Page 107 of The Duke's Daring Bride

There was no use denying it; she’d gone and fallen in love with her husband. The Duke of Effinghell. She might be a completely unsuitable wife for him, but her heart had ignored that fact.

He’d married her because she was so far beneath him in status, and he needed the control. But how did he feel about her now?

Perhaps she needed to ask him.

Perhaps they should have a discussion about the direction of this marriage?

Perhaps not on the same night you forced him into the company of his family.

Ah yes. No matter how sarcastic her inner dialogue managed to be, it was correct. There’d been enough changes recently, tonight in particular.

It really had been a special night; after his mother had calmed herself, she’d refused to release Alistair’s hand. Olivia had offered her seat so the older woman could sit beside her son, and poor Alistair had eaten one-handed. His mother hadn’t eaten at all.

Luckily, they’d all seemed to understand he wasn’t ready for long conversations. As the discussion had swirled around them—Amanda’s plans, Amelia’s pets—he’d offered a few comments here and there, but mostly relied on his eyebrows to convey his responses, as usual.

He really did have remarkable eyebrows, like two expressive caterpillars glued to his forehead.

Oh dear, she must be tired, if she was waxing poetic about his eyebrows.

And comparing them to caterpillars isn’t exactly flattering.

Olivia grinned against his chest, but it swiftly turned into a yawn. One of Alistair’s hands was running up and down her back, fingers tracing soft caresses along her spine, and the sensation was delicious.

The only sore spot of the evening had been when his mother had once again brought up the idea of a ball to introduce Olivia to Society. In fact, she’d become excited at the idea of introducing Alistair to Society.

Olivia’s heart had sunk, remembering the disastrous dinner party, and Alistair’s expression had hardened. “Nay,” he’d rasped, despite his mother’s pouting, and Olivia had breathed a sigh of relief.

She had no desire to parade herself in front of a Society who would judge her harshly, and she would protect Alistair with everything in her.

He’d overcome so much in his life; she wouldn’t be the cause of more pain.

His caresses were lulling and she yawned again. When she felt his lips on her crown once more, she took that to mean he was urging her to go to sleep.

So she smiled sleepily and followed Alistair’s command.

Who knows how much time passed? She wasn’t in a deep sleep, more of a doze when he shifted. Perhaps he’d merely been intending to roll over and dim the lights, but whatever the case, his movement woke Olivia.

And in that moment, that strange moment between awake and asleep, that in-between state…she had a thought.

A horrible, wonderful, absolutely fantastical thought which caused her to gasp and bolt upright.

Unfortunately this meant digging her elbows into his ribs, which caused him to make a noise not unlike a grunt then glare at her.

“Sorry.” She grinned sheepishly. “I just…had an idea.”

He stilled, raising one of those caterpillar brows, as if asking her to share.

But Olivia was still trying to grasp the thought, trying to understand it. “I think…” Shaking her head, she rolled off him so she could stare up at the canopy and work her way through it without the distraction of his inviting flesh. “It was about the hunt for Blackrose. Thorne’s last missive said they’d had no luck finding him, which means he must have been alerted, correct?”

Alistair was watching her, propped up on the pillows. She took his little chin-dip as agreement.

She chewed on her bottom lip, working through the thought. It was slipping away, but if she could just catch hold of it… “What if…what if it was his brother, the Earl, who had alerted him? What if those coded messages he’s been posting in my newspapers…what if those were to Blackrose?”

Olivia realized she was holding her breath. It wasn’t until his eyes widened, then he nodded, that she released it. It was a good theory, and Alistair had just confirmed it.

“I have copies of all of our back-issues in our archives. I could collect his coded messages and perhaps someone smarter than I could work on them,” she mused.

He’d twined his fingers through hers, and now he squeezed them. She glanced at him, and offered a hesitant smile.

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