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Again.

Was she mocking him? Was she hoping he’d do better tonight?

Alistair didn’t respond, but watched her wave happily and bounce her way out of his office, her delicious derriere swinging enticingly as she threw him a smile over her shoulder.

Exhaling, Alistair sank into his chair.

Tonight?

Shite.

He…he couldn’t. Tonight, he’d dress in black and head out into danger as The Dark Knight. And perhaps he’d find the fight he needed—the beating he deserved.

He was coming to suspect his energetic, joyful, daring wife deserved much better than a failure like himself.

“Good luck, ye wee fooker,” squawked Hamish.

Aye. He’d need it.

Chapter 8

When Olivia returned to the Duke of Effinghell’s townhouse on the third day of her marriage, the door was opened by Rocky, the stunningly attractive idiot.

It’s your home, too.

She tilted her head back to peer up at the imposing edifice, three times as wide as most London homes, and tried to ignore the hollow in the pit of her stomach. No, no, this wasn’t her home. She might be married to the owner, but she didn’t know him.

And he, apparently, didn’t want to know her.

Olivia forced a smile, determined no one would see her hesitation. She didn’t hesitate—she didn’t believe in hesitation. She threw herself against each new obstacle, secure in the knowledge she could find a solution.

She would find a solution to this current quandary.

“Good afternoon, Rocky.” She tried to sound confident and chipper as she breezed into the foyer. “Is the Duke in his study?”

Rocky’s perfectly stunning face tugged into a perfectly stunning frown. His brows were perfect, his teeth were perfect, and his head was completely empty.

“Eh?” he rumbled.

She tried to hide her smile, despite hearing an exasperated sound behind her. “My husband? The Duke?”

The footman’s perfect lips split into a relieved grin. “His Grace is always in his study, Your Grace.”

“Am I a Your Grace as well?” Olivia asked in surprise, twisting about to find Hiro had stepped up behind her. “I thought I became a Lady upon marriage?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Hiro intoned. “Her Grace, Lady Olivia Kincaid, Duchess of Effinghell. Although the Your Grace cancels out the Lady in most situations, rather than stacking atop it, and no one would use your husband’s family name…” His words trailed off, as if he realized he was babbling, so he gave a clipped bow and cleared his throat. “Your Grace.”

“Effinghell, that’s a mouthful,” she teased, but the butler didn’t crack a smile. “I could do with a few fewer titles. I’m just…me.”

“No, Your Grace. You are also the Viscountess Alderbury and the Baroness of Minkton, as per your husband’s lesser titles.”

“I once won an essay contest in school and was subsequently crowned the May Queen. Could we add that to the list?”

Hiro’s eyes twinkled. “And have you confused with Queen Victoria? She might have me shot.”

Olivia’s smile burst forth and her heart felt a little lighter. “I shall keep my extra titles a secret then, although I still think it’s silly to make a fuss. I’m just a newspaper owner.”

To illustrate, she lifted the three copies of The Daily Movement she’d tucked under her arm. Today had been print day, and after the hard work she and the editors had put in yesterday, it was a relief to know this edition was out the door and in the hands of people who would appreciate her writing.