Page 48 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

“Flick, get out of here.” This time, his tone sounded less certain, more…in pain? “Go help yer maid finish packing, show her how good ye are at folding. Go ensure the children have everything they need. Just go.”

Oh. Oh, he was kicking her out. After that kiss? That amazing, life-altering kiss, he wanted her to just…walk away?

Yes, after that kiss, having some time to sit quietly in your room and think about things might be exactly the sort of thing you need.

So Felicity took a steadying breath. “And will you be joining us?” It was the most polite way she could think of to remind him that Peasgoode’s secretary thought them married, and would expect them to share a chamber.

The way he shook his head made him look almost like a wild animal, caged and livid. “I cannae allow distraction, Flick. I’ll sleep here tonight and sneak over before breakfast.”

There were problems with that solution as well. “No,” she said, pretending she was interested in this conversation, and not hurt at the way he’d so easily recovered from that kiss. “No, we will just tell Ian you left early for the office.”

His chuckle was dark, and she wished she could see his face. “Aye, ye’re good at this—this spy work.”

That hadn’t sounded like a compliment, not really.

Without another word, Felicity turned and hurried from his chamber, trying to ignore the dampness between her legs, knowing sleep would be a long way away.

Chapter 9

Griffin had stalked past the façade of Felicity’s townhouse before he’d even realized how distracted he was.

Ye dobber! Yer anger will be the death of ye!

And that wasn’t the worst of it; if he couldn’t remember everything he’d learned about spycraft, everything he’d once known about subterfuge and winning, his death would be the least of them.

Because now he had to worry about Felicity and aye, even Bull. As if his fears for Marcia and Rupert hadn’t been enough…

Blowing out a breath, he shoved his hands in his pockets and continued his angry stomping right past his own front door, to the end of the block, then turned abruptly and returned the way he’d come. Hopefully, if anyone was watching, he’d look like a man who needed to pace off some steam, and not like an idiot who’d forgotten where he supposedly lived.

The things Blackrose had taught him…had never really gone away. Even while hiding in New York, he’d been aware of his surroundings, watching for trouble. Always watching. He’d become good at scanning a busy street, seeing the dangers and dismissing them until they became a threat to his family’s safety.

But now, he’d have to do better than just survive.

Now, he’d have to become the aggressor again.

Searching out possible threats, rather than waiting until they came to him…hunting down leads and clues and hoping to God he found them before Blackrose’s agents found him.

Griffin reached the other end of the block and spun about, wondering if that had been enough to throw any watchers off his trail. Hopefully he wasn’t that interesting.

Years of living by his wits and his fists had taught him that hope wasn’t enough to keep body and soul together.

Enough.

Go home. Explain yer new state of fookery, why ye’re so angry now. If nothing else, it’ll make Ian believe ye’re desperate.

Sure enough, the secretary met him in the front hall as Griffin was handing his hat and coat to an impassive footman. Felicity’s servants hadn’t tattled on their mistress yet, which was good. Yet.

“Griffin!” The older man offered his hand. “Was that you I saw pacing out the front window? Something on your mind?”

Well, best to get it said. “Mr. Steele didnae take kindly to my request for a month’s leave of absence.” His tone slipped into sarcastic bitterness, which he didn’t try to hide. “I’ve been relieved of my duties at the esteemed firm of Cooke, Books & Steele, and I’d better hope like hell this whole Peasgoode thing works out.”

Ian had seemed surprised, but now nodded solemnly. “I cannot make promises, you understand, but I’m confident that His Grace will enjoy meeting you, whatever the outcome. And I’m certain, even if this doesn’t work out, the duke will write you a letter of reference for your return.”

And Griffin was equally certain that, if he exposed the Duke of Peasgoode as a traitor, the man would rather choke on a sheep than help Griffin find a job.

But of course he couldn’t say that, so he just gave the man a nod. A nod was nice and noncommittal. It could mean, I appreciate what ye’re doing for me or I think ye’re a raging wanker but I’m no’ in the mood for a fight so I’m no’ going to say anything or To each his own, now get out of my way.

Luckily, Ian failed to read the myriad meanings and merely winced sympathetically. “Your wife is in her laboratory, if you’d rather tell her your news right away. I spent a fascinating two hours with her there this afternoon, learning about her photographic apparatuses.”

---