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That’s where Alistair’s uncle lived. She felt him shift beside her, and asked the question she knew he was wondering. “Did he know Uncle Ian well?”

“He worked for Ian Armstrong, who had been the Duke’s secretary—and more—for decades now. But we learned that he was trying to murder the Duke’s likeliest heir, then have Blackrose—who was a distant cousin of the Duke—declared heir.”

Olivia was shaking her head. “That’s preposterous. The old Duke would have to—”

“Die, aye.” Thorne’s tone was somber. “That was yer brother’s plan. After Ian helped the Duke change his will, John would have killed them both.”

Olivia gaped, and Alistair…well, she could swear he made a sound. It wasn’t a growl, but she swung to him to see him glaring at his friend through narrowed eyes.

Thorne held up his hands, palms out. “I ken, I ken. Nae one likes to hear such news.”

“Alistair?” Olivia prompted. “Are ye upset about yer uncle?”

“Nay, lass, he’s upset because I’m upsetting ye.”

Alistair turned to her now, but his expression eased to concern, and she had to smile. “I was the one who asked, Alistair.” She squeezed his hands, reminding him she was stronger than one of those Society women he should have married. “John wasn’t much of a brother to me—he wasn’t much of anything to anyone. His mother died soon after her marriage to my father, I’m afraid, and he always treated me more like an insect to be squashed than a sibling,” she sighed. “And while I am surprised to learn he was a traitor, I am not devastated. Remember, I’ve assumed him dead for years.”

Both men were silent, watching her.

Alistair, of course, was always silent, but this time she had the impression it was because he wasn’t certain what he could say.

She tried to smile. “I…no.” Her breath whooshed out of her as her expression fell and she acknowledged the truth. “I guess I’m not fine.”

The lines around Alistair’s mouth hardened.

“Olivia—“ Thorne began, but she shook her head.

“I’m angry. He was as evil as this Blackrose, wasn’t he?” She didn’t give a chance for an answer. “Yes, he shot your uncle, and that was an awful thing to do,” she said to Alistair, “but by supporting Blackrose, he shepherded even greater evil into the world.”

Alistair held her gaze, then nodded grimly.

Exhaling, she sank against his shoulder, strangely comforted by the fact he wasn’t trying to lie or hide the truth. He believed she could handle it, and it was reassuring, somehow.

It was Thorne, of course, who answered. “Ye’re correct, Duchess. Yer brother was killed in a fight following the shooting of Ian Armstrong. He was actually scuffling with a lad—one of our…friends—when the lad’s new father dropped Wilson off a bridge. He drowned.”

Alistair’s head had come up, and now he was staring intently at Thorne, who nodded.

“Aye, Effinghell, it was Bull. He’s Felicity’s son, now Calderbank’s. Even if Wilson hadnae been a complete bastard, he deserved death for threatening a lad like Bull. Forgive me for speaking so bluntly.”

Olivia knew he was speaking to her, and her hold on Alistair tightened. “I think…I agree with you,” she said in a small voice. “But now he’s dead, what…”

She wasn’t certain how to finish her question.

Thorne apparently misunderstood, however. “I’m sorry to tell ye he’s already been buried in Scotland. If ye need help arranging to have his body moved to a family crypt?”

Her smile felt wobbly. Her family had no crypt; by the end of her father’s life, there’d been little enough money for his own decent burial. But now she was happily married to Alistair, she supposed there was a family crypt?

But…was she? Still happily married? She peeked at her husband. He’d returned home today and had come straight to her. He hadn’t indicated what he was thinking, but the way they’d parted…

After that disastrous dinner party, how could he still think she deserved to be a duchess, much less his wife?

Alistair tugged her forward and placed a kiss on her forehead.

It was gentle.

It was sweet.

And it did absolutely fook-all when it came to explaining his feelings about the current situation.