Page 47

“Is that one of my duties, Mr. Hiro?”

Hiro growled, “If I were a less disciplined man, I would say yes. Just go away.”

As Rocky lumbered off, Hiro exhaled and turned back to Alistair as he smoothed down his waistcoat. “Your Grace, we have unlocked the door.”

At his friend’s dry tone, Alistair had to look up.

Perhaps Hiro saw something in his expression, because the butler winced. “Aaaand now I see that perhaps the door was locked for a reason. I would ask you how your wedding night went, but you can see my black eye still has not healed, and I have no wish to have my face stomped on some more.”

Alistair didn’t feel like sparring with his friend. He wanted to pound in his own face.

Hiro clucked sympathetically. “I will leave you to your misery. Tea?”

Scowling, Alistair shooed him out the door, then pretended to be engrossed in the weekly report from his housekeeper. He didn’t want tea. He wanted to be left alone to wallow.

That’s what ye’re doing, aye? Wallowing.

He needed to find a way to apologize to Olivia.

Ye could march upstairs right now, throw her down on her bed, and lick her again.

If she didn’t throw a shoe at him the moment he showed his face. She had to be livid with him this morning after he’d failed her last night.

She would have had expectations. And he’d failed them all.

Ye’re a duke. Ye can fix this.

Right.

Right. Olivia…she wasn’t a wealthy woman. Or at least, hadn’t been, prior to yesterday. His agents had discovered her living arrangements, and they’d been as horrifying as he’d suspected. She’d been living two steps above squalor, and now she was one of the richest women in Britain.

Surely that would make her feel more kindly toward him?

Pushing aside the report, Alistair snatched up a new piece of paper and jotted off a quick note to his banker about an allowance for his new wife. And the Kincaid family jewels! Those would cause any woman’s anger to thaw, would they not?

He reminded himself to ask Mother about fetching a few of the more elaborate pieces for Olivia to wear…

To wear where?

Into Society.

His gaze slowly rose to lock—unseeing—on the shelves across the room.

He was married. Mother had claimed he needed to be married to—besides the whole heir-begatting thing, which he’d made a poor but effective start at—properly launch Amelia and Amanda into Society. His mother was already dithering on about some ball being held this week. He had no intention of appearing in person at any of these events, but the Duchess of Effinghell, with the dowager at her side, would be a perfectly acceptable sponsor for his sisters.

Did she know that?

Was she ready?

Two days ago she was a newspaper editor living over her pressroom. She doesnae speak properly, she’s far too audacious, and no’ at all reserved.

Society would eat her alive.

“Show us yer tits!”

Alistair’s gaze snapped to the door. Hiro had left it opened, damn him, and now…

“Fooking brilliant! Show us yer tits!”