Page 135 of The Duke's Daring Bride

Before Alistair could chastise his friend for comparing his sister’s breasts to eggs, the man was off.

Alistair’s musings were interrupted by a small hand slipping into his, and he smiled down at Olivia. Unlike Fawkes, she hadn’t surprised him; he’d been aware of her approach, in the same way he was always aware of her location.

He was a compass, and she his magnetic north.

A part of him always pointed due Olivia.

“Hello, husband,” she gushed, “isn’t this the most wonderful time?”

His nod was perhaps less than enthusiastic, because she smirked, then announced quite loudly, “Your mother is delighted, and both of your sisters are delighted to be attending such an event.” Then she lowered her voice and murmured, “Finally.”

Alistair glanced at her sharply and saw the humor dancing in her eyes. With a barely concealed smile, she said in a low voice, “There, now they can all think me a ninny, and you’re chastising me.”

His fingers tightened around hers, as he frowned. “Never.”

Rather than replying, Olivia flicked her gaze toward the far wall. “Have you been keeping an eye on Bonkinbone? He has only socialized with those men and hasn’t moved at all.”

With a soft grunt, Alistair turned them both so he could watch their quarry from the corner of his eye, while appearing to converse with Olivia. “Wine?”

She, of course, understood what he was asking. “No, which is galling. His companions are guzzling your mother’s champagne, but we can’t hide the belladonna in champagne. And no, before you ask, Bonkinbone hasn’t had any champagne either.”

Remembering the way the Earl had brushed aside Rocky’s offer of the poisoned wine, Alistair frowned. The man really hadn’t had anything to drink?

“He looks as if he’s been drinking, I have to admit.” Olivia hummed, cocking her head to one side as she pretended to straighten Alistair’s necktie. “When I greeted him earlier, he was breathing heavily.”

She’d spoken to him? Alistair covered her hand with one of his, flattening it against his lapel, and raised a brow.

No word was necessary.

“I didn’t provoke him, or do anything to indicate our plan. I just figured one of us needed to welcome him, since we invited him specifically. Truthfully, he barely looked at me.” She grinned impishly. “I don’t think he approves of your choice of a wife.”

Auld bastard was likely comparing Olivia to his own daughters.

“I wish Demon and Georgia could be here,” Olivia said softly, continuing her pretense of fussing over his lapel—as if his valet would allow him out of the room with a speck of dust on his formal wear! “But I understand why they couldn’t be.”

Bonkinbone’s younger daughter, Danielle, had been invited, along with her husband, the ailing Viscount Cumnock…but they’d declined with regrets. Georgia had told them since her brother-in-law’s illness, Danielle rarely left the house.

And truthfully, it was a relief to know they wouldn’t be poisoning the man in front of his own children.

What they were going to do to Bonkinbone…it felt wrong. It was a good cause, and a good plan—it would work. But…

Perhaps his expression gave away his feelings, because Olivia twined her fingers through his again. “I know you don’t like this,” she whispered. “But it is our best chance at bringing Blackrose out of hiding. And after John…”

When her voice caught, she swallowed and tried for a smile.

Alistair’s chest tightened. She claimed she had no love left for her older step-brother, but there was clearly some kind of feeling. “Re…venge?” he rasped.

Her smile turned rueful. “Perhaps not. John seems to have received what he deserved. But by helping to bring Blackrose down, I feel…” She shrugged. “We’re helping to punish the man who led him astray. The man who is ultimately to blame for ruining so many agents’ lives.”

And that was why she was doing this.

Not just because it was the right thing to do, but because it would bring Olivia—the woman he loved—peace.

Alistair took a deep breath.

He knew how to get Bonkinbone to drink the belladonna. He didn’t like it—had never liked it—but deep down, he’d always known it would work.

He would have to speak.

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