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Amanda, however, seemed angry about the revelation. She pointed her spoon at him. “Say something else,” she demanded.

He grinned, deciding the self-consciousness about how horrible his voice sounded was worth it to see their reactions. “Nay.”

Amelia gasped again. “You do sound like Hamish!” As they turned questioning gazes on her, she blushed. “All these years, in my mind, I imagined you sounded like Hamish. Like…Father.”

Ah. A brogue.

Aye, Alistair supposed that he did have Father’s brogue.

His grin grew. “Aye,” he croaked.

Mother was done not-quite-choking-to-death and decided to use her now available breath to shriek. When he turned to her, she hurled her napkin at him, then her spoon.

Both were easy enough to dodge, but he stared—agog agape aghast—at the woman who’d borne him. The woman who was, even now, rising to throw herself at him.

He stood and caught her up, and she went limp in his arms.

But as he held her she stared up at him, eyes bright with unshed tears, her palm coming up to gently cup his face.

“Mother?” he rasped, suddenly worried. Tears?

“Oh, Alistair.” With a sob, the tears spilled from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “I never dreamed I would hear…”

Obviously overcome with emotion, she allowed her words to trail off as she silently cried, clutching his cheeks.

And he understood. How long had it been since he’d last called her Mother? How long since she’d last heard his voice?

As long as it’s been since she heard yer Father’s voice, ye arsehole. All these years, she’s been mourning ye both.

He felt tears pricking his own eyes as he hugged her closer. “Mother.”

“Oh, my Alistair,” she sobbed, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him as hard as she was able.

Over her head he met Olivia’s eyes, and saw she was smiling through her tears. Amanda was scowling, Amelia was beaming, and somewhere, a tortoise was lumbering through his house with a half-empty soup bowl on its back with a ridiculously dim footman following him, inch by inch.

Aye, his wife had been right; joining his family had been the right thing to do.

* * *

Olivia clamped her knees tightly around his sides and rocked forward, so the tip of Alistair’s cock hit that secret, wonderful place deep inside her. She loved this position, loved being able to control the pace of their love-making.

Loved the way, as she began to orgasm, she could lean forward and press herself against his chest, tuck her head up under his chin, and squeeze her eyes shut. Just allowing the pleasure to burst over her as she held onto him for dear life, and he took over, thrusting desperately into her core.

Afterward she could lie atop him, secure in the knowledge she wasn’t too heavy for him, and allow that beautiful, sated sensation to seep through her limbs, her very veins, as she listened to his heartbeat mingling with her own.

Alistair’s lips brushed across the crown of her head, and she smiled against his scars.

This was…bliss.

But tonight had been special, she had to admit.

Seeing him interacting with his family had been amazing, and knowing she’d had a hand in that had been even better. She’d been the one to cajole him into joining them for a meal, and it had been as special as she’d been hoping.

None of the embarrassment or worry of that horrible dinner party. None of the judgement of Society; just people who loved him.

As she did.

Sighing, Olivia snuggled closer to him.