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“I’m sorry, Olivia,” Thorne whispered. “Yer brother’s dead.”

Chapter 15

Olivia heard the words.

She understood the words.

She should be crying.

So why was she, instead, thinking about how nice Alistair smelled? His scent reminded her of something, as did the strength in his arms and the way he cradled her against his shoulder, as if he could protect her from the outside world.

The feeling sparked a memory. What was it…? Oh, yes, being carried. Being carried by…The Dark Knight?

No, that didn’t make any sense.

His arms tightened around her once, the movement serving to remind her of the seriousness of this discussion.

The news which Thorne had just dropped on her.

John was dead.

Not missing, not presumed dead, but actual, someone-had-proof-of-it, dead.

So why was she busy inhaling Alistair’s shoulder like some kind of deviant?

“Olivia?” Thorne prompted. “Did ye hear me?”

Olivia didn’t want to hear him. She didn’t want to process his words. But sooner or later, someone was going to make her remove her nose from her husband’s wool coat, and it might as well be her.

She forced herself upright. “I…thank you,” she said quietly, unwilling to remove herself from the circle of Alistair’s arms. “How did he die?”

She saw the blond man exchange a glance with Alistair, knew what they were thinking. “The truth, please,” she managed in an almost strong voice. “I can handle it.”

Thorne watched her for a moment, then blew out a breath and settled into the chair across from them. “I think you can. Aright. Yer brother…” His nose wrinkled and he glanced at Alistair. “Yer brother was the one who shot Ian Armstrong.”

As Alistair stiffened, his arms falling away, Olivia swung on him. “Your Uncle Ian?”

Mutely he nodded, and she looked to Thorne for explanation.

“Again, milady, this would be easier if I just told it all, if ye dinnae object?”

As if she could.

Alistair’s arm was still around her shoulders, but now she scooped his hand in both of hers, holding it as much for her own comfort as his. Then she nodded.

“Yer brother was, as I said, loyal to Blackrose. Do ye ken what I mean?”

She did. “It means he was as traitorous as Blackrose was.”

Seeming to be taken aback by her words, Thorne blinked, then nodded. “Aye, that’s exactly what it means. Blackrose fled to Canada when the news initially broke, and he thinks the evidence against him has been destroyed.”

While the papers had delighted in the story there’d been no proof, which was why it had died out. “It wasn’t?”

Thorne hesitated, then shook his head. “I am telling ye this as my friend’s wife, not as a newspaper reporter. Do ye understand my meaning?”

Nodding, Olivia promised, “I will not print this.”

“Good.” Taking a deep breath, Thorne explained, “Up until now only those involved directly in the investigation, former agents like me, have kenned the truth. The evidence wasn’t destroyed, but yer brother didnae ken that. He’s been reporting to Blackrose all along, delivering papers and messages and resources to the man from his place in the Duke of Peasgoode’s household.”