Page 63 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

There were bloody wings to this place?

Shaking his head, Griffin followed Felicity—who was still holding Marcia’s hand—up the stairs.

The next hour was spent getting the children settled into their chambers, which was made difficult by the constant exclamations of Come try this mattress! It’s like a cloud! and I have my own library? and What happens if I pull this cord—whoops!

Griffin could admit, in the privacy of his own mind, that even he was impressed by how luxurious the Peasgoode place was. He knew Marcia and Rupert were excited because they were hoping to charm the Duke into making their father his heir, then they’d be able to live like this forever.

But this opulence caused Griffin’s stomach to sour. Because he knew the owner was a traitor to the Crown, and it was up to Griffin to expose him.

Then the Calderbanks would be unceremoniously kicked out.

Unless we’re ceremoniously kicked out. That sounds more interesting, at least. Pomp and fanfare and trumpets before the auld boot-to-the-arse routine.

His lips twitched.

Good God, he was exhausted.

The chambers he and Felicity had been assigned were just outrageous; large and extravagant and most importantly, more than one. It was a set of rooms, connected in the middle by a large changing room and an actual private bathing room.

Griffin tried not to show how impressed he was.

Felicity, of course, acted as if this was all commonplace. Maybe it was, to her. He’d learned from Bull that her father had been a baron, and now her brother held the title. Perhaps she’d grown up with such luxury.

Or perhaps she’s just verra, verra good at pretending.

Lord knew she’d fooled Peasgoode’s secretary into believing they were happily married.

As her maid Made helped her remove her boots, Felicity sent him a coy look. Nay, it was more than coy; it was anticipatory.

The memory of that kiss in the train compartment, and what he’d promised, fired his blood.

Suddenly, he wasn’t quite as fatigued as he’d thought.

Bobo the butler had assigned Griffin a valet; at least, that’s what the young man announced pompously as he’d arrived. Now the annoying fooker had already hung up Griffin’s coat and was chattering on about styles and haircuts and how he wanted to shave Griffin’s beard into a set of muttonchops and a mustache.

Over my dead body.

“Get out of here,” he growled, waving the man toward the door. “I can undress myself. And dress myself tomorrow, so dinnae come back.”

The valet sniffed haughtily, and marched stiffly to the door.

Griffin turned to Felicity’s maid, Made. “Ye go with him.”

He’d tried to use a gentler tone, and considering she didn’t scream or burst into tears, it must’ve worked. The young woman slowly rose to her feet and glanced at her mistress.

“Go on, Made.” Felicity met his eyes. “I will manage without you this evening.”

“Get out of here,” he commanded, his voice gruff. “I’ll undress yer mistress.”

He hadn’t meant it to sound quite so…sordid. But when Made giggled, curtseyed, and giggled again, he realized he’d failed.

Still giggling, and somehow curtseying, the maid hustled to the door.

To his surprise, Felicity followed her, ensuring the lock engaged. The click sounded unnaturally loud. She pressed her forehead to the seam for a moment, and he saw her shoulders relax as she exhaled.

And suddenly, Griffin realized everything she’d gone through in the last few days. Not just pretending to be his wife, not just the lies…but she’d taken charge of a family, of their journey. She’d spent a full day in the train, keeping watch over them all, listening to Rupert’s dissertation on the width of railroad tracks, returning Marcia’s enthusiasm for the adventure, keeping Bull out of trouble…

And Griffin had let her.

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