Page 52 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

In the silence after the lad’s statement, Griffin made a small noise, a huff, which absolutely wasn’t a laugh. And yet…

“Perhaps yer next feline should be called Proto Cat, Flick,” he offered with a wry twist of his lips as he brought the wine to his lips. “He’d likely be better at hunting than Cheeseburg.”

Felicity thought she might’ve replied, but her attention was on those lips, the way his tongue swept across them when he finished drinking.

Last night he’d kissed her.

Last night she’d kissed him.

She’d been up half the night—which, now that she thought of it, might explain her fatigue—tossing and turning, thinking of that kiss.

No, not necessarily the kiss…thinking of the way the kiss, and his hands, and his touch, had made her feel.

Yesterday afternoon she’d asked him to teach her about pleasure. He’d said no.

But then last night, he’d kissed her.

A million years had passed in between, certainly, but where did things stand now?

When they stood from the table, Griffin began to usher the children toward the stairs. Ian gestured toward the sitting room. “I found a book I’ve been enjoying. Unless someone would like a game of chess?”

“I would!” offered Bull eagerly, already turning toward the sitting room.

But Griffin stopped him. “It’s time for bed, lad.”

Bull’s expression turned incredulous. “But Flick lets me—”

“I dinnae care.” Griffin’s expression turned hard and he jerked his head up the stairs, which Marcia and Rupert were already tromping up. “As long as ye live under my roof, laddie, ye’ll follow my rules.”

The disgruntled expression Bull pulled was almost laughable. Clearly, Griffin was enjoying his revenge.

And as his “wife”, it was up to Felicity to support him. “Bull,” she chided softly, “tomorrow is a big day, and we all need to be rested.” She tried to indicate, with her eyes, that they needed to appear united in front of the secretary.

Luckily, he seemed to understand. With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, he stomped up the stairs as well.

The older man had seen the power struggle, and now chuckled. “Well done. Although it was many years ago, I remember being a teenaged lad like your son.”

“Do ye have bairns, Ian?” Griffin asked.

“Me?” The older man seemed surprised. “Oh, no. I’ve never been married. When my brother-in-law died, surprising us all, I helped my sister during my nephew’s horrible illness. But after he recovered, she managed him and all of his sisters quite well on her own.”

“Well,” Felicity sighed, “I am learning that having children is a struggle, but a blessing.”

Griffin grunted something which might’ve been an agreement.

“Could I tempt you into a game of chess, Flick?” the secretary coaxed.

Felicity could think of a few things she wanted less—tooth decay, a visit from her sister, taxes—but not many. She forced a smile. “Please forgive me, Ian, but I believe I shall retire early, and stave off this headache.”

Without giving either man a chance to respond, she turned and hurried up the stairs.

In her chamber, she felt as if she could truly breathe, for the first time all day.

Of course, that might’ve also been because she could finally unhook this blasted corset!

Her maid giggled at the noise Felicity made when her breasts were finally freed, and Felicity herself had to smile ruefully as she held the thing out at arms’ length. “Do you suppose these were developed by men to be a torture device? Or something more sinister?”

Still giggling, the other woman took it from her. “I don’t know, milady. What kind of sinister?”

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