Page 118 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

Before Felicity could ask what Griffin meant, he’d taken her by the arm and turned about, so she was facing Ian and Totwafel—she found it hard to believe someone would choose such a name as an alias—and his back was to the pair.

“Are they looking this way?”

She peeked over his shoulder, even as she pretended to adjust his necktie. “Ian isn’t, but Totwafel keeps glaring at us. Or perhaps Duncan.”

“Or perhaps just me. Fook,” he hissed, shaking his head. “It all makes sense now.”

How much attention did his necktie need? She decided to re-tie it entirely, to make it more believable. “Well, I wish you would explain it to me.”

Griffin pulled his hat from his head and dragged his hand through his hair, gaze darting about, resting on each of the children, as if reassuring himself they were safe.

“Wilson worked for Blackrose when I did. We never worked together, but…I’d recognize that hair anywhere. I was sent to kill him, and all this time…” He shook his head, obviously still reeling from the shock of discovering his last sin hadn’t really been committed. “I wonder how long he’s been working for Ian, and the Duke? Just since Blackrose’s escape?”

Goodness, neckties were far more difficult to re-tie than she’d expected. “So you think he is still loyal to Blackrose?”

“It’s the best explanation. Far more likely than the Duke is in communication with Blackrose, eh? Seeing as how we can’t find any evidence when we search his areas. What are ye doing?”

“I am trying…” Felicity bit her lip in frustration. “How do you men manage these things?”

Griffin shoved his hat back atop his head, his hair sticking out at all angles under it, and snatched the ends of the necktie from her. “It’s easier than corsets, I’ll tell ye that,” he announced as his fingers flew.

“True,” she had to admit. “Oh dear, he took two steps in this direction, but Ian just put his hand on his arm and looks as if he is trying to calm him down?”

Griffin muttered something else under his breath but Felicity didn’t hear it, because at that moment, Bull turned up at her side. He had the camera and tripod over his shoulder, and was wearing his usual grin.

“What’d I miss?”

She expected Griffin to dismiss him, and for a moment Griffin looked like he would. But as he finished his necktie, he grimaced. “Totwafel is really John Wilson, one of Blackrose’s agents. He’s also no’ dead, much to my surprise.”

He choose the name Totwafel?

Bull’s eyes went wide. “So he’s the one in contact with Blackrose in Canada? It makes sense. He would have the approval to send information packets easily from Peasgoode, and since he doesnae live on the estate, we couldnae search his rooms for the evidence.”

Her sixteen-year-old son had picked up the nuances better than she herself could. Felicity was impressed. “If we could discover his quarters, could you search them, Griffin?”

“I could, but I doubt that’s the issue right now.”

“Why?” She risked a peek again. “They are still arguing. You could sneak away.”

“Because, Flick,” Bull explained softly, his expression uncharacteristically somber. “If Totwafel is the traitor, he’s already recognized Gruff’s name, and likely guessed why he’s here.”

Oh.

Those accidents he’d mentioned, like the chandelier falling atop the bed where they’d slept their first night? Were they not really accidents, after all?

A pit of fear opened in her stomach.

If Totwafel worked for Blackrose, then he was dangerous. If he was dangerous, and he knew Griffin’s reasons for being here, he might hurt Griffin.

Might? No, he would hurt him.

“What do we do?” Felicity whispered.

Griffin rolled his shoulders, his gaze on the Duke as he frowned thoughtfully. She doubted he was even looking at the older man.

“Perhaps a confrontation is exactly what we need. If we can get Wilson to admit he’s working for William Stoughton—”

“Who?” blurted Bull, eyes wide.

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