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His thumb pressed into the ball of her foot, and her protest morphed into a moan of pleasure.

Cheese, wine, and a foot rub?

“Oh Alistair,” she breathed, dropping her head back. “I do love you.”

His hands stilled for a moment, then began to move once more. His touch soothed her muscles, silently, until he reached her heel. Then he rasped, “Do ye?”

Her eyes flew open. “Of course. I told you that.”

She had told him that, hadn’t she? Tonight, when she’d been so afraid for him. It hadn’t been a dream?

“Then dinnae…scare me.”

Her fingers paused in their toying with one of the grapes. “Scare you? Bonkinbone was the one who scared us!”

With his eyes closed and resting against the back of the sofa, Alistair seemed completely at ease. His fingers never stopped their soothing rubbing but his lips thinned.

“No’ tonight. Last.”

Last night?

She groaned and dropped her own head back. “Would you believe I’d forgotten about that?”

So much had happened since he’d discovered her in Auld Gus’s tavern, but that had in fact been the night before, hadn’t it?

“I am sorry,” Olivia mumbled, uncertain if she’d said it already. “I should have trusted you.”

He grunted in agreement, his hands were gentle. “Ye…endangered yerself.”

She peeked open one eye to see him frowning down at her feet in his lap. “I endangered myself? You’re the one who flits about London’s worst neighborhoods, challenging ruffians and being regularly threatened.”

Alistair opened his mouth, then shut it again, frowning. She knew he was frustrated because his voice wasn’t up to a long argument, so waved away his objections. Unfortunately, she did the waving with the hand which still held the grape, which launched from her hand and flew toward his head.

He snatched it out of the air and popped it into his mouth, still frowning at her.

“Yes, yes,” she admitted with a sigh. “You’ve trained. You know how to defend yourself. You’re quite dangerous, et cetera, et cetera.” Goodness, her new sisters were having a bad influence on her. She picked up another grape and bit into it. “But Alistair, I write for a newspaper! I investigate! I’m used to hunting down a story.”

“No’ alone.”

Her eyes widened and she thrust herself upright, seriously endangering the plate of cheese in her lap. “Alistair Kincaid, are you telling me I can’t be a reporter? I can’t follow a story?”

He glared right back. “Nay, but… Ye could be…” One hand cupped her foot while the other gestured toward her stomach. “My heir, Liv.”

Unconsciously, her grape-holding hand dropped to her waist. Pregnant? Well, that had been the plan, hadn’t it?

It wasn’t as though they hadn’t had a really good try.

“Our heir, Alistair,” she shot right back. “And he would grow up knowing his mother—yes, a duchess, but also her own woman—runs a newspaper!”

His expression softened slightly. “From…safer part…London.”

It took her a moment to figure out what he was saying. “You want me to move our offices?”

Alistair’s nod was immediate, and when he mentioned the new address—and Fleet Street was quite the address!—she settled back again intrigued. They spoke for a few minutes about the logistics and feasibility of moving the printing presses versus just the offices, and he agreed to escort her to the new premises as soon as possible. In return, she agreed that she wouldn’t go “gallivanting across creation” alone.

A bodyguard? Olivia had rolled her eyes at that offer. Hiro could do it, of course, but he was far too busy. “I’d rather have you,” she admitted.

He grinned. “Agreed.”