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Ah, he’d earned this. Alistair reached into his pocket and withdrew the coins he’d placed there earlier so he wouldn’t require his pocketbook—always a smart idea in an area like this. He placed them carefully on the counter and Auld Gus’s eyes widened.

“Cor, guv, I’ll remember anything else ye want!”

Alistair’s lips twisted as he watched the coins disappear, then he lifted his fingers to his hat brim and nodded. Auld Gus beamed happily as he untidily saluted. “God bless ye, Dark—I mean, sir!”

Since he’d all-but-yelled that last part, Alistair ducked out of the tavern as quickly as possible, then stepped into the shadows to avoid the two men—men who were obviously looking for him—who followed.

It didn’t work.

“’Ere now, ye’re The Dark Knight, ain’t ye?” one called, pulling a cosh from inside his jacket. “We want a word wif ye.”

Smothering a sigh, Alistair stepped into the center of the alley, hands loose at his side. He raised a brow, although he doubted the men could see it now darkness had fallen.

Mother will be holding dinner for ye.

That reminder—that he might be causing his family to go hungry—urged him home.

Olivia.

As the first man swung his cosh and Alistair absentmindedly blocked the blow and landed a pair of his own in the man’s stomach, before whirling and lashing out with his boot toward the other’s neck, he considered the night before.

Not the way he’d spent across his trousers, watching Olivia finger her own glistening cunny—although that had been one of the most incredible experiences of his life—but the hours after. The hours just talking with his wife.

Talking. Writing. Conversing.

The second man had fallen back from the kick to his throat, choking on his own breath. The first still circled, waving the heavy stick.

Long ago, Hiro had taught him that a weapon he didn’t know how to use would become the other man’s weapon. Now Alistair was gracious enough to teach that lesson to his attacker.

While his body went through the motions—almost effortlessly, with little direction from his mind—he saw Olivia sitting across from him at that little table in the kitchens, laughing at something he’d written. He saw her eyes close in bliss as she tasted a piece of Edam.

Something so simple brought her such joy; he’d been able to provide her such joy.

To his wife.

And these buffoons were keeping him from her.

Perhaps he was foolish to allow himself to be distracted, or perhaps the first attacker was lucky. As Alistair twisted and pulled the weapon from the man’s grip, silver flashed in the shadows, and a blade slashed across his chin.

Instinctively he reeled away from the pain but used the movement to his advantage, ducking, then sweeping low with the iron bar.

As the attacker fell, Alistair slammed the bar into the man’s shoulder, pulling back at the last moment from aiming for the head. Not today.

A grunt from this man as he hit the ground, and a gurgle from the second attacker, let Alistair know he had nothing more to fear from these two.

Nevertheless, he strode swiftly away from the alley, wanting to put distance between himself and the pair.

And because he wanted to get back to Olivia.

So eager for yer mother’s dinner guests?

He winced, swiping at his chin with his coat sleeve, ignoring the blood smearing the frayed cuff. Nay, the idea of sitting through a formal dinner was torture, but his wife would be there, and for a man who’d married so far beneath him, he was strangely looking forward to showing her off.

All he had to do was sneak back into his own townhouse, hurry upstairs to change, then ignore all attempts at conversation as he ate.

Let Mother’s guests think him rude, rather than mute.

Unfortunately, the plan went awry the instant he stepped into the back corridor. Much to his surprise, it wasn’t empty; Olivia was there, dressed in a sapphire gown which hugged her curves, comforting Mother who seemed distraught.