Page 54 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

“Myself, mostly.”

Perhaps that explained the scars on his knuckles. She opened her mouth, but a yawn caught her by surprise, and she waved in apology.

“Look, Flick, I’m sorry to barge in on yer privacy like this, but the settee would be more comfortable than the floor—”

“That was not why I objected.” Goodness, had her pillows ever been this soft? She snuggled lower, pulling the counterpane up and discarding the pillow. “This bed is enormous. It would be foolish for you to endure the settee when we can be reasonable, intelligent adults about this.”

He was watching her warily. “Ye want me to sleep with ye?”

Hadn’t she made that clear? But he’d turned her down.

He needs you now.

What? Well, yes, he did need her. What did that have to do with anything?

You could ask whatever you want from him.

Yes, if only she wasn’t literally falling asleep during this argument.

It is not an argument if it is with one’s own brain.

Well then, she was likely going mad.

Likely.

She huffed a sigh. “Griffin, tomorrow will be a long day, and I am extremely fatigued. We both need our rest.”

“I dinnae think this is a good idea.” But he was moving toward the opposite side of the bed.

“Neither do I, but I promise not to attack you.”

“I’m keeping my clothes on.”

Her eyes were already closed as the bed began to shake. “I am happy for you. What are you doing?”

“Looking for the bloody sheet. Why in damnation do ye have so many pillows? Ah,” he grumbled, and she felt the bed dip as he slid under the blankets.

Since his rude question hadn’t required an answer, Felicity allowed her lips to curl upward. As he flopped around, trying to get comfortable, she rolled to one side and reached for the small bedside lamp.

“Goodnight, Griffin.”

He grunted in return, and finally lay still.

In the darkness, she could hear his even breathing, the pattern lulling when it should be strange. The scientific part of her brain vowed to investigate such an anomaly, but exhaustion won out.

As she drifted into sleep, she could swear she heard him whisper, “Sleep well, Felicity.”

Chapter 10

He’d woken up hard and aching, his cock nestled in Felicity’s arsecrack. It had been a sort of inevitability, he supposed, but damn, did she feel good in his arms. All soft curves covered in softer fabric. He’d wanted to stay like that for another hour—for another year.

But she’d still been asleep and it was better for both of them, and for their subterfuge, if she didn’t wake to find his cock probing at her cleft.

So he’d fought his way out of the pile of too many pillows, rolled out of the too-soft bed, and washed his face in too-cold water. It hadn’t helped, but it had reminded him to focus on the plan. The mission.

Luckily, he’d transferred his bags to this house yesterday, so he was able to change and hurry down the stairs to find the household already starting preparations for today’s journey. Now it was an hour later, and he was faced with a dilemma.

“Marcia, is there anything I can do to convince ye to go back upstairs and change into a skirt?” Breakfast was already hectic enough, but now his daughter had shown up in trousers?

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