cried out within her. Let Julian and Max know the kind of woman I really am. The kind of woman I could have been all these years if Lucien hadn’t stepped in to corrupt me. If Nathaniel hadn’t manipulated and intimidated me.
‘Olivia!’
She jerked her head up at the sound of Max’s voice. In the dim light it was hard to see him. Already he was fading, though perhaps it was she who was fading. The dark stain on her skirt was growing. She no longer felt any pain but that’s how it was when one bled to death. She knew that.
‘The pistol!’
The pistol? she thought stupidly, straining to sharpen what reason was left to her, panic at her ineptitude surging through her as she continued to support herself against the sarcophagus. She winced at the pain in her knee and looked down.
She was kneeling on the pistol.
The pistol!
With trembling fingers she picked it up. Elation shimmered through her, despite the dulling of her senses. She stared at it. For the first time in her life she held the balance of power. Cognisance of the danger snapped her senses to alert. Raising the barrel, she pointed it in Nathaniel’s direction.
‘Release Max or I’ll kill you.’ Her threat sounded like a parody. Nathaniel’s mocking laugh as he forced his thumbs into Max’s throat echoed round the chamber. ‘The roof is in greater danger, Olivia, you’re shaking so much.’
Struggling to see clearly she croaked, ‘I will shoot straight, Nathaniel and I swear I shall get you through your rotten black heart.’
‘Max or me. It’ll be a lottery, my dear.’
The gloating confidence in his voice frightened her. ‘Your life blood is draining from you until you staunch that wound.’ With a grunt he forced his thumbs deeper into Max’s windpipe. Olivia winced at Max’s gasp, the struggle she saw in his eyes. Nathaniel was a much heavier man. Luck had favoured him when he’d hurled himself upon Max, the lighter-framed man buckling over the lid of Lucien’s coffin beneath his adversary.
Dear God, she had to help him.
‘I have the upper hand, as I always have.’ Nathaniel sneered. ‘Realize that fact, my love, and I’ll realize your wildest dreams.’
‘I wouldn’t go with you if you were the last man on earth. If I can’t be with Max I’d rather die.’ Carefully she brought the other hand up for greater support, her eyes trained on her trembling grip on the pistol as she heard a grunt of effort and a bellow of pain. Jerking her chin up she saw Nathaniel sprawled across the floor of the chamber in the gloom some yards away. Max was struggling to his feet having brought his knee up to deliver a kick of sufficient strength to release him from Nathaniel’s grip.
‘Don’t go to him!’ Olivia cried. ‘Let his blood be on my hands.’
Max halted his progress across the floor and Nathaniel rose slowly to his feet, a crooked smile twisting his mouth as he faced Olivia.
‘What? Shoot me in cold blood?’ He extended his arms wide before tapping his chest. ‘Through the heart? Here it is, Olivia. I offer myself up as a sacrifice.’
‘You think I jest—’
‘There’s no need, Olivia.’ Max’s voice, low and soothing, carried across the chamber. ‘Give the pistol to me.’
She did not look at him. Her hands were shaking so much she felt a fool.
Nathaniel laughed.
‘Not your heart, Nathaniel,’ she said through clenched teeth, ‘for I don’t want your death on my hands. I just want to see you suffer a little for the misery you’ve caused.’
She lowered her hands, training the barrel of the pistol upon his groin. She was rewarded by the blanching of Nathaniel’s face, the absence of mockery as he muttered, ‘Think how you’d be judged, Olivia.’
‘You’ve orchestrated how I shall be judged, Nathaniel.’ She gulped, sweat and blood blinding her. ‘And you’ve ensured I have nothing to lose.’
She swallowed and closed her eyes.
Nathaniel’s mocking laughter rang out. “A coward to the end, Olivia. You’ll never pull the trigger!” he cried.
She raised the pistol once more in his direction but her hand was shaking so much she nearly dropped it.
Turning to Max she saw he was smiling at her, bolstering her courage with further affirmation of his love. Of course he knew she could not do it. Dropping her hand limply to her side, she took a step towards him. Towards the man she loved; the man who was at last offering her the future she’d always wanted. She knew it from the expression in his eyes. Three more steps and she’d be in his arms. Nathaniel was vanquished. As long as she had the pistol, Nathaniel was powerless.
She was nearly there when alerted by movement in her peripheral vision. “Max! Be careful!” she shrieked, jumping back as Nathaniel swung high the lid of Molly’s sarcophagus to bring down upon Max’s head.
The crash of splintering masonry, of Max’s angry triumphant shout as he leapt clear, was drowned by the explosion of the firing pistol and Nathaniel’s ghastly scream.
Dropping the weapon, Olivia collapsed to the ground.
Nathaniel’s taunts echoed in her head. ‘You’ll never pull the trigger.’ Well, she had, and now she was drifting into blissful oblivion, reassured by Nathaniel’s screams and the shouting of her name – it seemed a league away – confirming that Max was safe.
Boots rang out upon the flagstones. She heard a sigh, an urgent hiss of breath as strong arms slipped under her knees and shoulders, raising her from the cold stone floor. Max’s voice, unsteady for the first time.
‘Olivia! Open your eyes!’
She blinked them open, breathing in the wonderful smell of him; revelling in the hard strength of his youthful, vigorous body as he cradled her against his chest.
‘Quickly! You’re losing blood! We must attend to your wound!’
The concern in his slate-grey eyes nearly undid her. Chocking back a sob she whispered, ‘Julian?’
‘Julian is safe with Charlotte and your aunts.’
She exhaled on a sigh of relief. Settling himself on the lid of the sarcophagus he rocked her, dropping feather light kisses upon her brow as he staunched her wound with a wad of linen. His torn shirtsleeve, she realized as she blindly kissed the warm flesh of his arm.
At last he rose, still cradling her.
She whispered, ‘Is Nathaniel going to die?’
‘Exquisite aim, my angel. Maximum pain and humiliation but I doubt you’ll have his blood on your conscience.’ She heard the grinding of rusty hinges and winced at the light, almost blinding although it was dusk. ‘I’ll assume responsibility if luck goes against you.’
She curled her arm around his neck, basking in the warmth of his strong, hard chest. ‘Why would you do that?’
He stopped on the gravel path. Odin was tethered to Nathaniel’s carriage. The horse raised his head and whinnied, pleased to see its master.
‘Atonement.’ His face above hers radiated warmth and good humour. As if the battle over life and death just minutes before had never taken place though she could feel the urgent need for him pulsing through her body and felt his answering response. ‘It’s a good time to start affirming my faith in you.’
‘Max,’ she began through dry lips, ‘the gold—’
‘It doesn’t matter, sweetheart,’ he soothed, kissing her lips lightly as if to allay her fears. ‘If Kirkman has taken it we may still find it. And if we don’t, we’re better off than we were before, aren’t we?’
‘No, it’s—’
‘Yes, we are, because everything’s out in the open – the lies and the truth – and we still have each other.’
‘The gold is in the carriage because he told me so.’
Checked, as he settled her carefully on to the carriage seat, his expression was thoughtful. A slow grin spread across his face. ‘Then I may buy you diamond ear-rings and gowns worthy of a duchess sooner rather than later.’
‘I don’t want to be a duchess.’
Tenderly he brushed a strand of hair from the wound on her temple.
‘A mere viscountess will do?’
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
He reached up and kissed her properly then, nuzzling her throat as he stood on the path by the crypt against the setting sun, Nathaniel’s cries, more of anger than of pain, issuing from within.
Reluctantly he raised his head. ‘It’s time to take you to Julian. And then we’ll all go home.’
She heard the catch in his voice. Gazing up at him, she drank in his look of love, and the hope he radiated for their shared future, knowing it would sustain her through all the trials she would face on her journey to acceptance.
‘Home, my beloved Olivia,’ he whispered as he climbed into the carriage beside her, closing the door against Nathaniel’s threats. ‘Home,’ he added, softly ‘to Elmwood.’
THE END
If you enjoyed Lady Farquhar’s Butterfly you might enjoy Beverley’s suspenseful Napoleonic espionage romantic intrigue
The Reluctant Bride
Winner of Choc Lit’s Search for an Australian Star competition
Emily Micklen is proud, passionate – and left with no option after the death of her loving fiancé, Ja
ck, but to marry the scarred, taciturn, soldier who needs to secure a well-connected wife.
Major Angus McCartney hopes that marriage to the unobtainable beauty whose confident gaze about the ballroom once failed to register his presence will offer both of them a chance to put the past to rest.
Emily’s determination to be faithful to Jack’s memory is matched only by Angus’s desire to win her with honour and action. Sent to France on a mission of national security, Angus discovers how deeply Emily has been duped, but the secrets he uncovers lead them both into danger. Can Angus and Emily unmask the real conspirators before they lose everything?
The following scene occurs when Emily receives Angus four months after his duty visit during which he’s informed her that her fiancé has died. During that previous visit he’s also told her a lie which, later, comes back to haunt him after she’s become his ‘reluctant bride’.
THE RELUCTANT BRIDE EXTRACT
‘You see how it is with me,’ she said harshly, smoothing the loose, unflattering garment over her stomach. ‘I don’t wonder you are struck dumb, Major. Nor do I know why my aunt, who has been at such pains to keep me hidden, should have me flaunt myself before you.’
‘When I told her I’d come from Kent she seemed to realise my interest was sincere. ‘My–’
‘Commiserations? Condolences?’
The young soldier bit his lip. ‘Did Captain Noble know?’
‘That he was to be a father? No, Major McCartney. He was killed before even I knew.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry that he never knew? Or sorry for my predicament?’ Crossing the room she lowered herself awkwardly into a chair, gesturing him to be seated while she poured the tea that Mary had just brought in.
‘Both.’ Frowning, he leaned forward to accept the dainty china cup she offered him.
‘What will you do…?’ Clearly too embarrassed to complete the sentence, he coloured once more.
Emily regarded him with wry amusement. ‘You have no sisters, do you, Major?’
‘No, ma’am,’ he confirmed.
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