Initium (Nocte Trilogy (2.5)) (2 page)

H
is fingers tangle
in my hair, and his breath is sweet on my cheek.

“Livvie,” he whispers, and his voice is the moonlight. “How you complete me.”

He strokes my arms, my chest, my belly. He trails his soft lips along my collarbone, then brings them to mine, softly, softly and his words taste like honey. I breathe them in and inhale his kiss, and try to memorize his face with my fingers.

“I love you,” I tell him, and there is pain in my words, a true heartache that I could never communicate with a mere sentence. His eyes are soft and black as he stares into mine, and they shimmer in the moon.

“You are my heart,” he answers simply.

His body is hard and lean and long as he slides over me, and then into me, again and again in the night. I cling to him as if my life depends on it, because in an uncertain way, it does.

Phillip anchors me. He completes me. He fills up my empty places and makes me feel alive. Without him, I am dead, like wood or stone. I tell him that, and he lifts me up, my hips held to his, my neck to his mouth.

“Mon petite lapin,” he murmurs. “You will live, and I will live, and we will always be.”

“But I want to
always be
together,” I tell him limply, and even though his hands are everywhere and his mouth is soft as the clouds, I can only think of that, I can only focus on the imminent loss of him. “Please don’t leave me.”

He draws his head back and looks at me, and he looks deep into me, into places I didn’t even realize existed.

“I’ll always be with you, Livvie.”

He is so firm, so assured, that I allow myself to believe it. I collapse into him, absorbing his warmth and his security and his strength. The sinewy muscles of his chest throb with heat and my fingers trace the striations, finding the beat of his heart.

I press mine to his, and take pleasure in the way they unite.

It makes me feel like we’re one, like we’ll always be one.

I open my arms and he comes to me, holding his head against my breast, lapping at them, caressing me. There’s a flash of silver, skin pressed to skin, bone against bone. My thighs fold around his hand, squeezing him into me, holding him close. He palms me, strokes me, ignites me.

I gasp, he swallows it. I moan into his mouth, he smiles against mine.

“You are lovely,” he tells me as he slowly slowly slowly takes me again, and in his eyes, I know that I am. In the reflection of his gaze, I see my long dark hair, lush and shiny. I see my curves and my angles, my smile and my woe. I see it all the way he sees me and I am lovely.

It is empowering and I tremble with it.

He smiles.

“See what you do to me, Livvie?”

He wraps my white fingers around his manhood and it pulses and hardens, again and again and again. When we’re finally spent, I fall against him and sleep in his arms, sleeping the sleep of the sated…until I begin to dream.

My dreams build, black, black, blacker, like storm clouds rolling in from the horizon. Phillip rides the storm and his face is thunderous.

“Don’t betray me,” he booms, and his mouth is contorted and angry.

“What do you mean?” I ask, and I’m confused because I’d never. I’d never in my life betray him. He has to know that. “I’d give my life for you.”

He pauses amidst the storm and looks down at me, his gaze pensive and black.

“Would you?”

I reach for him, but he dissipates into the mist of the clouds and then he’s gone. I feel his absence immediately and I wake up screaming, clutching Phillip, pulling him close.

“What is wrong, Livvie?” he asks quickly, caressing my hair. I shake my head, still terrified to the bone.

“I lost you,” I tell him. “In my dream you were gone, and I was so alone, and you were angry with me.”

“I could never be angry with you,” he tells me and his voice is a song that I am desperate to believe.

I am unsettled and restless, but his fingers stroke my back and lull me into relaxation. I lie with him all night, in his small bed in his small cottage.

We bask in the moonlight from the open window, and I inhale the cool English breeze. I smell the roses and the greenery and the scent of Phillip’s skin and it’s a combination that I know I’ll never forget.

Time and time again he reaches for me and his fingers are soft and his breath is hot.

Over and over, he makes me his and over and over I take it. I take him in, I accept him as mine. If only that would be true forever.

There is a spark in the air tonight, though. Something different, something that crackles in the way I breathe, that electrifies every touch. Perhaps it is because I know our time is limited. Perhaps it is because my heart is breaking.

I don’t know.

All I know is that when I leave my beloved Phillip in the morning as the sun rises over the moors, I feel different. I feel heavy, I feel sad. I feel ravaged and ever alone. But thoughts of my helpless mother assail me, and drive my feet toward Whitley, because without me, she’ll flounder and perish. I must do this. I must provide for her, as she has provided for me since the day I was born.

I look back over my shoulder only once, and the haunting look in Phillip’s dark eyes will stay with me forever. It is full of things I don’t understand, and full of things that I do. Want, sadness, even guilt. I close my eyes, squeezing them tight.

I have to resist running back to his waiting arms. I must.

For my mother.

T
hree weeks
later I learn that I’m pregnant.

M
y hand
unconsciously palms my still-flat belly, as Richard walks by my side on the pavement in town.

We’re here for the final fitting of my gown, and I have a feeling that it will need to be taken out a bit in the breast area. My breasts are already swollen and sore, and it was the first sign that I might be with child. The second was morning sickness, which still plagues me. At the moment, however, my queasiness comes from Richard’s touch on my elbow.

As we walk, I keep my eyes down. It’s habit. If I don’t make eye contact, I won’t see ridicule. Will I receive ridicule? I don’t know, but I feel as though people will see me, truly see me, and they’ll know what I’ve done.

It is when I cross the street, my feet padding against the cobblestone that I feel someone’s stare.

Don’t look.

Don’t look.

Don’t look.

I’m afraid it is someone who has figured me out, who has deemed me a treacherous adulteress, someone who will run to Eleanor and expose everything. It’s an irrational fear, because currently I’m the only one who knows.

With every step, I feel the gaze upon me getting hotter and hotter, and finally,

Finally,

I look.

I inhale sharply and my feet falter because it’s Phillip.

He’s seated on a bench and his black eyes are connected with mine, the edge of his lips curved up in a soft smile.

He smolders with mystery, with sexiness, with confidence, and he impales me with his gaze from all the way across the street. He’s got a book in his lap and he’s lounging casually, one long leg crossed over the other.

I’m frozen and I don’t know why.

Maybe it’s the energy I feel between us, as though he’s staring at me with purpose.

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s oh-so-beautiful.

Or maybe it’s because I somehow thought he’d be gone, that he’d left me and I was all alone.

Whatever it is, I’m drawn to it. I’m frozen with the weight of his stare, and for a minute, it’s like it’s only he and I in the world as the faces and people and cars spin around us, leaving us isolated and alone.

The corner of his mouth tilts up.

He lifts his hand.

He’s waving.

At me.

I gulp, and return the wave, then realize that I must look ridiculous, standing limply in the street, staring at him like a forlorn puppy.

“Who is that?” Richard asks impatiently and I snap from my daze, jolted back into Richard’s harsh reality.

“I don’t know,” I lie. “I think he’s a drifter. I noticed him in town the other day.”

Part of that isn’t a lie. I do think he’s a drifter. And I did notice him the other day. Many many times, all through the night.

Richard’s pale eyes narrow. “He looks as though he knows you.”

But at that moment, almost like he heard, Phillip shifts his gaze away, as though I’m a stranger, as though he was mistaken for waving at me.

It crushes me soul and I swallow hard.

“See? I guess he thought he knew me but was mistaken.”

Richard pauses, but I’m not important enough for his concern. He returns his attention to the matter at hand.

“I’m going to leave you in the dress shop, while I attend to a few things.”

I know his “few things” include visiting the brothel so that his depraved, unnatural wants may be attended to, but I don’t indicate that I know. Instead, I simply nod.

He leaves me at the shop and I disappear inside.

I obediently wait inside a dressing room while they prepare my gown, and when they offer to help me put it on, I decline. I can dress myself, for God’s sake.

“Can I be of assistance?”

Phillip’s silky voice is in my ear just as I’m struggling to fasten the spine full of pearl buttons.

“How did you…you can’t be… they can’t see you here!” I finally manage to say, while at the same time throwing my arms around his neck and clinging to him. His scent is so familiar and I suck it down.

“Don’t fret, ma Cherie,” he tells me. “No one knows I’m here.”

His fingers deftly fasten my buttons and he stands behind me in the mirror.

“You are beautiful,” he whispers, his lips on my neck, his hands flattened against my belly.

My belly.

I feel instantly queasy and turn to him, clutching his fingers.

“Phillip, I… I must tell you something.”

He waits and he’s calm, and the words come tumbling out.

“I’m pregnant. It’s yours.”

His smile is immediate and radiant and for just a minute, I entertain the notion that he’ll sweep me out of this room and away from this town and everything will be okay.

But that hope is dashed when he nods.

“That pleases me, ma Cherie. We’ll always be connected by this, my heart.”

His meaning slams into me.

He doesn’t intend to be with me at all.

“But…” I stammer. “I want to be with you. We could be a family. Maybe we could make everything work.”

His look is sympathetic. “You must take care of your mother,” he reminds me. “I cannot do that. I don’t have roots, Livvie. I don’t have a place in the world or means to care for her or for you. Take this chance. Raise our baby to be a Savage. He’ll be esteemed and so will you. I cannot do that for you.”

My heart crumbles into dust and I can’t even cry because I am shocked, so so shocked.

“I thought you loved me,” I say and it comes out as a whimper.

“I do,” he tells me firmly. “In my own way, I do.”

He palms my belly and bends to kiss it. “We’ll have a son,” he announces, as if just touching my belly had given him that knowledge. “Name him Adair, Livvie. It’s a family name.”

“He’ll have your last name,” I say firmly even though Phillip has disappointed me. Even though I feel lost, so lost. “He’ll never be a Savage. I won’t have it.”

“If you must,” Phillip answers, and it is clear that he doesn’t feel as strongly as I do. “Just raise him well, Livvie. I’m sorry I cannot be what you need me to be.”

My heart throbs and he kisses my forehead and then he’s gone and I’m a heap on the floor in the middle of my voluminous white dress.

How will I survive this? How will my heart keep beating?

I don’t know.

After the fitting, after they determine that they do in fact have to take out the bust, I sit with my hands clasped around my stomach. Inside, Phillip’s child grows. If Phillip is gone, his child will give me strength. He’ll be my one true light, my purpose.

When I walk back to Whitley, it is with renewed spirit.

I know what I have to do.

I marry Richard seven days later.

R
ichard’s sister
Laura comes home from college for the ceremony, and during the reception, she sits by me, clasping my hand within hers.

“You seem so sad, Liv,” she says, her red hair swirling around her shoulders. Laura has always been as beautiful as a wood sprite, so fierce, so fiery.

“I’m not,” I insist, but my voice isn’t convincing and Laura doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t press it.

“I’m telling my mother soon that I’m leaving England,” she confides, her slender arm wrapping around my shoulder. I’m startled by this and horrified.

“You can’t!” I exclaim. Because short of Mr. Savage, she’s my only ally. She’s the only decent one, and her mother would never allow it.

Laura laughs softly and it’s a tinkling sound. “I’m in love,” she confides. “And to an American! He was on holiday and we met and it’s been wonderful.” Her face clouds over. “But mother will never approve, and Daddy can’t be found.”

She’s right. Mr. Savage isn’t here for the wedding, and Eleanor acts as though nothing is wrong. It’s very strange.

“What will I do without you?” I ask, and even though I try to sound like I’m joking, I’m not and Laura knows it.

“You don’t have to stay here,” she tells me. “I’d help your mother. We’d figure something out, Liv. You’re my friend. I don’t want you to be miserable. My brother can be…difficult.”

“For everyone but you,” I whisper, and she looks at me, because she knows exactly what I mean. Her brother is in love with her, and he has been their whole lives.

He’s always tried to fill the void elsewhere, in brothels, with prostitutes and men and even boys, trying to fill sick need that he has for his own sister.

It never works.

He still lusts after Laura.

But that doesn’t stop him from trying.

Richard came home last night smelling of sex… the kind of smell that comes from being with another man. One of his favorite things to do is have rough, aggressive male-on-male sex, and he prefers his males to be barely legal, and he does unspeakable things to them, all in the name of trying to avoid being with his sister. I’ve known it. I’ve always known it, and so has Laura.

I cup my belly, and the sense of peace I get when I do is profound.

I shake my head. “I’ll be fine,” I tell her. “I’ll just miss you. You need to leave here and we both know why.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” she answers and she nods because she knows, too. “But I’ll come home to visit. Don’t you worry.”

If she’s smart, she won’t, but I know she’ll come back. She’s got the Savage sense of duty, no matter how much fear she has of her brother, or how much she dislikes her mother.

The reception drags on, but that’s fine with me, because I’m afraid that even though he won’t want to, Richard will feel a sense of duty to consummate our marriage. It isn’t until the wee hours of morning that we find ourselves in Richard’s suite, a cold set of rooms where I will live from now on.

“You should bathe,” Richard tells me, and his voice is disdainful. “It’s been a long day.”

I’m too tired to bathe, but I’m also too tired to argue. “Can you unbutton my dress?”

I only ask because I’m too tired to try and reach the tiny pearls. Richard seems horrified, but he does as I ask with cold fingers. I have to steel myself from shirking away from his touch.

What a beautiful wedding night
, I think sadly.
I should be here with Phillip.
But I force all thoughts of Phillip out of my mind, trying to tell myself that it’s as though he died. That’s how unavailable Phillip is to me now. I need to allow myself to grieve him.

I bathe and let the hot steam carry my stress away, my feet propped up on the tile. My eyes are closed until Richard clears his throat right next to the tub.

“Hello, Olivia,” he says formally, as though he hasn’t just seen me a moment ago. “I’d like to have a conversation with you when you’re finished.”

He means now. I can see that on his face.

I nod curtly, and he doesn’t look at my naked body at all, not even a glance. I stand up and dry off and follow him into the bedroom, dressed in a robe.

“I won’t be requiring your sexual services,” Richard says without preface. I’m not surprised and don’t even try to act like it.

“Ever?” I ask, to clarify, afraid to hope.

“Ever,” he answers. The breath sort of whooshes from my lungs in relief. Sex with Richard would be like having sex with a cold fish.

“What I require from you is an exemplary wife. I need for you to exhibit high regard for the Savage name, and to go through the motions of being a doting wife in public.”

“But not in private?”

He stares at me. “In private, you will obey me. You will respect me. But you will not need to dote.”

Well, thank God.

I think of my baby though, and my hands flutter, because if Richard and I never have sex… he’ll know without a doubt that the baby isn’t his. Not that I want it to be his.

“I…” my voice trails off because I don’t know what to do. I feel the need to tell him, to be honest, but I probably should’ve been honest before the wedding, not after. Fear kept me from it.

“Yes?” Richard’s brow is raised.

“I must tell you something.”

He waits.

I tell him.

“I’m pregnant.”

So is the silence.

Richard stares at me for a long time.

“Well, that’s one less thing to worry about,” he finally answers. “An heir, that is.”

“I don’t want my baby to have your last name,” I tell him, and I’m determined. My baby won’t be a Savage.

He stares at me again. “Who is the father, pray tell?”

“You don’t know him. And he’s gone now.”

I think.

“He’d better be,” Richard finally answers. “You will not disgrace me.”

That’s all he’s worried about?

I nod and he thinks.

“The child won’t leave the estate, just in case it doesn’t resemble either you or I. We’ll have private tutors in, and no one will know. We’ll say it’s unwell, so no one will wonder.”

All he cares about is public perception and the fact that he won’t have to bed me.

I’m relieved and sickened at the same time.

But I nod.

“Very well,” Richard says icily. He turns to leave. “Oh, and Olivia?”

“Yes?”

He turns around and backhands me hard enough to knock me into the wall. The room seems to splinter from the pain of it. It swirls and twirls, and when I touch my cheek, my fingers come back with blood on them, and the metallic taste fills my mouth, running from my teeth.

“Don’t disgrace me again.”