Page 88 of The Duke's Daring Bride

Alistair captured her hand and peered at her thumb. There was a smear of ink there.

“Sorry. I guess I transferred it to you when…”

She didn’t look contrite. She looked like a woman who’d just been kissed by her husband.

Grinning, he curled his fingers through hers and tugged her back toward the front door.

“Perhaps we should return home and get cleaned up,” she offered.

Home.

But home was…somehow more chaotic. She sent him an apologetic glance as her maid dragged her off to her chambers to “get duchessy”, as she said. And Alistair had his own business to attend to.

After two days on the train, and an outing to her printing office, he should’ve been exhausted. But instead he closeted himself in his office with reports from real estate brokers. The idea he’d had—to move the offices of The Daily Movement to Fleet Street—was a new one, but he had enough reports accumulated that he could check the feasibility before proposing it to her…

He lost track of the time, and the shadows had lengthened when Hiro knocked on the door then stepped inside. “Your Grace, you and Her Grace have a visitor.”

Her Grace? Olivia? Frowning, Alistair looked up. Who would be coming to see both—a sudden thought sent a spear of ice through his veins. Was it in relation to that disastrous dinner? What had happened?

Hiro must have understood, because his expression eased. “It is Thorne, Your Grace.”

Alistair nodded, but his attention was still dwelling in the past when he stood. He pulled his notebook from his breast pocket and scribbled, “The dinner?” as he passed Hiro.

His butler fell into step beside him. “No,” he murmured under his breath, falling back into his role as a friend. “The rumors about both of you have been nasty, but there has not been much heat behind them. Tuckinroll—or his wife—almost certainly started them, and they are being dismissed as jealousy.”

Alistair had to admit he was surprised.

When he twitched a brow at Hiro, his friend nodded, then lightly slapped his back. “See? Nothing to worry about. You allowed Society to see you, and they ignored your eccentricities. Both of you.”

Eccentricities? Alistair snorted. He was no eccentric. He just didn’t fooking speak!

But he did breathe a little easier as he stepped into the parlor. If Society was ignoring the outcome of that disaster of a meal, perhaps Olivia’s stint as a duchess would be painless.

“Effinghell!” Thorne announced as he stood, relief in his expression, “I hadnae realized I beat ye in returning!”

Aye, Alistair had lingered a day at Peasgoode. Now he wondered if he’d been avoiding returning home, uncertain of his reception.

As he shook the other man’s hand, Thorne looked around. “Where’s yer wife? Ye ken I’m here for her?”

Why? Alistair shot Hiro a look, and the butler bowed as he retreated, leaving his master to raise a brow at the man he had no choice but to call friend.

Sighing, Thorne dragged a hand through his hair. “I returned to London on a hunt for a very particular person, a sister of the man—” He shook his head. “I dinnae realized ye’d married her, no’ until I saw the papers announcing yer new wife’s name! If I’d thought to ask ye when I was here last—or even in Scotland!—I would’ve saved myself some trouble!”

That was no answer.

“Alistair?” Her voice sounded hesitant, and he whirled, hand already out, beckoning her to his side. Shite, what right did he have to feel so proprietorial when it came to this woman?

They were married in name only, were they not?

As Olivia stood nervously beside him, he gestured toward Thorne, who took over the introductions.

“Milady—Yer Grace, I suppose I should say—I’m Viscount Thornebury, but my friends call me Thorne.”

She glanced toward Alistair. “And does my husband consider you a friend?”

Thorne’s grin was as charming as ever and made Alistair’s palms itch to break a few teeth. “Effinghell puts up with me occasionally,” he quipped, which made Olivia grin.

“Well then, I suppose that makes you bosom pals.” She dipped slightly. “I’m Olivia. My mother-in-law insists I need to stop curtseying to lesser mortals, and never introduce myself by my first name. In fact, I don’t think I’m supposed to be introducing myself, am I?”

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