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She asked this last thing of Alistair, and he merely grinned and lifted her fingers to his lips. Nay, she was now one of the most powerful women in the realm, and shouldn’t have to introduce herself… But she was also Olivia, his daring bride.

His daring, audacious, wonderful, enthusiastic wife.

Careful lad, or someone might think ye are in love with her.

The reminder made him pause, but luckily, Thorne was still speaking. One could always rely on Thorne to speak. The waters would dry up, the earth would bake, the sun would melt…and Thorne would still be speaking. Charming, charismatic, annoying.

“Milady—I’m going to call ye Olivia, because that will be so much easier—I’ve been looking for ye. Imagine my surprise to discover ye’ve married my friend!”

“Looking for me?” she asked in surprise as she led them both to a cluster of chairs. “Please, explain.”

Alistair settled beside her on a sofa, and tucked her up against him.

To his surprise, Thorne remained standing. He looked far more awkward than Alistair could have ever imagined. “I think…this would be easier if I just tell ye everything, aye? It’s a meandering journey, but ye need the full tale. Ye can interrupt if ye have questions, but please just trust me that I’ll get to the point eventually?”

Olivia and Alistair exchanged a glance, then both nodded, though in his case against his better judgment.

He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

Thorne took a deep breath and locked his hands behind his back. “Aright. Aye.” He swallowed, then lifted his chin and stared at the landscape painting over the hearth which some long-dead Effinghell ancestor had procured.

“Ten years ago, a man named Blackrose began to recruit agents to work for the Crown. He chose young men—some still in university—and molded them to fit his needs. They were to become his spies, working for him, feeding him information, which he would then share with Her Majesty’s government.”

Olivia was nodding along, perfectly calm. “Yes, but it turned out that he wasn’t working for the Crown, correct?” Her hand found Alistair’s, although her attention was on Thorne. “We ran the story for several weeks. The man escaped capture, as I recall.”

Thorne seemed relieved he wouldn’t have to explain everything. He took a deep breath. “Aye, the bastard—excuse me, milady. The man’s name was Blackrose. When the truth came out agents tried to capture him, but he escaped.”

Alistair frowned, trying to remember the details of the story. He recalled reading it in the papers and had been intrigued. Apparently this Blackrose had killed off many of his “agents”—or had them kill one another—before escaping. It was a sad story.

Olivia was staring down at their joined hands. “My brother was one of Blackrose’s agents,” she admitted in a small voice.

Alistair’s gaze jerked to her face as Thorne let out a sigh of relief, perhaps because he found this conversation difficult.

“Aye, he was. As was I.”

It was a surprising, terrible confession. But Alistair had eyes only for his wife. When he squeezed her hand she peeked up at him, and he tried to ask the question with his eyes. Was she hurting? Should they postpone this conversation?

But she offered him a small smile.

“John and I weren’t close. We weren’t even related by blood; he was my father’s second wife’s son, my step-brother, although he took my father’s name upon his mother’s marriage.” She grimaced. “We looked nothing alike, and since we weren’t raised together, I often felt as if I barely knew him. But Papa was fond of him, and I know he wanted John to follow in his footsteps at the paper.”

“But he disappeared,” Thorne guessed quietly. “Likely…four or five years ago?”

When Olivia nodded, he continued, “John Wilson was one of the agents who went underground when he began to work for Blackrose. Many did, cutting ties with family and friends.”

Alistair raised a brow. Is that what Thorne had done?

The other man seemed to understand. “No’ me,” he agreed ruefully. “My use to Blackrose was because of all my family and friends. But when my cousin died and I became heir presumptive for my uncle’s dukedom…” He shook his head. “I quit. I was the first one to quit Blackrose’s employ, and quit successfully. Everyone else who tried, he attempted to erase. I’ve often wondered if it was—again—because of my connections with Society.” His grin was lopsided and revealed his vulnerability. “Surely someone would notice—and be upset?—if I disappeared.”

“But many others disappeared,” Olivia took up the story in a low voice. “When the story broke, I was able to find my brother’s name on the list of agents. But I don’t know what happened to him.”

There was silence in the room for one, two, three heartbeats. Then Thorne took a deep breath.

“He survived the initial purge, Yer Grace, because he was likely the only one who kenned Blackrose’s truth.” At Olivia’s questioning glance, he winced. “He was on Blackrose’s side. He survived all these years because he’s been in contact with Blackrose, feeding him information.”

Olivia had sat up straighter, hope flaring in her warm brown eyes. “John’s alive? All these years?” She whirled on Alistair. “I knew he had no love for me, not really, but he’s let me wonder about him all this time?”

Did she not see how uncomfortable Thorne was with her assumption? Alistair could see what his friend was going to say, and was already reaching for Olivia.