Page 123 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

She watched from the corner of her eyes, because she couldn’t wrench her gaze away from the man she loved.

To her surprise, Griffin hadn’t caught the falling secretary. Instead, he’d leaned to one side, so the old man could hit the ground unassisted. But he used the movement to twist, to spin…

She wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but one moment Griffin was standing behind the falling secretary, and the next, he’d kicked the revolver from Totwafel’s hand, then crashed into him.

Both men went down, with Griffin on top.

Earlier, when she’d watched Totwafel move, she’d thought him similar to Griffin. Thought them well-matched.

But now she could see she’d been wrong.

Griffin’s knuckles slammed into the other man, again and again; his torso, his throat, his face. Nothing was safe, not from Griffin’s rage.

Now she understood the scars on his hands.

Is this what he’d done? What he’d had to do? Is this who he’d been, all those years he’d worked for Blackrose?

She whimpered in sorrow. Sorrow for him, sorrow for herself.

Too late, Felicity realized she should have turned the children so they couldn’t see their father’s brutality. Glancing down, she realized Rupert had his face pressed against Marcia’s shoulder, his sister holding him. Felicity couldn’t turn Marcia’s gaze away, and from the fierce satisfaction in the lass’s eyes, it would be a wasted effort, anyway.

By the time she turned back to the fight—if it could be called that—it was over. Griffin was hauling Totwafel to his feet by the front of his jacket. The man’s nose was bloody and he looked dazed.

Well, of course he looks dazed! He just went up against Griffin Calderbank!

She knew she shouldn’t be proud of him, but it was impossible not to!

He’d done it. He’d beaten Totwafel; he’d saved them all!

Now, how was Ian—and where was Bull?

Chapter 22

He hadn’t expected it to be so easy.

Well, not easy, exactly. Rage pounded through Griffin’s veins, the monster he usually kept restrained. The monster he’d allowed out again and again in Blackrose’s employ, which had broken free when faced with Totwafel’s attack.

That monster—the monster he had been—had easily overpowered Totwafel. Wilson. Whoever he was.

The man hung, broken, from Griffin’s hold. He didn’t trust the bastard, but he seemed subdued now.

Griffin risked glancing away.

Felicity had fallen to her knees at Ian’s side and Rupert had followed. She was pressing her small hands against the bloody hole in his shoulder, her expression determined and less pallid than he would’ve imagined.

Marcia was doing her best to lift Duncan back into his wheeled chair, murmuring comfort to the weeping man.

And Bull was stepping out from behind one of the larger trees, carrying Felicity’s camera, a proud smile on his face.

The whole thing had taken mere minutes.

There were people hurrying in their direction from the main house. Servants who’d finished clearing and heard the commotion? Hopefully they’d be able to take care of Ian, although judging from the man’s loud complaints, he wasn’t dead.

Everything had slowed down, focused, for those few minutes he’d been confronting Totwafel. Now it seemed to speed up and zoom out again, the birds suddenly louder, the breeze cooler.

Something was still wrong.

Shaking his head, Griffin turned back to Totwafel and lifted the bastard higher.

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