Page 79 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

Right up until the moment Griffin leaned down and whispered, “Relax,” in her ear.

His breath stirred the hairs on her neck, but that wasn’t the reason she shivered, oh no.

It was his closeness. His scent.

It was him.

They were sitting beside one another on the sofa again, a spot she assumed Griffin had taken to fool Peasgoode. But when she twisted her head he didn’t lean back, and her lips ended up inches from his.

Like a fool, she repeated in a whisper, “Relax?”

Was it her imagination, or did his lips curl up on one side? Griffin’s blue eyes were twinkling with something she couldn’t quite identify. “Ye’re tenser than a long-tailed cat in a rocking chair factory,” he murmured. “Ye need to relax.”

This close to him, she couldn’t possibly be expected to concentrate on anything besides how good he smelled. “I am relaxed. And what a cruel thing to do to a cat.”

“Och, nay, I’m kind to pussies.” His grin grew.

Good heavens, she’d thought him handsome with those dark scowls? When he grinned he looked positively playful.

Was it hot in here? It was definitely hot in here. Felicity had trouble catching her breath.

Impossibly, Griffin leaned closer. “Ye ken, I can help ye relax,” he murmured.

Relax? Relax? She was even tenser now, with every fiber of her being concentrated on his lips.

Was he going to kiss her? Right there in the Blue Room—perhaps she should call it the Blur Room?—in front of their children and the Duke and Ian?

Yes.

Yes, please.

She licked her lips, and his gaze dropped to them. He was going to do it!

But from across the room, the Duke’s voice interrupted them. “And what do ye think of that, Griffin?”

Without hesitating, Griffin straightened and sent a relaxed smile toward the older man. “I think it’s a fine idea,” he announced, proving either he was very good at pretending he knew what was going on, or he really had been paying attention.

Oh my. And here Felicity was, trying to just remember how to breathe…

“Excellent!” Duncan announced with a little clap. “I’ll have Mrs. Bobo inform the cook, and they’ll arrange a little picnic for us soon. I’d love to show yer children the property.” He winked. “It’s important to be proper stewards, especially if ye want to have control over this place someday!”

The children sucked in delighted breaths, but Griffin maintained his casual attitude. “I think we’d like that verra much, Duncan.”

Ian leaned forward then, his elbows planted on his knees. “Remember, Duncan, you wanted to ask Flick something?”

“Flick—Och, Felicity.” The old man beamed. “What a delightful nickname, dear. Ian told me all about Bull’s talent with sobriquets.” He screwed up his face in thought for a moment, then his expression cleared. “I remember now, I wanted to see yer photography apparatus. Is it true that ye really take daguerreotypes?”

Did he really want to know? Felicity exchanged a glance with Ian, who was nodding enthusiastically.

“Actually, Duncan…” She swallowed, then straightened her spine. “Actually, I take photographs. Daguerreotypes are considered old-fashioned at this point.”

“Like me,” the Duke chuckled. “Well, what’s the difference?”

Hesitating, Felicity snuck a look at Griffin. He seemed at ease and nodded encouragement, which she hadn’t expected.

“I doubt you really want to hear all about my hobby—”

“It’s nae hobby,” Griffin interrupted, speaking to the room at large. “Flick has invented new methods, and is verra well thought of in the scientific community. Well, the photographic scientific community, at least.”

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