Page 119 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

Griffin shifted his gaze to the lad. “William Stoughton is Blackrose’s real name. Ye mean, with yer talent of listening at doors, ye dinnae ken that?”

Her son didn’t respond to the barb, but his gaze was focused somewhere in the distance, as if remembering. “Fook me.”

“Bull!” Felicity placed her hand on her son’s arm. “Language.”

What, you think it would be better if he spelled it?

But he just turned to her, eyes wide. “William Stoughton? Younger son of George Stoughton, the Earl of Bonkinbone?”

She had no idea, and was grateful when Griffin growled, “Aye.”

“Fook me,” Bull repeated.

Felicity’s fingers closed around his arm. She was too agitated to chastise him once more. “Bull. What is it?”

There was fear in his eyes when he hissed, “The Stoughtons were listed as possible inheritors. The Duke’s something-something cousins. Fourth, maybe?”

Griffin’s curse echoed Bull’s. “That’s why Wilson’s been trying to get rid of me.”

“You do not know that for certain.” Felicity reached for his hand, and now was holding them both, desperately trying to calm her heart. “They might have been accidents.”

“Now I ken they werenae. If Blackrose wanted to be Peasgoode’s heir, he’d have his minion take out the competition.” Griffin’s glare pinned Bull. “Ye’re certain? The Stoughtons were named in that newspaper notice?”

The lad frowned, his fingers dancing uselessly up and down the tripod. Finally, he admitted, “Nay, but Duncan would ken, would he no’?”

Griffin’s chin jerked once, hard and emphatic. “Aye. Is Wilson still looking this way?” Bull’s gaze darted over his shoulder, and he nodded. Griffin grimaced. “Then try to make this look nonchalant, eh? Oh God, I’m sounding like Mrs. Mac.”

“It will be big in Canada,” Felicity assured him.

Either he was a good actor, or her joke had inspired him, because he was grinning as he tucked her hand in his arm and strolled—nonchalantly—toward the Duke. From the corner of his mouth, he issued orders.

“Bull, round up Marcia and Rupert. Get them over by that tree. Felicity, ye go stand with them.”

Oh Heavens, her heart was frantic once more. “Why?”

“If there’s trouble, I dinnae want ye here.”

Trouble.

If Totwafel—or Wilson—was responsible for the accidents Griffin wasn’t sure about, then there might very well be trouble.

With her pulse loud in her ears, Felicity almost didn’t hear Griffin’s initial greeting to the Duke, but she watched Bull slip away and gesture to Marcia and Rupert.

Oh God, this was happening.

“Griffin, lad, how can I help ye?”

Griffin exhaled, the smile on his lips forced. “We were just discussing something, my family and me. Perhaps ye could settle a little dispute.”

“Of course!” the old man chuckled, placing his palms on his knees and winking. “But I have to tell ye, I’m morally obligated to side with yer lovely wife in all manner of disputes between ye two. Even if she says the sky is green!”

“If Flick says the sky is green, I’d believe her.” Griffin’s chuckle sounded forced to her ears, but the Duke joined in. “She’s an expert when it comes to light, remember. But nay, this has nothing to do with the sky. I’m wondering about that original notice ye placed in the papers. As ye recall, I thought it was nonsense, originally, so I dinnae recall much of it. Do ye?”

“Recall the notice I placed?” The old man chuckled again. “Aye, of course. Ian and I agonized for days over the wording, and of course it took the better part of a year to find all the names.”

Griffin seemed to be holding his breath. “And ye remember the names? All of them?”

Now Duncan frowned thoughtfully. “I dinnae think I could recite them, nay. But if ye had one in mind in particular…?”

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