Page 110 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

Oh my.

Be still, my heart.

Griffin tugged her head to rest against his shoulder, then cleared his throat. “Flick, ye dinnae have to talk about anything that makes ye uncomfortable, but I want ye to ken I will never hurt ye, no’ the way he did.”

She blew out a breath, then snuggled closer. “I know,” she whispered. But… “It really is not a secret, Griffin. Well, the way he treated me was, perhaps. But the rest of it…”

He waited a moment, then asked hesitantly, “Will ye tell me?”

There was no reason not to, and he was pretending to be her husband…

“My father was a baron, very proud of himself and his lineage. My brother was the perfect heir, and my older sister had snagged the hand of a viscount during her first season. He was very proud of that too. But I was…different.”

As Griffin slowly stroked her leg—the sensation was comforting, not arousing—and held her as if she were a child, she told him everything.

Told him about her lonely childhood, how her parents disapproved of her search for knowledge or tinkering with machines and taking apart clocks to see how they worked. Told him about how her mother punished her for not dressing as a proper young woman, or forgetting to flirt. Told him how they pushed her toward eligible young men, well before her coming-out.

She took a deep breath. “And then my father made a business deal with the Duke of Exingham, and suddenly we were thrust into his circle. He had been married thrice already, and rumor had it he was looking for another wife. My parents were ecstatically hopeful. They pushed me into his company, again and again.”

“How old were ye?” His touch was comforting, gentle…but his tone was hard.

“Not yet sixteen. I did not truly understand what was going on, at first. Exingham was not charming, but I suppose… My mother told me I should be charmed, because a Duke was interested in me.”

His touch had moved upward, and now he rubbed her bare arm. “But no’ in marriage.”

It wasn’t a question, but she nodded. “Of course, I did not understand that. For all I knew, perhaps this was how courting was supposed to work. Lord knows I had not truly paid attention to Mother’s lectures. He explained he needed to—to try me out before committing.”

Griffin’s hand stilled, his fingers flexing against her muscle. “Try ye out?” he croaked.

“He wanted to—”

“I ken what he wanted.”

She shivered, hearing the anger in his tone.

Then he relaxed, but it felt to her as if he was forcing himself to relax. Felicity didn’t lift her head, didn’t want to look at him. Not like this.

Not when she was telling him this.

“Yes, well, I was a curious child, remember? I saw nothing wrong with a bit of experimentation, but after I had been with him a few times, I decided I had had enough. On my sixteenth birthday, I told my parents I no longer wanted to whore for the Duke.” She swallowed. “My father slapped me, then spoke to me at length about privilege and honor.”

“Jesus Christ, Flick.” His whisper was hoarse. “Ye were a child.”

“My father wanted a match with a duke. He honestly thought a gangly, red-headed child who did not understand Society had a chance at a duke.”

“He didnae want marriage, did he?”

“Not at all. When I brought it up with Exingham, he struck me several times, then laughed and called me a fool.” Her eyes squeezed shut on the memory. “And when I told him I was pregnant—my father actually crowed, thinking it would mean the Duke would surely offer for me—he hurt me again.”

Griffin’s arms went around her. “Christ. Christ. Christ, Flick.” He sounded horrified, and she decided, then and there, that she loved him.

How could she not?

Best get it all said. “Exingham told me he had sired bastards before, and he had done ‘right’ by them.” He’d said much more than that, but even today Felicity would rather forget. “So I returned to my family.”

Griffin propped his chin on her head as his hands began to move. He rubbed her back and her arm, although she wasn’t certain if he was comforting her, or himself, or just trying to keep them both warm.

“Was the pregnancy hard?” he murmured. “Mary was miserable with both Marcia and Rupert, but I was never sure how much of those complaints were true, and how much to gain sympathy.”

---