Lady Farquhar's Butterfly (31 page)

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

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