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Bonkinbone, however, began to chuckle.

It wasn’t a pleasant chuckle—more of a wheeze, really. His shoulders shook, and sweat began to drip from his temples. “Good Lord, Effinghell,” he choked out, pointing one of the fingers which had been around the wine glass stem, while the other hand clutched at his chest. “You sound—You sound—”

His cronies were either stepping away from him—clearly trying to distance themselves from the arsehole—or were chuckling right along with the Earl.

Alistair leveled his gaze at the older man and waited for him to drink.

Any moment now.

Bonkinbone’s laughter grew strained, his face turning red while the fingers of his free hand curled as if he was trying to dig into his chest. “Horrible!” he gasped.

And it most definitely was a gasp.

In almost slow motion, the Earl dropped his glass, poisoned wine spilling across the shined floors as he pitched sideways. He stumbled, even as Alistair instinctively reached for the man and missed, then fell to his knees.

Now both Bonkinbone’s hands clutched at his chest, his jaw slack and his eyes wide with disbelief.

Slowly, silently…the Earl collapsed in the puddle of wine, and silence reigned.

Well shite. That’s one way to handle it.

Chapter 23

“His heart gave out?” Olivia frowned down at the physician’s report Alistair had handed her right before he’d dropped, clearly exhausted, on the chair across from her. “Is he dead?”

Sighing, her husband shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Nay. But…” He nodded to the report in her hand. “Doesnae…look good.”

Olivia’s heart gave a little squeeze, remembering how he’d spoken at tonight’s party. No, yesterday? It was well after midnight, and although she had dismissed her maid and was ready for bed, she hadn’t been able to sleep until Alistair returned.

And he’d been busy with the physicians who’d been called after Bonkinbone had been rushed to a guestroom.

“On his way…home now.” Alistair shook his head. “They said…he will likely no’…recover.” His voice sounded worse than usual. But then he’d used it far more in the last few hours than he had in the last few years, hadn’t he? “Food…drink…smoking.”

Olivia made a little sound of understanding. “He didn’t look terribly healthy tonight, did he? Goodness, that was…” All of it had been…“Scary.”

He grunted in agreement, but his eyes were closed and his head was tipped back against the chair, so Olivia felt comfortable studying him.

Had Alistair been scared? Olivia’s stomach hadn’t un-clenched all night—it still hadn’t! But he’d been the brave one.

Alistair had not only spoken in public for the first time in many years, but he’d done so to the very people who had ridiculed him so often as a child. And he’d chosen to do it, because he’d known it would force Bonkinbone to drink the wine.

But as it turned out, the earl hadn’t had a sip. Hadn’t needed a sip.

The shock—or perhaps, cruel humor—at hearing Alistair speak had been enough to trigger spasms in the Earl’s heart. According to the report she now placed on the little table beside the sofa, Bonkinbone’s heart had been weak for a while, he had just refused to acknowledge it.

Does Georgia know?

Olivia winced at the thought. Bonkinbone had two daughters; what happened tonight would cause them pain. Danielle may as yet be unaware. Georgia had said she had no cause to love her father, but she hadn’t wanted the man dead. She’d agreed to this scheme only because her father would be thought to be ill, not actually in danger.

Now he was.

Olivia should have been pleased, knowing the outcome was the same; her paper and others would carry news of Bonkinbone’s illness, and Blackrose—knowing he was the Earl’s heir—would come out of hiding.

But instead, she just felt…hollow.

There was an empty place in her chest, and she didn’t know why. And it had something to do with the man seated across from her.

Alistair had sacrificed his pride for her tonight. For her, and her scheme. He’d opened himself up to the ridicule which he feared so very much, and he’d done it for her.