Page 81 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

When Duncan barked instructions, he sounded surprisingly like an older version of Griffin. She snuck a glance at him, but he was gesturing to Bull.

“Can ye manage here, Flick?” he asked under his breath.

She squared her shoulders. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve photographed a subject, Griffin?”

“Good.” His grin was lightning fast, there and gone in a blink, but her heart swelled to see it. “Then I think Bull and I need to go for a bit of a walk, if ye can keep the Duke occupied?”

“Of course I—Why are you winking? Should I be winking—Oh!” She lowered her voice. “Does this have to do with the you-know-what?”

His grin had faded to a scowl once more. “I swear to Christ, I need to teach ye all the basics of spywork. Bull! Ye’re going on a walk with me!”

The lad was a quicker study than she was, apparently. “Absolutely, Gruff!” he said loudly. “I’m assuming because ye need my help fetching that thing?”

“Och, aye.” Griffin was practically bellowing now. “I need yer help getting the thing from the—the place.”

“Well, I’m yer man! Lead on!”

They were both overacting to a frightening degree, but no one else seemed to notice.

Besides, after they left, Felicity was occupied arranging the Duke and his secretary in the best poses. Marcia turned out to be a good assistant, and was just bossy enough to get the job done.

She overheard Ian ask what thing Griffin had needed, and Marcia just shrugged and said, “You know, the thing.”

Rupert seemed interested in the technology Felicity used, so she explained what she was doing as she went along. Then, when it came time to develop the photographs, she took the boy with her and left Marcia to entertain the Duke with her complaints about women’s suffrage and lack of sensible footwear and the scourge that was corsets.

A short while later, Felicity and Rupert returned with the photographs printed from the plates. She carried her favorite: Marcia had posed the Duke in a wing-back chair in front of the fire, having him sit toward the front of the seat with his hands crossed on his cane between his legs, proudly displaying his clan colors. Ian standing behind and at his side, one hand on the Duke’s shoulder and the other holding a leather-bound book tucked against his side.

They were both smiling.

When she carefully handed that photograph to Duncan by a corner—it was still damp—he sucked in a breath.

She watched his hand trembling as he reached up to take Ian’s, his gaze never leaving the photograph. “Och, Ian,” he whispered. “She’s captured us perfectly, has she no’?”

The taller man leaned down, a smile on his lips, but tears in his eyes as he brushed his fingertips along the image’s edge. Then those same fingertips rose to rest on Duncan’s cheek. “Aye, Duncan, she has.”

Their smiles were full of love for one another, and Felicity felt a jolt in her chest so strong she had to turn away, had to force herself to breathe.

That love, the love she saw between two old men who’d found a way to make a life together…she wanted that. She wanted a home, a family. She wanted someone who would be glad to see her each day, who was interested in her.

Seventeen years.

It had been seventeen years since she’d lost her innocence, in every sense. Since she’d had those childhood dreams of love and family stolen from her.

Felicity pressed a fist into her sternum and willed herself not to cry, willed Rupert and Marcia to entertain the men a bit longer, so she could concentrate on breathing.

Seventeen years ago, when she’d heard Exingham’s response to her pregnancy, she’d been forced to put aside those childish dreams of future happiness. She’d built herself a life, then had to rebuild it when Exingham demanded Bull. But by God, she had rebuilt it, then rebuilt it again when Bull had returned, and she was proud of her life. She was.

So why did this life she’d built and rebuilt suddenly feel so empty?

Why did the love in an old man’s expression tear her open with sudden longing? Remind her of what she’d once wanted and long ago given up on?

Because now Griffin is in your heart.

Could it be that simple?

She sucked in a breath which sounded more like a sob. She’d been happy in the life she’d built with Bull. But now that she’d welcomed defiant Marcia and scholarly Rupert, and aye, their father—grumpy, arousing, intriguing, heart-wrenching, handsome-beyond-belief, caring, protective Griffin—into her heart, how could she possibly return to her simple existence of last month?

She was falling in love with each of them.

---