Page 57 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

His son huffed a sigh. “Relieve is spelled with the I before E. And yes, I did.”

“Oh good.” Felicity sounded frazzled. “I can never keep track of Es and Is, they wander about so.”

“Flick,” Marcia explained from beside her, obviously trying to contain her laughter. “It’s I before E, except after C.”

“Yes,” agreed Rupert, “unless you’re seizing your ancient neighbor’s eight beige glaciers.”

Bull was chuckling, but it was clear Felicity’s strong suit wasn’t spelling. “Is my elderly neighbor likely to own beige glaciers?”

Rupert shook his head. “I was merely exemplifying some of the exceptions to the—You know, never mind. Mrs. Mac does indeed own some glaciers.”

“Oh good, I shall ask her about them.” Distractedly, Felicity all but hoisted the lad into the first carriage, then shooed Ian in after them. “Do behave, lads.” Then she turned to the front stoop. “Griffin, there you are! Come along.”

She ushered Marcia into the second carriage and held out her hand to him. Christ, she was adorable when she was frazzled. He doubted she had any idea how fooking appealing she could be, even in that dull blue traveling gown and her hair tied back in that severe bun.

Not for the first time, he wished he could pluck the pins from her hair and watch it fall around her shoulders. Across her skin. Across his skin.

He was getting another cockstand.

Which was fooking inconvenient, knowing they had at least a day of travel ahead of them.

Beside the carriage, Felicity gestured impatiently. “Griffin! Stop woolgathering!”

Woolgathering? Who had ever accused him of that? With a wry shake of his head, he tripped down the stairs and placed his hand in hers. “So anxious to begin the deception, milady?”

“The adventure, Griffin. Besides, we will miss the train, and I refuse to go through this stress again tomorrow. Get in the carriage.”

Well, he couldn’t argue with that reasoning. Fighting the urge to grin, he lifted his counterfeit wife into the carriage, followed her, then nodded to the footman to close the door.

The carriage jolted into motion, and as he settled back against the squabs, he was surprised to feel Felicity’s gloved hand slide into his.

Ian was in the other carriage. There was no need for the deception here and now.

But he didn’t pull away.

* * *

The hours had crawled by, the gentle sway of the train alternately soothing and irritating to Felicity. Ian had procured three private compartments, and their party took up almost the entire car. Truly, the Duke of Peasgoode’s wealth was staggering.

And for one evening, Griffin must have believed it could one day be his.

Felicity sat across from him with her maid beside her, and didn’t feel ashamed to watch the man masquerading as her husband. He’d spent the journey staring out the window or reading today’s newspaper. He seemed to favor The Daily Movement, which was her favorite as well, with its reform bent. Apparently, Marcia inherited her revolutionary streak from her father.

Now he sat with his arms folded, frowning at the passing countryside.

He was clearly thinking about something, but she couldn’t begin to guess.

When the children had announced their scheme, he’d said he hadn’t wanted the possibility of becoming a duke’s heir. But he’d done it for Rupert, for Marcia…until it had become too much. Then he would’ve backed out, had Thorne not explained the stakes.

Now he had to know that going along with this, proving Peasgoode a traitor, meant he’d never become the Duke’s heir.

And he still did it.

This morning, she’d awoken with one of his large hands resting on her stomach, and his hardness tucked up against her rear.

The sensation had been…strange, but not unwelcome.

Interestingly, it was the way his thumb had rested right beneath her breasts, which had felt so intimate. It was as if he’d…claimed her. Held her. Possessed her.

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