Page 111

Alistair was already shaking his head as Thorne explained, “I cannae imagine there are any more agents still alive, but as soon as I say that aloud, I’m imagining someone yelling foreshadowing. But Calderbank and Wilson were the last question marks, surely?” When Demon scowled, Thorne sighed. “I called the meeting, aye, but only because Olivia asked me to invite ye. This is her plan.”

Both Demon and Georgia’s brows shot up simultaneously.

“Who the—” Demon began, but his wife interrupted, overly loud.

“How exciting! And how are you involved in this, Olivia?”

Since their guest was smiling brightly, Olivia must have felt obligated to answer. She hesitated, though, and glanced at Alistair, then took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders as if one admitting a grave crime.

“My brother—step-brother—was John Wilson.”

Demon cursed under his breath and turned away, while his wife’s expression shifted to one of pity. Alistair’s hand was in very real danger of going numb, with Olivia squeezing it so hard.

He hated that she was in this situation. He hated that his bold, daring bride was having to risk embarrassment by speaking with people she must not be comfortable around. He hated that she was revealing a connection to such a bastard. But she was doing it, because she was the bravest damn woman he knew, and the least he could offer was some of his strength.

Gently, Alistair extricated his hand from hers, then wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. She melted against him then reached for his free hand.

If that’s what she wanted, then he could give it to her.

Christ, this was a foolhardy plan. He didn’t like it, but he also knew it would work.

And knowing the evil Blackrose—and her brother—had wrought, Alistair understood why Olivia would want to help bring down the bastard. He could agree with that.

He just didn’t like it.

Despite the trepidation he knew she must be feeling when faced with men whom her brother had harmed, Olivia’s voice was strong when she announced, “And not only was John my step-brother, but I own The Daily Movement.”

Georgia made a little sound of understanding. “The paper, of course. Demon, did you not tell me copies of The Daily Movement were among the packets delivered to Blackrose?”

“Aye.” The man scowled at Olivia, “But unless it turns out ye’ve been secretly in contact with the bastard—through yer brother?—I dinnae ken how ye’re supposed to help us.”

If this arsehole’s manners didn’t improve, Alistair was going to have to teach him a lesson. Imagining what the headlines might look like—Reclusive Duke Smashes Other Reclusive Duke’s Nose In Parlor Scuffle—he contented himself with holding Olivia and glaring at Demon.

Luckily, Thorne appeared to agree. “Olivia is blameless, Demon,” he snapped. “She had the right to ken about her step-brother’s death—and what he was involved in—so I explained to both of them weeks ago about the investigation.” He settled himself in a chair and gestured to Olivia with his glass of whisky. “And yesterday Alistair wrote to me that she had an idea.”

“Malodorous shitebiscuits,” muttered Demon.

At Alistair’s side, Olivia cleared her throat primly. “I shall hope that wasn’t casting aspersions upon me, Your Grace.”

Good God, this woman was magnificent, was she not?

As Demon grumbled, Olivia took control of their little gathering.

“First of all, a little background. John Wilson was my father’s stepson, a good deal older than me. He took Father’s name, but despite Papa’s intentions to train him in the family business, John had no interest in his newspaper. After his mother’s death, he was distant to both of us. I presumed it was grief, although I now realize that was likely because he was working for Blackrose.”

Thorne nodded. “Our records show he joined Blackrose in his early twenties. He was likely one of the first agents, if no’ the first.”

“That would explain why he was so loyal to the bastard,” Demon grumbled. “Perhaps he was in on the scheme from the beginning.”

Olivia shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised. To continue: my father left the newspaper in my hands upon his death. It was struggling then—you may have noticed we had to cut back from daily printings—and I confess it began to fail in earnest after I took over.”

“That’s because ye insist on publishing that Liberal maudlin social reform support.” Demon shifted, propping one ankle on the opposite knee. “Ye’re alienating half yer readers.”

Jesus, was the man always so negative? Alistair glared. “Worthwhile,” he rasped.

While Demon looked startled at his input—or perhaps his voice itself—Olivia smiled gratefully and squeezed Alistair’s hand.

“Thank you. Yes, I believe the causes to be worthwhile, and I’m lucky to not only have a staff which agrees, but investors. Alistair was one of my biggest investors; that’s how we met.”