Page 49 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

Griffin had already turned for the stairs, but stopped at the man’s words. A rueful smile tugged at his lips. “Two hours? And how many cats did ye meet?”

“I confess I believe I met every cat in London. How do you keep them straight?” The secretary was chuckling.

“I dinnae,” Griffin answered truthfully. “But they’re her…subjects, aye?” He couldn’t very well admit he knew less about his wife’s cats than their guest, but he damn well remembered every moment of that unexpected dinner party where she’d explained her work. “So we put up with them.”

“She is fretting about leaving them, but says they won’t travel well.”

An image flashed into Griffin’s mind, of himself and Felicity sharing a private train car, surrounded by a dozen irritated felines. He almost groaned.

“Nay, thank God.”

Ian chuckled again. “Yes, she said you’d say that. But her attention is currently focused on packing her moving picture camera, because I insisted the Duke would be interested in seeing it in action. She’ll just need a different subject.”

“Something with duller claws, hopefully,” Griffin muttered, then gave the man another ambiguous nod and hurried up the stairs.

Felicity was indeed in her study, muttering to herself as she bustled about, pulling mechanical-looking things out of cabinets and placing them carefully in lined bins. There were also jars of liquid—he couldn’t tell what they were, but didn’t seem to be anything he wanted to drink—and carefully sealed containers of what appeared to be photographic plates.

And the cats.

Jesus Christ, the cats were everywhere.

Griffin folded his arms and leaned his shoulder against the door jamb, content to take a moment to just watch her. A week ago, he’d known his next-door neighbor as an aggravation, but now he was seeing her in a new light. She really was quite remarkable; caring, intelligent, and apparently, an innovator.

His lips twitched as she tripped over the huge gray feline stretched out on the floor. Also: clumsy.

“Miss Prettypaws,” she scolded. “Do you have to lay right there?”

The cat, of course, didn’t respond, but Griffin must’ve made some noise—not a laugh, of course, because he didn’t laugh—because she glanced up to see him.

And her face? It fooking lit up. It lit up in excitement, and he felt something in his stomach lurch in response. The joy in her eyes when she realized it was him… Christ, when was the last time anyone besides his children had looked at him like that?

She was a complication he didn’t need.

But like a starving man, he wasn’t going to push her away. He couldn’t.

“Griffin! You are home early!”

Home.

He was in her house. This wasn’t home.

But he didn’t correct her.

“I was fired.”

Immediately, her expression melted into something not quite pity, and she started across the room toward him, arms out. “Oh, Griffin, I am sorry. Because you asked for a leave of absence? Well, your employer is a fool—”

He cut her off by holding up his hand, palm out, and staring fixedly at the top of one of her cabinets. He couldn’t stand to see the caring in her eyes. “I’m fine,” he barked. “Steele is a fool, but I’m a newer employee with what must’ve sounded like a bogus excuse. A wild lie.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched her hands drop to her hips, head cocked to one side. “I suppose it does sound rather preposterous. You told him you were going to Scotland to become a duke’s heir?”

“I told him I was going to Scotland to visit the Duke of Peasgoode on business. Steele didnae believe that either. Is that a cat on top of yer cabinets?”

Felicity turned to follow his gaze, and since she wasn’t looking at him, he felt justified watching her lips twitch into an indulgent smile. “That is Ceiling, the kitten you brought me. Apparently he prefers to be up high, so I believe Bull’s name for him is a good fit.”

“Ceiling Cat,” Griffin repeated blandly. “To go with Bureau Cat and Lamp Cat and Carpet Cat?”

She huffed. “Do not be ridiculous! What use would a Lamp Cat be to my work? My babies have far more sensible names!”

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