Page 112 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

“Like learning about photography?”

“Oh, at that point, I was learning about everything. But yes, I was drawn to the fascinating study of light, and the advances being made. I wanted to be a part of that. I told my parents I was going to move to London with Bull so I could be near the other innovators, and…”

His hand moved to her other breast, and she completely lost her line of thought.

Idly he played with this nipple. “And yer family objected?”

“My—” Goodness, she was supposed to focus on words right now? She squirmed against his lap, and felt something hard and long and delicious.

She managed not to groan.

“Flick, I asked ye a question.” His tone was commanding, even as he tugged at her nipple, sending a flash of need through her.

This time she did groan.

“I…” What had he asked? “Father told me if I chose to go to London, I would be disgracing the family name, and I would get no support from him. I was going to go, despite his threats, but…” Her voice was hoarse. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to get the words said so she could concentrate on what his fingers were doing.

For instance, the fingers of his other hand were now inching up her thigh, the hem of the towel a measly barrier.

Oh God, yes.

“Fliiiick,” he called in a sing-song tone, with a hint of teasing. “Dinnae get distracted.”

Right. Just get it said. “I always suspected Father went to Exingham, because the Duke arrived at our house shortly after and demanded I return his son to him.” Her voice caught. “Bull was five then, and already knew how to read and write and do basic sums, and Exingham had the gall to state I was a poor mother.”

Griffin’s hands stilled. “Christ, Flick. That’s…horrible.”

“Yes, well, I was quite young, and my family and a powerful Duke were against me. He told me he would take the lad and raise him with all privilege, then handed me a large banknote and told me to go to London and not return. My father was quite smug about the whole thing.

“Did ye ever return?”

“Not once. My sister’s husband has occasionally brought her to London, as has my brother’s business, so I have entertained them a few times in the last decade. But as far as I am concerned, I am no longer part of that family. They conspired to take my son from me. They took him, his childhood, away from me.”

Griffin was touching her once more, but now it seemed more comforting. “I’m sorry, Flick. Was Bull happy at Exingham, at least?”

“I do not know.” She swallowed. “He has told me about his sister, and how she raised him, and protected him. I know Exingham wanted nothing to do with him—so why did he take Bull from me?”

Griffin cursed under his breath, then cursed again and suddenly stood, lifting her in his arms. “Because he was a power-hungry bastard, that’s why.”

The first few times he’d lifted her, she’d been surprised and nervous, but now she trusted him enough to rest her head on his shoulder. “I think you are right,” she admitted in a small voice.

Exingham had hurt her, and she’d often—in the last ten years—wondered what life would be like if she’d been allowed to continue raising her son. But now he was in her life once more, and he was a young man any mother could be proud of.

Not only that, but here and now, she had Griffin, and even Marcia and Rupert. Who knew what kind of twists and turns life could take? Fifteen years ago, little more than a child herself, she could have never imagined she’d be in the arms of a man so desirable, so strong, so protective, so—

Her musings were cut off with a yelp as Griffin dropped her onto the bed. She rested on her elbows and stared up at him, incredulously. “What are you doing?”

He was grinning, a cocky grin so unlike his habitual scowl. “Helping ye forget.”

“What?”

His towel fell off. Her eyes were drawn to his stiff member, jutting proudly from its nest of wiry curls, and she remembered her earlier questions about the taste.

Her mouth watered.

Griffin’s hands were on his hips. “What ye went through—that was horrible, Flick. But here and now, ye’re with me. I’m going to show ye how a man should love a woman. From now on, when ye think of what ye told me today, ye’re going to remember my touch instead. Aye?”

Well, really. How could a woman ignore such a command?

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