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When he trailed off, she stepped closer.

After all these months, she still wasn’t certain exactly how to act around this untamed son of hers. She’d had him for so short of time before giving him up, and he’d run wild for years before his older half-sister, Lady Honoria, had tried to civilize him. But he had a fierce sense of ethics which, unfortunately, had little to do with legalities. And he was loyal.

Oh, so loyal.

“Bull,” Felicity began, but didn’t know how to finish. Instead, she merely reached out and offered her hand.

To her relief, he took it. This tall, lithe, more-elegant-than-her lad took her hand and squeezed it as if she might mean as much to him as he meant to her.

“What do you want, Bull?” she whispered.

He swallowed. “I miss Scotland.” It was said almost sheepishly, combined with a shrug. “I was just thinking that if Griffin did become a duke’s heir, then Marcia would have to move, aye, but perhaps we could…visit them. Go home.”

Home.

Oh.

Oh, dear.

She squeezed her son’s hand as tears came to her eyes and the kitten in her arms tried to climb up her shoulder. She told herself the tears were likely because of the small sharp claws.

Bull had been raised in Aberdeenshire, born at her parents' home, then moved to Exingham on his father’s decree. When his brother Rourke had become the Duke and Honoria had married the heir to Clan MacLeod, he’d followed the happy couple to Skye.

Peasgoode was in the Highlands.

Home.

All these months, as Bull tried to fit in here at her home in London…had he really been missing his home? The Highlands? Had he been lonely? Is that why he’d sought out Marcia, why he’d been causing so much mischief?

Bull’s smile was a little lopsided. “Besides, Flick, imagine the doors which would open for ye if ye were seen on the arm of the Peasgoode heir, aye? Everyone would be clamoring to hear about yer latest invention!”

While she didn’t believe she needed the accompaniment of a man to make her research valid, she had to admit the Peasgoode name would open doors. Even if this whole charade had been started by a secret door which refused to stay shut.

But really, all other considerations paled in comparison to making her son happy.

“How hard can it be?” Felicity finally said. “Just pretending to be married? For an evening, I presume?” As Bull’s expression lit up, she heard Griffin grunt, so she turned to him with a brow raised in challenge. “One evening, Mr. Calderbank?”

“And ye’re willing to pretend to be Mrs. Calderbank?” he growled, as if probing at the idea, looking for weakness. “We all have to pretend to be a family?”

“Aye,” Bull immediately agreed. “Ye and Marcia and Rupert are a fine family, and when we wrote out the letter, we kenned that. But Rupert did all the research for us, and most of the men on that list are married with bushels of children. We thought…” He shrugged unapologetically. “Well, we figured if ye had a wife and an extra bairn, it wouldnae hurt.”

“Ye. Ye’re supposed to be my bairn?”

Bull grinned. “Step-son. So I can call ye Griffin.”

“Ye can call me Father or Sir.”

The lad wouldn’t be Bull if he let that pass, so he popped to attention and snapped off a crisp salute. “Aye, Sir!”

Griffin ignored the provocation, proving he was better suited to be Bull’s parent than Felicity might’ve expected.

Marcia leaned back to look into her father’s face. “Does this mean you’ll do it, Papa?”

“One night?” the man grumbled. “Dinner?”

“I’ve invited him to stay with us, Flick,” Bull hurried to explain. “Dinner tonight, and I asked What’s-his-face to have the gold room made up.”

“Again, the butler’s name is Spude,” murmured Felicity, certain the stodgy old man—who’d been with her for a decade and was loyal, if fussy—had curled his nose at being ordered by a cheeky lad. He was almost certainly listening at the door right now. “But yes, of course he can stay.”