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Apparently, he’d dragged his mother off to his own estate once they’d satisfied themselves Ian was on the mend, and now he was back to check on his uncle before returning to London.

The giant glanced up, dark eyes meeting Griffin’s across the room, and nodded solemnly. Griffin nodded in return, hoping he’d never have to actually do dukely things beside the man.

Dear Christ, was he going to have to speak at the House of Lords? He hoped not. Ah well, something to worry about another day.

With the priest gone, Thorne lowered his voice further. “I’m heading down to Exingham in the morning. Well, mid-morning, depending on how late yer wedding party goes.”

“No’ late,” Griffin growled in return. “Rupert’s ten, for fook’s sake.”

“And ye want me gone?”

“And I want ye gone,” he agreed.

Thorne chuckled. “I have some thoughts on how we can use what ye’ve learned to entice Blackrose to return to Britain. I want to discuss it with Rourke and Sophia—and Demon if I can convince him to join us. I assumed ye didnae want to be involved in that?”

It was a little alarming, to think Thorne knew him so well. Griffin shook his head once. “Once ye have a plan, I’ll help implement it if I can. But my focus must be here, on my family.”

“And Blackrose?”

Griffin paused, uncertain how to explain. “I want him brought to justice. I’ll do what I can to help, aye. For Mary’s sake.” He still wasn’t sure if Blackrose had murdered her, but he would find out, once the man was put on trial. “I cannae spend my nights skulking about in the darkness, waiting to beat seven kinds of shite out of an enemy…but ye’ll tell me what needs to be done, and I’ll help ye.”

On his other side, Bull mused quietly, “How many kinds of shite are there, do ye think?”

“Dinnae tell yer mother ye learned that from me,” Griffin warned.

“Deal. And if ye’ll no’ be skulking, Thorne will have to find a new skulker.”

Griffin turned a scowl at his new son. “Dinnae even consider volunteering for skulking duty.”

The lad grinned. “I was thinking ye should ask Effinghell.” He nodded across the room. “Can ye just imagine that gargantuan form hulking out of the mist? If I was a miscreant, I’d piss myself.”

“Ye were a miscreant,” Griffin mumbled.

“Aye, the best.”

Thorne ignored the lad’s bragging. “We’ll get Blackrose. We’ll bring that bastard to justice, I swear it. Thanks to ye, we ken how to entice him back, and considering Demon’s married to his niece, we have some insider information.” He took a deep breath. “But first, I think I need to track down Wilson’s sister and explain what happened.”

That sobered them. “Aye,” Griffin agreed. “She deserves to ken, just as ye alerted all the other agents’ families.”

Thorne exhaled. “This is a shite career.”

It really was.

Griffin slapped him on the back, and when the blond man turned in surprise, actually grinned. “Then congratulate me for getting out of it, aye? As of today, I’ll be happily married.”

“Are ye?” Thorne was somber for a change. “Happily, I mean?”

As Bull scoffed, Griffin studied his friend. Well, once they’d been merely agents working for the same man, but now he considered Thorne one of his small list of friends. And right now, this friend of his seemed to be deadly serious.

So Griffin told him the truth. “Aye. I love Flick more than I thought it possible to love a woman. This last month, with her as my counterfeit wife, and this dobber as my counterfeit son”—he grabbed Bull around the shoulders, hauling him up against himself—“have been the happiest I’ve ever known. I’m ready to make that official.”

The last was practically yelled, as Bull struggled to get away and Griffin tightened his hold until he had the lad in a headlock. The tussle went on good-naturedly right up until the double doors slammed open, and they both froze.

Mrs. Mac bounced into the room. “Ladies and gentle—never mind, there’s no ladies here, eh? Oh well.” She shrugged, then plunged her hands into both pockets of her apron. “Get ready for the bride, eh?”

With that, she pulled two handfuls of flower petals, the most innocuous thing he’d ever seen emerge from said apron, and tossed them into the air. Griffin was grinning as he straightened up, and barely noticed when Bull pushed his hands out of the way to fuss with the necktie he’d mussed.

Rupert stepped through the door, escorting Marcia. Both of them were beaming, and Marcia had deigned to wear a beautiful pink gown to the wedding. Bull had, of course, amended it; apparently the inner lining was nothing but pockets. Rupert was dressed in a miniature version of the MacIver kilt, his expression solemn as he led his sister to the center of the room. Griffin felt tears prick at the back of his eyes when he realized how grown his children looked.