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So he untangled himself and pushed to his feet. His sudden movement startled Thorne, but Olivia just smiled sleepily up at him. Could the dobber not see she was too drained for more of this conversation? She’d just learned her brother was dead, for fook’s sake!

When she took his hand, he pulled her upright, and by then Thorne was on his feet. Alistair offered his friend—he supposed he was going to have to start calling the dobber friend now—his hand, and Thorne smiled.

“Well, I suppose I can tell when I’m being dismissed, Yer Grace.”

Nodding firmly, Alistair let the man know he was appreciated, but now he needed to get the fook out. Olivia, luckily, was a bit more polite.

“Thank you, Thorne, for taking the time to explain what happened, and share details. You didn’t have to do that, but I want you to know how much—“

Thorne interrupted her by bending over her hand, the idiot unable to stop from adding a fancy flourish. “Duchess, it was the least I could do. I’m sorry to have been the bearer of such news.”

Alistair felt a little surge of pride as she tugged her hand away from the charmer, and leaned into his side once more.

“I’m just pleased to finally have some answers,” she admitted in a soft voice. “John…clearly made some very wrong decisions in his life, but now I can stop wondering.”

Her words—her bravery, her pain!—made his chest tighten.

He was getting her out of here.

Olivia sent a goodbye over her shoulder to Thorne as Hiro bowed them both out of the room, a knowing twinkle in his dark eyes which made Alistair simultaneously grateful to have the man in his life and also want to punch him in the nose.

Once upstairs, Alistair dismissed his wife’s new maid with a flick of his fingers. She seemed surprised, but curtseyed her way out the door. Olivia tried to stop her, but a yawn interrupted her. Alistair crossed his arms in front of his broad chest and waited for her to notice they were alone in the room now.

“Alistair, I need her. All these new duchessy gowns your mother insisted I needed…” Olivia actually twisted in place, trying to reach the buttons on the back of her dress. “I can’t reach—I can’t get out of this monstrosity by myself.”

Ah.

That was the opening he’d been waiting for.

Smirking now, he stepped toward his wife, then gestured for her to turn about.

“What? Why? Alistair, surely you’re—”

When he began to slip the buttons from their moorings, she ceased her complaints.

Mostly.

“What are you doing?”

He thought it would be obvious.

“Alistair, you’re not a maid. You’re a duke, for heaven’s sakes! There’s no need for—”

Options were limited as far as shutting her up, so he did what he’d been thinking of doing since they’d entered the room; he lowered his lips to the back of her neck, skin slowly being revealed as he’d unbuttoned her gown.

“Oh,” she sighed.

That’s right, lass. I may be a duke, but I’m also yer husband, and I can help ye strip naked if I want.

And he very, very much wanted.

Their wedding night. That glorious, surreal evening she’d come into his room and pleasured herself…

They’d been married a fortnight, and that was all they’d shared?

He wanted more. He wanted so much more. With her.

Olivia, he wanted to growl, wanted to show her what she meant to him.