Page 43 of Bad Duke

“Okay.” She rests her hand over mine and gives me that kind, sweet smile that lets me know everything really is going to be okay.

* * *

It's almost dark when we get home and when I step through the door Barnaby lets me know he’s got something important to tell me with a raised eyebrow. I send Olivia up for a soak in the bath reminding her not to draw it too hot. She makes a cute little laugh and kisses my cheek before she heads on up the stairs with Pico and Vinci dancing around her legs like a fucking tripping hazard as she goes.

“What's the matter?” I ask him, moving us into my office.

“The results of your sibling tests arrived by courier,” he informs me, handing over the envelope he’s had behind his back.

I waste no time, ripping it open and learning that myself and Beatrice are in fact half brother and sister.

“Well, she was telling the truth.” I slam it on my desk. How many surprises can one man get in a day?

“Would you like me to make an appointment with her?” Barnaby suggests.

“I don’t know. There was something about her I didn’t trust. I get why Dad wanted to keep her a secret, and paying her off is typical of him. What am I supposed to do, keep paying her to protect our family name? It feels icky.” I screw up my nose and look out the window.

“You do what you feel is right, Your Grace.” Barnaby puts it in simple terms.

“Fine, make the appointment, but not here. I don’t want Olivia to know about her yet. I don’t want my girl worrying about anything.” I make that point very clear.

“Your girl?” Barnaby peers at me over his glasses with a knowing smile on his face.

“Fiancée, whatever you want to call her. She’s mine,” I snap at him when I realise what an idiot I sound.

“Very good, Your Grace.” The old man turns his back and sees himself out, while I stare at the piece of paper that confirms I have a sister.

* * *

Olivia is in the bath when I make my way upstairs, she’s got her hair up in a loose bun and her head back, relaxing, just like she should be.

I stand in the door frame and admire her, already knowing that I’m going to love the way her body changes over the coming months. I’ve pictured it in my head enough and there's nothing more satisfying than knowing the woman you're crazy about is growing you a child.

“You just going to stare or are you going to join me?” she asks, without opening her eyes.

“How long have you known I was here?” I ask, stepping towards her and crouching down beside the tub.

“I sensed the anxiety before you even reached the top step of the stairs.” She smiles to herself.

“Joke all you like, just leave all the worrying to me.” I touch my hand to her flat stomach and wonder if she’s carrying a boy or a girl. I know how important it is for men of my title to have male heirs, but I really wouldn't mind if she gave me a girl. Anything this woman gave me would feel like a blessing.

“We’re going to be fine, all three of us. I can sense it, just like I could sense you coming up the stairs.” She tries to ease my mind, and picking up the bubbles that have settled around her in my hand I gently stroke them over her body.

“Yeah, we’re going to be fine.” I kiss her, then wash every inch of her body before I help her get out and wrap her up in my bathrobe.

“Alex, have you had any luck finding my brother? I’d really like to tell him that he’s going to be an uncle.” The smile on her face looks so fucking precious, I swipe my thumb over her bottom lip so I can capture it and feel the knife twist in my heart at the same time.

“Not yet, pretty girl, but I’ll keep looking,” I lie to her, because there's no way, now that she’s in her condition, that I’m going to tell her that her brother’s dead.

OLIVIA

SIX WEEKS LATER

“If you can’t see that he has my jawline you need to get your eyes checked.” Alex continues to argue with me as I stare at the ultrasound image of our baby. A perfectly formed little person, that's made all the throwing up I’ve done these past six weeks seem worth it.

“Well, pray it’s a boy because I don’t think a girl with your jawline would be photogenic.”

“Don’t think because you are in a delicate condition that you can get away with insulting me,” he warns, lifting me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. He anchors his hand around my throat and pulls me onto his lips, and it puts that needy, desperate feeling in the pit of my stomach. Ever since my nausea has started to ease off I’ve found myself getting more and more turned on, even by the slightest thing he does.

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