Page 137 of The Duke's Daring Bride

Alistair was grinning when he looked up to find his butler—his friend—holding a tray with three glasses of wine.

The other man’s expression was carefully blank, as if Alistair couldn’t see the glint of excitement in those dark eyes.

“The wine you requested, Your Graces. Might I suggest you will find the wine in the two leftmost glasses more to your tastes?”

Olivia reached for one of the glasses on the left. “Does this mean the one on the right is poisoned?” she whispered.

“Your subtlety is, of course, accurate, Your Grace,” Hiro intoned, staring straight ahead, as Alistair tried to hold in his laughter.

Why did his chest feel so light? He was about to poison a man, after all. He was about to reveal his vulnerabilities to a man who could hurt him. So why did he feel like laughing?

Because Olivia loves ye.

Ah, yes, that was it.

Still grinning, Alistair took the remaining two glasses—his would remain in his left hand—and offered his arm to his wife. She slipped her free hand through his elbow and they swept across the room.

Surprisingly, the closer he came to Bonkinbone and his cronies, the more at ease Alistair felt. With Olivia at his side—with her love…

They couldn’t hurt him.

Nothing could hurt him.

Not their mocking, not their whispers.

Not even if they did their best to make him a laughingstock of Society.

They couldn’t hurt him.

He was smiling when they arrived.

“Gentlemen!” Olivia declared, inserting herself into their conversation. “Welcome to our home. We’re so pleased you could attend.”

While the other men made polite murmurs, Bonkinbone’s grin turned mocking. “As if we could possibly turn down a chance to meet the new Duchess of Effinghell? We would be mad to do such a thing!”

Although his words were clever enough, Alistair was certain he wasn’t the only person to hear their disrespectful undertones.

Olivia most certainly did, judging by the way her jaw tightened, but she offered the Earl her hand anyhow. “I’m pleased you’re not mad, milord.”

Bonkinbone chuckled, as if she’d made a joke, then dropped her hand and pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow once more. Up close, he didn’t look any better than he did across the room. Alistair wasn’t the only one in their little circle eyeing him with worry.

The man’s skin was pale and his breathing too shallow. Every once in a while he’d grimace, then turn it into a smile.

If Alistair didn’t know better, he would guess the man had already been poisoned, but that was impossible; he’d had nothing to drink all evening.

“And you, Effinghell!” the Earl announced with what seemed like false cheer. “None of us could miss the opportunity to meet you in person. Finally.”

Alistair’s expression felt frozen, but he nodded in acceptance of the man’s words, if not his tone, and held out the glass of wine in his right hand.

Bonkinbone’s brows rose in surprise, and again, Olivia stepped in. “My husband noticed you hadn’t partaken this evening, milord, and made a point to bring you some of his favorite wine.”

Alistair sipped from his glass, allowing the warmth from the wine to soothe his throat, and watched Bonkinbone over the rim of the wineglass until the man took his. It was difficult to read the Earl, but he seemed almost…proud that Alistair was serving him? Or perhaps it was the fact a duke served him?

That could help.

Lifting his glass, Alistair glanced around the circle, taking them all in with his gaze. “To…ye…my lords.”

He knew his voice sounded wrong, raspy, and the responses of those gathered in the circle proved it. Bonkinbone’s cronies stared, shocked, one or two clearing their throats and sipping from their glasses to cover their awkwardness.

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