Page 145 of The Duke's Daring Bride

They’d decided that eventually, she would back away even more from the paper. Perhaps once she was carrying the Effinghell heir? She was coming to realize she didn’t have to personally oversee every edition of the paper… But until then, he’d stand beside her as she fought for London’s poorest citizens.

Olivia herself had personally written a moving piece about the death of The Dark Knight, linking “his” demise to a body pulled from the Thames. She called upon all decent-minded people to step forward and offer support and protection, when they could, and included a list of worthwhile charities which helped the working poor.

Alistair was realizing he didn’t need to put his body in danger when his wallet could do so much better work. Although he did still spar regularly with Hiro.

Wouldn’t do to get out of practice.

“Dinnae fash, Demon,” Thorne was saying. “We’ll lure Blackrose out of hiding. Even without the code, word of his brother’s collapse and near-death will reach him.”

“He might wait until the bastard’s dead.”

Thorne shrugged. “Then we’ll have to rely on Danielle’s brain to crack the code and call him back. Either way, it’s done. Thanks to our friend Alistair here, Bonkinbone is down—”

Alistair lifted his hands, palms out. “Dinnae poison…him.”

“Och, I ken that. But he collapsed in public, thanks to ye, and the word got out that much faster. He might’ve had a heart spasm at home, behind closed doors, completely selfishly…but the report was so much more sensational, seeing as how he collapsed here, in front of all of his cronies and half of Society.”

Wincing, Alistair hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat. He still hated that he’d had to open his home—and himself—to his enemies…but he was also a little proud of his part in bringing Blackrose to justice.

And thankful he hadn’t had to bloody poison anyone.

Perhaps the conversation about Blackrose might’ve continued, had Mother not bustled over with Amelia in tow. Alistair glanced around but didn’t see Amanda anywhere; perhaps she was hiding. Or she’d found someone to listen to her dissertations on the Rights Of Women And Silly Hair Ornaments.

“Darlings, is this not wonderful?” his mother enthused. “Your Grace, milord.” She offered a low curtsey to Demon and Thorne, then nudged his sister to do the same.

Amelia rolled her eyes and offered a little dip, which caused Alistair to smirk, Demon to roll his eyes, and Thorne to scoop up her hand and press a kiss to the back of it.

“Lady Amelia, ye’re looking ravishing, as always.”

While Mother tittered happily at the attention from a Viscount, Amelia seemed completely at ease, tapping Thorne lightly with her fan. “I do not intend to be ravished, milord.”

“Of course no’,” he quipped blithely, “but a work of art should be admired.”

“Look out!” Demon suddenly barked, slamming his hand into Thorne’s shoulder in either an unexpected act of violence, or to hurriedly push him out of the way.

But he was too late.

Alistair was in a position to have seen Hamish sweeping across the room from his perch, but hadn’t thought to warn Thorne. Demon had seen the danger…and poor Thorne didn’t know what hit him when a full-grown cockatoo landed on his head.

“Christ!” he yelled, dropped Amelia’s hand to crouch and flail at his head. “What in the fook—”

“Language, milord,” Mother scolded, clearly disappointed in Thorne as a possible suitor for her daughter. “It is only a wee bird.”

“Fooking magnificent!” crowed Hamish.

“Cankerous cock-womble,” muttered Demon, hauling Thorne to his feet. “Dinnae let it take off. Birds shite when they take off.”

“Actually, Your Grace, that is a falsehood.” Amelia looked as if she was trying not to laugh. “Hamish is perfectly well behaved. Are you not, dearest?”

The cockatoo had hopped down to Thorne’s shoulder and now settled his feathers. “Jabber jabber show us yer knickers!”

“That means yes,” Amelia whispered behind her fan to Demon.

“I find it often does, in my marriage,” the scarred man deadpanned.

“Fooking duchess,” the bird squawked. “Magnificent!”

“He has become very territorial of me, lately,” Amelia began apologetically to Thorne. “I am incubating, you see.”

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