Page 13 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

Keenly aware of the man standing behind her, Felicity lowered her voice to hiss, “I knew this was a bad idea. I should not have accepted his invitation.”

Her son winced at the same moment the grump behind her growled, “What?”

Taking a deep breath, she straightened and turned back to face him, her fingers plucking at the ornamentation of her jacket as a way to dispel the nervous energy. “Thank you very much, Mr. Calderbank, for your dinner invitation, but I am afraid—”

“I didnae invite—” he began, then cut off with a growl as he glanced down at his half-buttoned waistcoat. “Marcia.”

“Yes, Papa?” Bull’s best friend suddenly appeared at her father’s side, grinning innocently. “Oh, hello, Miss Montrose! Hello, Bull. Dinner is ready.”

“Marcia,” her father growled again.

The girl ignored him, sending a wink Bull’s way.

With a sigh, Felicity turned back to her son. “Bull, it is obvious the invitation you extended was not from Mr. Calderbank.”

The lad just shrugged, not appearing at all bothered by being caught in the lie. “I kenned ye wanted to apologize, so Marcia and I arranged—”

“Ye wanted to apologize?” the Grump Next Door rumbled. “For what?”

Wasn’t it obvious? Flustered, she turned back to him, her hands flapping awkwardly as she tried to wave away the uncertainty. “For—for breaking and entering! Last night, in your house—”

“Ye didnae break in. Yer disreputable son left the door open.”

“Excuse me!” She drew herself up, her awkwardness narrowing to a focus. “Bull is not disreputable. He is free-spirited, and he has a right to visit with his best friend—”

Mr. Calderbank’s finger jabbed toward her chest. “It isnae safe, to have unbarred access to yer home! Ye should do the right thing and board that damned thing over!”

She opened her mouth to snap back—it wasn’t as if they hadn’t had this argument before—but the way he’d phrased it made her hesitate. He was…worried? Worried about Bull, or afraid of something else?

It was Marcia who broke the silence. “Papa, I invited Bull and his mother for dinner tonight, because I knew you wanted to apologize.”

Blue eyes still glaring at Felicity, Calderbank asked his daughter, “Why would I want to apologize?”

“Because of what happened last night.” The girl’s tone was steady as she placed her hand on her father’s arm. “Bull told me. I knew you would want to apologize.”

His jaw worked for a moment. Then he barked, “I’m sorry.”

His daughter’s shoulders slumped with a sigh, and he glanced down at her. Something changed in his expression, then he rolled his eyes and sighed. “Oh, for fu—Fine. Ye’ve set this whole thing up, caught me neatly in yer trap, eh?” He turned a glare on Bull, but it seemed half-hearted. “Nae use standing on the front steps, arguing. Come and eat.”

Then he shook off his daughter’s hand and stomped back up the stairs.

Felicity, peering into the house’s interior, watched him go. She told herself she was examining the strange leather belt—and the dirk it held—the man was wearing and not his rear end.

She almost believed herself.

Marcia stepped into the middle of the doorway and gestured welcomingly. “Don’t mind Papa, that’s as friendly as he’s likely to be. Come in, come in. Dinner’s ready!”

Felicity exchanged a glance with her son—hers uncertain, his cheeky—before nodding slowly. They had been invited; not the way she’d thought, from Bull’s message, but Mr. Calderbank’s come and eat command was impossible to deny.

And…she wanted to go in, wanted to eat with him. Wanted to study him, as if he were a new subject she could capture on her film.

You just want to look at him.

Well, yes.

So she lifted her chin and offered the girl a small smile. “Thank you. I think that would be…best.”

Bull took her elbow and helped her up the last steps, as if she hadn’t survived on her own without a man for a decade, and she thought she heard his soft snort.

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