Page 43 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Fook.

Fook fook fooking shite fook.

For years, his entire world had focused on keeping them safe, ensuring Blackrose couldn’t harm his family again. And now he had the chance to end Blackrose…by willingly jumping back into the fire!

When he opened his eyes again, it was to see Thorne watching him with something like pity in his eyes, damn the man! He knew what Griffin had been through to keep Marcia and Rupert safe, and now this…?

The absolute kick-in-the-ballocks is that Griffin knew—knew—what his answer would be. And suspected Thorne did as well, hence the pity.

Aye, his children’s safety was paramount. But for Mary, for the Queen, for his fellow agents, for poor Wilson—the agent he’d been sent to kill—and for Britain herself…Griffin knew what his answer would be. Had to be.

Blackrose had to pay for the innocent lives he’d taken, for the state secrets he’d sold, and for the families he’d broken.

Griffin was surprised to feel Felicity sigh and press her cheek against his shoulder.

He released her, sliding his hold down to her forearm, and turning her to face him. “Flick, I cannae ask ye to do this with me.”

Her smile was a little sad, but determined. “You do not have to. We are your cover story, Griffin. We are the only way you—anyone—can get into Peasgoode.” She reached up and patted his chest, then left her palm over his heart. “We will do this. And I swear, Bull and I will do everything we can to keep your children safe.”

Oh God.

He couldn’t argue with a vow like that.

With a muted growl, he pulled her against him, pressing her chest to his so he could feel her heartbeat, and she could feel how much he wanted her.

Over her simple coiffure, he met Thorne’s eyes. “Find Mrs. Mac and tell her to start packing that pocket of hers for Scotland. I suppose it’s up to us to tell Mr. Armstrong we’ll accept his offer of hospitality.”

And just pray he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life.

Chapter 8

Felicity forced a smile as she stepped back into the dining room. Mr. Armstrong was focused on his pudding—her cook did really wonderful puddings—and didn’t seem any worse for having been left for so long.

On the other hand, if he was only now partaking in dessert, perhaps it wasn’t all that long. Felicity normally had a very good internal clock, thanks to years of working in her dark room…but tonight had been difficult.

Imagine, having one’s entire world changed between dinner and dessert!

It had all seemed a lark, but now…

She swallowed and crossed to the table. “Mr. Armstrong, thank you so much for indulging us.”

His smile seemed genuine as he invited her to sit. “Not at all, Mrs. Calderbank. I can imagine this was all quite a shock to you and your husband, considering you hadn’t been aware your children had applied on your behalf!”

As soon as she sat, a footman slipped a bowl of the sweet dessert in front of her. But with her stomach all in knots, Felicity doubted she could enjoy it.

“It was a bit of a surprise.” She pushed the bowl away from her. “And remember, please do call me Flick.”

“And you will call me Ian, Flick,” he repeated with a smile. “Such an unusual nickname.”

“Bull gave it to me.” How much to reveal? “His real name is James, after—after his father. But he is fond of nicknames.”

The older man was watching her shrewdly, as he finished off the last bite of his pudding. “Yes, I wondered about that, as soon as I saw you all together. Your hair and eye color is quite distinctive. Although the children didn’t mention it in their letter, I have to assume yours is a blended family. Bull is your son, and…?”

“And Marcia and Rupert were from Griffin’s first marriage,” she finished quietly, hoping he wouldn’t press for more details.

Luckily, he didn’t.

---