Page 146

It was clear he did not. “Con…gratulations?”

“Should ye be doing that without a husband?” Demon turned his glare on Alistair. “Can ye no’ keep a better eye on yer sister?”

Mother was beside herself, trying to decide if she should hide Amelia’s quirks, or go along with the joking. “Fie, Your Grace! My daughter is innocent. She just likes birds.”

“I have two eggs shoved down my corset to keep them warm,” Amelia eagerly explained. “I cannot wait until they hatch and I can find out what kind they are.”

Thorne was eyeing her cleavage in a most objectionable way. “I’m guessing they’re no’ ostriches.”

Demon nudged him. “Unless ye’re planning on marrying the lass…”

“Oh, I am not planning on marrying,” Amelia announced airily, which caused Mother to groan.

Knowing a little of her plans, thanks to Olivia, Alistair felt his lips curl. “Did I…tell ye Kip…back?”

His sister had gasped and swung toward him. “Kipling? What?”

As Alistair nodded, Thorne explained, “He’s unexpectedly inherited a dukedom. Surprise!”

“I—” Amelia glanced around the room, then back to their group. “Excuse me, my lords.” Her curtsey was just as perfunctory this time as well. “I have to…go.”

As she hurried off, Thorne called cheerfully, “Good luck with the eggs, Lady Amelia!” and Mother groaned again.

Meanwhile, Demon had focused on someone across the room. As Thorne began to flirt with Mother, seemingly unable to stop himself, he sidled up to Alistair. “There’s a man in yer potted plants.”

Both Alistair and Thorne followed his gaze to where Fawkes did seem to be studying one of the ferns.

“That is Alistair’s good friend, Fawkes,” Mother supplied.

“Fox?” Demon growled, glancing meaningfully at Thorne.

“Fawkes,” Alistair corrected.

But the scarred man ignored the mistake. “Did ye never work with The Fox?” he murmured to Thorne, his eyes going back to the fern across the room. “The Duke of Death?”

Thorne frowned. “Nay, although I ken who he is. Everyone in the underworld has heard of his proficiency with poisons.”

“That man was one of Blackrose’s men,” Demon stated, nodding across the room.

But Alistair was shaking his head. Not Fawkes. He was… “Friend.”

Demon threw back the rest of his drink and stalked off without niceties, heading toward the potted plant across the way. Frowning, Thorne watched him go, but Alistair merely shook his head. Imagine, Fawkes being one of Blackrose’s agents!

On Thorne’s shoulder, Hamish proved he could always lighten the mood by squawking, “Show us yer tits! Invite the footman!”

Mother gasped, then tittered, even as Thorne took her hand. “My lady, would ye do me the greatest of honors, and consent to a dance?”

“With a bird on your shoulders, milord?”

“Nay, my beauty. I was rather hoping removing said animal could be part of the bargain.”

Mother tittered. “You mean, if I help rescue you from Hamish, you will dance with me?”

“Most gratefully and gladly. Besides, if we leave, Alistair can finally go fetch his bride for a dance. Ye can tell just by looking at him that the puir man is desperate to touch her.”

Placing her hand in the Viscount’s, Mother turned to Alistair and made a show of looking him up and down.

“Yes, I think you are correct, milord.” She smiled gently at Alistair. “I am so very pleased you have found happiness, my dear.”