Page 108 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

Intrigued, Felicity did lean forward, but then she shifted so her back was to the side of the tub and she could pull her knees up to her chest and wrap her arms around them. From this angle, it was possible for Griffin to lever himself over the edge so he could stretch for his trousers.

Seeing his arse waving about in the air made it necessary to stifle her giggles which echoed about the room.

“Got it!” he grunted triumphantly as his questing fingers snagged the edge of the fabric. He dragged the trousers toward the tub as he settled back, then dug into one of the pockets. “Here!”

He held up one of the little pouches he’d been throwing from hand to hand when Grumpy Cat had surprised him earlier.

Since he was holding it out expectantly, Felicity allowed her grin to show as she took it from him. “What is it?” she asked, turning it this way and that. The thing appeared to be a small bag, filled with something like beans or rice, then sewn shut.

“Those are my ball-sacks,” he declared proudly.

She managed not to snicker.

With a wounded harumph, Griffin plucked it from her hand. “I meant, Bull told me it’s easier to learn to juggle with weighted sacks, instead of balls. But that’s no’ what I wanted to show ye. Look at this stitching!”

He angled the pouch toward her, but Felicity’s fingers were now pressed to her lips, in an effort to hide her smile. “Bull is teaching you to juggle?”

“Well, aye,” he huffed. “Thanks to their lies, I’m just waiting for Peasgoode to jump out from around a corner and demand I give him a demonstration.”

“He’s in a wheeled chair, it would make the jumping—”

“Shush.” He mock-glared, then shoved the ball-sack under her nose. “Look at that seam! His stitches are neater than Marcia’s!”

“Yes,” she agreed drily as she took it from him to examine. “But I have seen Marcia’s stitching, so I am not surprised. I suspect even my stitches are better than hers.”

Bull was good with his hands, his fingers were constantly moving. He’d taken his talent for pickpocketing and turned it toward knitting and stitching, and even a few attempts at tatting lace.

“Duly noted.” He scooped up a bar of soap and began to lather up a cloth. “My point is, the lad is full of interesting talents. Ye should be commended for allowing him to follow his own path.”

Just what she’d been thinking about Griffin. But the reminder soured her cheer, and she gently tossed the pouch toward the discarded clothing on the floor. “Sadly, I cannot take credit for his skills.”

Griffin grunted softly and ran the cloth over his shoulder and arm. His attention seemed to be focused on his task when he said, “Ye dinnae have to teach him to be proud of him.”

“Perhaps.” Her head tipped back to thud gently against the tile. “Sometimes I do see parts of myself in him. Sometimes.”

He continued to wash himself with sure, economical movements. “I see ye in his mannerisms. His caring heart. He has yer eyes.”

Her breath caught at his casual compliment, and now it seemed instinctual to blurt, “No, he does not.”

“Aye. No’ the color, but the way he looks at things. Passionately. There’s a curiosity for the world in his gaze.” Before she could do more than gawk at his poetic phrase, he shrugged and reached for the soap again. “He’s got yer smile, too.”

She gaped at him. “I think…that might be the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”

“Really?” His grin was lightning-fast. “Then I should try harder.”

Who was this charmer?

Griffin reached for her hand, and she placed it in his without thinking. The tub was cramped, but he tugged, and she twisted to unfold herself. A gentle pressure on her shoulder, and she leaned back, resting against his chest. The water threatened to slosh over the edge.

He still held her hand. Now, his arm framing her smaller one, he lifted it and used his other hand to drag the washcloth over her skin. The movements were slow, lazy.

Sensual.

She bit her lip.

He dragged the cloth up her other arm to her shoulder, rubbing the sweet-smelling lather into her skin. Without quite meaning to, she allowed her head to drop to one side, against his shoulder behind her, his touch lulling her into a sort of daze.

Surprisingly, he paid less attention to her breasts than she’d expected, merely washing them, then her stomach, then dipping between her legs to clean her there. It was intimate and should have been embarrassing, but…with Griffin, it wasn’t.

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