Page 46 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

She was a scientist. It was her job to delve into enigmas and search for answers. Surely that was the only reason she couldn’t seem to stay away from the man?

Couldn’t seem to stop imagining his lips on hers, his hands on her skin?

“What are ye doing here?”

And why did her heart speed up when she heard his growls?

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Felicity stepped farther into the room. It looked as if a tornado had run through it. Griffin seeming to employ the age-old packing method of “throw everything on the bed, then pick it up and cram it somewhere.”

Well, she could help there, could she not? Felicity began to sort the clothing into piles. “I came to help. Ian—Mr. Armstrong is in his room, and I do hope he remains there. If he sticks his head out, he will wonder about the unusual level of activity. My maid is packing for me.”

“Mrs. Mac will be coming with us.”

It wasn’t a request, but a declaration, so Felicity nodded. “Do you want your socks in with your trousers—”

“I said Mrs. Mac will be coming with us. I’ll have her fold.” His voice dropped to a mutter. “Likely she’ll just stuff everything into those apron pockets of hers.”

“I can just as easily fold—"

Her offer cut off with a squeak when Griffin slammed a pile of shirts down beside her with far more violence than normal linen-transport required.

“Why are ye doing this?”

When she turned, he was standing entirely too close. “Because…I can fold as well as the next person?” she whispered.

“Nay, Flick.” His voice was gravely, his grip harsh when he took her upper arms. “Why are ye doing this? All this? I ken why I have to do it, but why are ye…” He trailed off, his blue gaze darting across her visage, as if looking for the truth.

“I know what is at stake, Griffin. It was my son who undoubtedly started this chain of actions and reactions which have led us to this moment. Helping bring it to its conclusion was the least I could offer.”

“Blackrose is a dangerous bastard who deserves—” He cut himself off with a quick shake of his head. “Nay. I ken what he deserves, but what he’s going to get is a public trial and a lifetime in the darkest pit of a prison.”

And she could help put him there. “Griffin, I understand.”

“Nay, ye dinnae!” He sounded…tortured. “Ye dinnae understand any of this!”

Well, that was a tad insulting. “Then help me to understand.”

His nostrils flared as he inhaled, but the breath didn’t seem to calm him. “Four years ago, he gave me a mission. A mission I didnae like, to kill a fellow agent named Wilson, who Blackrose said was a traitor. When it was done, I went to Blackrose and told him I was quitting. Told him I couldnae live with myself any longer, and I wanted out. Of course, I thought he was taking his orders from the Prime Minister, but even then…”

With a muttered curse, he broke away, raking both hands through his dark hair, tugging at the strands, as if he could pull the memories from his head. The scars on his knuckles stood out, and she swallowed thickly, thinking of the horrible things he’d been forced to do, thinking they were right.

“The bastard told me I couldnae leave, that if I did, he would see to it my family suffered.” Griffin’s voice had turned bleak, but there was fury in his gaze. “The next day, my wife began to sicken.”

Felicity gasped. “Was Blackrose to blame?”

“I didnae see how, but I wasnae thinking clearly at the time. Mary had been healthy, and then she wasnae, wasting away in the most terrible, painful of ways. Her eventual death was a mercy, less than a week later, and I… Fook me.” Whirling away from her, he hooked his hands behind his neck and dropped his head back to gaze at the ceiling. In a harsh voice, he continued. “I panicked. I packed up the children and whatever we could manage, and fled to America. Thank God for Mrs. Mac, or who knows how we would’ve survived. I can burn water.”

The grim humor did nothing to alleviate the ache in her chest. Felicity stepped closer, placing her palm on his broad back. “You would have managed, Griffin. I am certain.”

“It took a year before I could think straight, and then I found the answer I didn’t realize I’d needed in one of Rupert’s textbooks, of all places. Mary’s symptoms were similar to arsenic poisoning.” He shrugged. “But they could’ve also just been caused by an intestinal disease none of us caught. I dinnae ken.”

Her stomach heaved at the thought. The poor woman. Those poor children, watching someone they’d loved go through that. Poor Griffin, wondering if he’d been partially to blame.

“I believe he poisoned her.” His raspy whisper seemed to echo throughout the room. “Somehow, he poisoned Mary because I was trying to leave him. I couldnae let him hurt Marcia or Rupert, so I ran like a coward.”

Her fingers curled into the wool of his jacket, as if trying to hold him steady. “You are no coward, Griffin Calderbank.”

“I ran.”

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