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Oh dear. “In a way.” And in another, more accurate way… Not. “William Blackrose had a cadre of men who worked for him, collecting information on Britain’s enemies, financial transactions, that sort of thing.”

“Assassinations,” Bull added grimly. “Nasty business, hurting people to get the information they needed.” Despite the weight braced on them, Griffin’s scarred hands curled into fists on the desk as Bull continued. “Information Blackrose said was vital to protecting state secrets and serving Her Majesty.”

“But it was a lie,” Griffin rasped, his eyes closed and his head hanging down. “All a lie.”

“I don’t understand.” Marcia’s hand was now dragging up and down his spine, trying to comfort him. And strangely, Felicity ached to do the same. Instead she squeezed her middle harder.

Griffin’s eyes flashed open, but even from here, Felicity could tell he wasn’t really seeing what was in front of him.

“Blackrose lied to us, lied to us all,” snarled the man. “He wasnae working for the government. He was working for himself. And we were doing his dirty work for him.”

He turned then. Turned and met Felicity’s gaze, and the bitterness, the pain in his eyes was enough to make her gasp out loud.

“We’re no’ heroes.” He shook his head. “We were fools.”

“No,” she whispered.

“Aye. Fools, and damned men as well.”

Marcia was nodding. “Damned is fine to use in front of me, but not Rupert?”

“No’ helping, Marsh,” quipped Bull, but he winked at his friend.

Felicity could no longer stand aside.

She stepped forward, reaching for Griffin. He was facing her now, and when she stopped in front of him, he didn’t pull away. Instead, when she placed her hands on his forearms, reveling in the warmth of them, he seemed to lean into the comfort she offered.

No, surely that was all in her imagination.

“Griffin,” she whispered, “I have spoken to Georgia about her husband’s investigation. I have heard Bull’s stories. I doubt Rourke realizes how much he really knows—Bull is good at finding things out when he is not supposed to. But if half of what he has learned is true…”

She trailed off, shaking her head. And Griffin’s piercing blue gaze watched her hungrily.

“What?” he finally rasped.

Her hands slid down to take his. “You are not a fool, just because you were fooled.”

“That’s the definition of a fool.”

“No.” How to explain? “Blackrose was an evil man, yes, but I know Exingham and Thorne and even Lickwick—although he rarely leaves his estate—are working together to bring him down. He might have escaped justice, but he cannot run forever. And now that I know Thorne has been visiting you, I have to assume you have been part of the hunt.”

Under her hands, his muscles tightened. “Nay.” He sounded in pain. “Nay, I’m no’ hunting him. I’m hiding from him.” He glanced at Marcia. “I cannae allow him to hurt my family.”

But when his gaze dragged back to hers, Felicity saw the anger in his eyes for what it really was, and she gasped. “You are not part of the hunt…but you wish you could be.”

“Nay!” His denial was immediate. “I cannae allow Blackrose to hurt anyone else I love.”

Anyone else?

She squeezed his hands. “What better way then, Griffin, than to be part of the hunt for him?”

Behind her, Bull cleared his throat. “We’re about to have visitors.”

Sure enough, there were footfalls in the corridor—a man’s, not Rupert’s—and moments later the door burst open, revealing Viscount Thornebury.

The man was a friend of Rourke’s—Bull’s older brother, the Duke of Exingham. He’d been the one to bring the lad to her when she worked up the nerve to write to the Duke. He also was friendly with her dear friend Georgia’s new husband, Demon.

Well, Thorne was the kind of man who was friendly with everyone. He was handsome and suave and always seemed to be smiling, although more than once she’d had a hint that under his graceful exterior lived a dangerous man.