by welis
She moved quickly to the stairs, the chill in the corridors driving her to seek out the room. If Adam occupied it, then a fire had surely been lit.
Sure enough, when she came to the door hanging ajar, Daphne was drawn into the room by light, warmth, and the lilting notes of an unknown composition. The music made her heart ache and her throat constrict, a thousand unnamed emotions welling up inside her as she heard in it all the things Adam did not say; the things he might never admit to her out loud. His torment. His pain. His grief.
His back stiffened as she approached, his only reaction to her presence. As if he felt her as viscerally as she felt him, noticing the change in the room’s ambiance when she entered or left it. However, he didn’t stop playing, didn’t even turn his head to look at her as she loomed at his shoulder, watching his fingers move over the keys with such lightness and grace.
Their moments together in Dunnottar’s music room came back to her in a flood of memories—the hours they’d spent playing together, the night he had ravaged her on the carpet, the times he’d lain her across his pianoforte and fucked her. She could not help the fondness coloring those memories, a longing for the peace and isolation they’d had in the Scottish castle. Things had been easier then, without all the implications of his presence in London and the rumors swirling about them.
Perhaps that was what drove her to sink to her knees beside the piano bench—which was consumed by his entire width, leaving no room for her. It was what drove her to lay her head on his thigh and wrap her arms around his calf, holding on for dear life and closing her eyes. She let the music flow through her, touching and healing all the parts of her that had been hurt, flooding her soul and dousing it in the dark blanket of Adam’s potent essence. She found peace in his madness, comfort in the snare of his trap. His body relaxed beneath her touch, the tension in his hard thigh melting away as she laid her cheek onto it, rubbing against the fabric of his breeches like a cat seeking its master’s attention.
He did not give it to her until he had finished playing, the final chords of music melting away into the shadows, leaving them in soothing silence. Only then did his hand come down on top of her head, his fingers stroking over her hair, tucking it behind one ear. She felt his gaze on the side of her face as he smoothed his knuckles over her jaw, over and over and again, as if savoring the feel of her skin against his.
“I saw Olivia,” she whispered. “In the master suite. I … I did not know, Adam. I’m so … I’m sorry.”
It never failed, even when he tormented her, treated her to his brand of cruelty—she always crawled to him, always begged his forgiveness. Because the things he’d done to her had been his only way of coping with the pain … something she always saw in hindsight. She’d come crashing through his front door, hurling accusations and insults at him, not knowing that he’d just returned home to the news that his sister had arrived. What he must have felt when he’d seen her, heard the insults she’d spewed at him.
Guilt churned in her gut, making her cling tighter to his leg.
“You did not know,” he murmured in response, still touching her, stroking her cheek, her hair, the shell of her ear.
They stayed silent for another long moment, until he spoke again.
“She did it to herself,” he whispered, his voice low and tortured in the dark. “The cuts on her arms. She … I do not think she wanted to die, but … she could have.”
She wrinkled her brow, gazing up at him and searching for his eyes. He avoided looking at her, staring off across the room. Yet, even from her position on the floor, she saw the turmoil in the dark depths, felt it spiraling through his blood and rushing to the far reaches of his body.
“At dawn, I will send for some of your things,” he added. “Due to the present circumstances, I think it best for you to remain here … under my protection.”
Her blood ran cold, a frisson of dread racing down her spine. His tone told her he would not be swayed, and after the things that had occurred last night, she was afraid of what lengths she might push him to if she argued.
“Adam …”
“I will not have the men of London thinking they can purchase you,” he snapped, finally looking down at her. “Do you understand? I will not have it.”
Sighing, she shook her head. “I will simply lay low for a while.”
He stroked her hair again, though she felt the subtle threat in the gesture, the firmness of his touch as he took her chin in his hand and held her face.
“Perhaps I am not making myself clear enough. Damn the rumors … damn it all. You belong here, with me, and here is where you will remain. I believe I told you quite explicitly last evening that I am done playing the gentleman with you. I will not argue or attempt to bargain. You no longer have any say in the matter, little dove.”
Shock rippled through her at his assertion; yet, a part of her was hardly surprised. She had learned quite some time ago that Adam always got what he wanted, even if at the expense of others. She wholeheartedly believed he would come after her if she attempted to leave. A sudden thought occurred to her, and she straightened, rearing away from him.
“This is not about me,” she argued, narrowing her eyes at him. “If I remain here, then you can convince everyone—convince Bertram—that I am your mistress.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Half the ton thinks it, anyway.”
She shot to her feet, grasping the edge of the pianoforte as the blood rushed back into her legs, her skin tingling and her feet throbbing. “I might have been wrong to accuse you last night, but the rest of what I said holds true. This must end, Adam. I cannot take it anymore. You cannot continue using me to strike out at Bertram.”
“I can,” he snapped, swiveling on the bench so that he faced her. “And I will. You would have your brother to blame for that, little dove. When I first arrived here, I was coming for you.”
Shaking her head, she avoided his gaze and tried to hold back tears. Every time she allowed herself to think he actually cared … that he truly wanted her for himself, he did something to remind her that this was all about Bertram, all about having her around as a convenient tool he could use against her brother.
“No,” she replied. “This has never been about me. It has only ever been about you and Bertram. You’ve made it very clear that I am less than nothing to you … just a means to an end. You only like possessing me because it means you always have a piece of him in your palm … a piece you can crush with a single motion, at any time.”
He rose to his feet, annoyance clenching his jaw, his eyes aflame with green and amber tongues of fire. Taking her hand, he yanked her closer, twisting her wrist and fitting her palm against his crotch. The swell of his cock against her hand sent a little thrill through her. He was hot and hard, throbbing with destructive power and promise.
“Do you honestly think Bertram has anything to do with this?” he murmured, his gaze growing heavy-lidded. “You think I’ve driven myself mad these past three months over him … when I can barely think for wanting you in my bed, beneath me, on your knees at my feet?”
His words, the intensity of his stare as he held her gaze, refusing to back down, to drop her hand from where it rested against his cock, gave her pause. The evidence of his lust for her could not be denied. And, yet …
“Choose,” she argued, raising her chin and meeting his challenge head-on. “You can have me, or you can pursue your revenge. You cannot have both, Adam, not forever … not without losing your grip on one. So, choose.”
His gaze faltered, his hand tightening around her wrist as his jaw ticked in response to her challenge. His nostrils flared as he leaned in closer, crowding her vision so that she could see nothing beyond him.
“My sister almost killed herself,” he rasped. “Not for the first time. My niece does not know who her father is, but someday, when she asks, I will be forced to come up with a suitable enough answer … and even then, it will only suffice until she is old enough to demand the t
ruth. Niall is in love with the ghost of a woman who does not possess the faculties to love him back the way he deserves. None of them will be the same ever again … and you would force me to choose between destroying the man responsible, or having you?”
Her eyes stung at the venom in his tone, the harsh bite to his words. She knew what he would say before he would even open his mouth to utter the words, driving the dagger even deeper into her heart.
“Yes,” she whispered, even as she knew that she was only hurting herself by forcing his hand, by demanding that he prove to her in some way—any way at all—that he simply wanted her. That he needed her for something other than his vengeance. “Choose, Adam. Me … or him?”
He stared at her in silence for so long, she nearly passed out from holding her breath, waiting for him to land his final blow, to rip her heart out and devour it.
When he did not immediately respond, she almost allowed herself to hope, to lean in to hear his answer, praying that once … just this one moment, he would choose her. Even if it did not last … even if he changed his mind … even if it was a lie.
“You make demands of me as if I actually have a choice,” he murmured, releasing her hand, flinging it away as if she’d burned him. “It’s him, little dove. Even if I had a choice, it would be him … because I will not rest, I cannot rest until he has paid with everything he has left.”
She sank onto the piano bench and looked away so he could not see her tears, so he could not see how deeply he’d wounded her. Because even when she told him she hated him, it proved as much a lie as the one she tried to make herself believe—this notion that she did not crave him with every fiber of her being.
His voice came at her again, lashing against her like the crack of a whip.
“But I am not going to choose,” he continued. “I want my revenge, but I also want you … and I will have both. You are staying, and that is the end of it. Try to leave … test me if you wish. You will not like the outcome.”
Without another word or glance in her direction, he was gone, thundering through the drawing room door and leaving her there alone.
Dashing away the tears clinging to her eyelashes, she muttered an oath under her breath, cursing herself for the fool she was. She had known from the beginning that this man would destroy her if she let him; yet, she could not stop placing herself in his hands, submitting to his will and his desires only to be torn apart and left lying in the remnants of his rage.
This was how she knew, without a shred of uncertainty, that even if she found a way to escape him, she would never truly be free.
Daphne was not certain how much longer she slept once she trudged back up the stairs to what had once been her mother’s chamber and fell back into bed. She had been wrung dry by her confrontation with Adam … emotionally spent and so exhausted, she could hardly keep her eyes open. So, she slept until the sun stung her eyes through her lowered lids, until the warbled sounds of voices coming through the bedroom windows pulled her toward consciousness. She frowned and blinked her bleary eyes, trying to make sense of her surroundings and the noises coming from outside.
It was odd, being in this room, in the home her family had been forced to sell. Everything was just as she remembered it, mostly untouched by its new occupants.
She left the bed, feeling surprisingly refreshed despite the turmoil of the previous night and early hours of the morning. After she’d rubbed her eyes, she noticed the subtle changes that marked Adam’s return to the room, as well as his departure. The scraps of his clothing he’d left on the floor had been cleared away—including the leather braces. The washstand appeared to have been prepared for her—the basin filled, and various bottles and vials surrounding it. A stack of clean linens awaited her use.
She noticed other small touches here and there—her dressing gown thrown over the privacy screen, a stack of books she’d been reading laid on a table near the window. Most damning of all … a large trunk on the floor in the center of the room. Her trunk.
As she approached it, her stomach churned to find it filled with her clothing. Just as he had promised, he’d sent someone for her belongings. Her hands shook as she dug through the trunk, finding a wide variety of clothing—enough to cover just about every contingency. He’d been thorough, just as he had been when having her outfitted during her time at Dunnottar.
“Oh, my lady!” chirped a voice from across the room. “You’re awake!”
She glanced up to find Maeve in the doorway, her smile bright, her hands clasped together against her chest. Despite the circumstances, she found herself happy to see the woman who had acted as her lady’s maid during her time in Scotland. She stood as Maeve rushed toward her with open arms. The two embraced, and something within Daphne snapped, the emotions she’d been trying to hold at bay rushing to the surface faster than she could stifle. Before she knew it, she was crying, her body wracked with sobs while she buried her face in the maid’s shoulder.
To her surprise, Maeve simply held her, stroking her hair and crooning comforting words, seeming content to allow Daphne to let it all out.
“There, there, my lady,” she whispered. “I know … it has all been so hard. For you, most of all, I suspect. I cannot imagine.”
Shaking her head, she hiccupped, trying to reel it all back in, bottle it up inside. Maeve did not need to hear about her troubles; not when Daphne suspected she had been the one to care for Olivia … the one to bring her to Adam after the harrowing incident. She must be distraught herself, having come so close to losing the person she’d been responsible for.
Still, when she looked up into the other woman’s eyes, she could not help the sudden urge to lay her burdens at someone else’s feet. Someone who understood this connection between her and Adam, this convoluted web of pain and vengeance tying them together.
“I do not know what to do, Maeve,” she said hoarsely, trying to dry her own tears. “Everything is so … I do not know what to do.”
Nodding and giving her a sympathetic look, the maid patted her shoulder. “I know. Why don’t we start with the things we can do? Things will seem a bit less muddled after a hot bath and a bite to eat.”
Her stomach rebelled at the thought of food, but the bath did sound heavenly. After the things Adam had put her through, a long, hot soak would go a long way toward making her feel whole again.
“Very well,” she relented, forcing a strained smile. “Thank you, Maeve.”
The maid smiled back at her, giving her a little nudge toward the privacy screen. “You get out of that frock and into your warm dressing gown … I will go arrange the bath. You’ll see, my lady, you will feel ever so much better.”
Daphne obeyed Maeve without thinking, grateful for her presence as well as the way she’d so easily taken charge. Her mind was in such a muddle, she could hardly think past her turbulent thoughts, so many of them slithering about her mind like a nest of snakes.
Adam might have impregnated her.
Her brother had outed her to the entire ton as a whore.
Olivia had tried to take her own life.
This battle between two men with her trapped in the middle might not end before she had a chance to extricate herself—to save herself from being destroyed.
Adam had backed her into a corner and now had her trapped, refusing to let go.
And she might be carrying his child …
The thoughts swam about, battering the corners of her mind, slamming against one another and wreaking havoc. It was a toxic combination, and no matter how she tried to make sense of it all—to think of some way to make it all right—she failed. Either way things fell, they would end with carnage and pain. What sort of ending could there be for a child in this situation—one created of her bond with a man who did not care enough for her to put aside his quest for vengeance in order to have her?
As she slipped out of her gown, enfolding herself into the heavy damask robe, she realized with startling clarity that she would have given him what
ever he asked if he’d given her the one thing she wanted. He did not even have to love her—she hardly thought him capable. But, if he could show that he cared at all … that he wanted her more than he wanted to destroy her brother … perhaps she could give him what he wanted. Perhaps she could let herself be his; his to keep, his to protect and use and defile.
Peering around the screen, she found that a few footmen had helped cart the copper tub into the room under Maeve’s watchful eye. As she waited for the tub to be filled, she turned to the nearest window, drawn toward it by the noises that had died away for a moment, but had now resurged. As she pulled the curtain and peered down into the little courtyard below, where the gardener had cultivated a variety of flowers, she could not help but smile. Heedless of her perusal, Adam dashed about in the small space, chasing the little girl bounding out of his reach with high-pitched giggles and shrieks.
She sank onto the window’s ledge, perching there and resting her head against the glass as she watched Serena with Adam, the clear affection between them making her chest ache. He still looked every bit the monster she knew him to be—large, imposing, half-dressed and indecent with his hair hanging down his back in bedraggled waves. He even snarled and roared as he chased the little girl, not having to try very hard to pretend to be some sort of beast in pursuit of a helpless maiden.
Yet, she saw other things, too. The way he purposely chased her away from the uneven stones on the right side of the courtyard that might cause her to trip and injure herself. The way his hold was so careful when he finally caught her, his hands gentled to touch something so precious, yet still strong enough to bear all her weight. The child squealed and laughed when he swung her up in the air, never seeming afraid that he might drop her. That sort of faith could only come from the years he’d spent caring for her, proving with actions that she could rely upon him to shelter her, to protect her, to give her everything she could ever want.
Another tear wet her face as she watched him take Serena up onto his shoulders, galloping about the courtyard with her, spinning her in wild circles, his laughter ringing out at her through the window. The little girl sitting astride his shoulders with her arms stretched up to the heavens had no notion of how fortunate she was, how easily she’d snared Adam’s heart, when someone like Daphne seemed incapable of even scratching the surface.