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“I do not know.” She sighed. “They are best friends, but he also is a smart boy. He would not want her to be in danger.” The thought of her son in danger made her stomach hurt, but she had to believe he was smart enough to stay safe.

Griffin watched her for a moment longer than necessary, then nodded sharply. “I’ll have a talk with the lad.”

“He could be helpful.” She scooted a little closer. “So could I.”

“The danger—”

“For goodness’ sake, Griffin! The duke is an old man, and if he is in contact with Blackrose Ian has to know about it, as his secretary. And Ian is already utterly charmed.”

“Mainly by ye.”

Another scoot brought her close enough to reach out and lay her palm on his thigh. “All the more reason to allow me to help look for evidence linking the Duke with Blackrose’s schemes.”

His gaze was locked on her hand. It was just resting on his thigh, but his attention was focused on it. Under her palm, his muscles jumped.

My, it certainly was warm in this compartment, wasn’t it?

“Flick…” His voice was hoarse. “All ye need to worry about, when we get to Peasgoode, is convincing the Duke we’re one big happy family, aye? The more charmed he is, the longer we can stay.”

Yes, that did make sense. However… “One big happy family?” she mused, shifting on the bench seat so her knees brushed against his. “And I suppose we need to convince him we are happily married as well?”

“Obviously,” he rasped.

Under her hand, his thigh twitched. Warmth was flowing up her arm and through her chest, and down… No, that was a different kind of warmth, a liquid warmth, which had started the night he’d pinned her to the wall, and had grown only worse since he’d kissed her.

And this morning, after he’d dressed and hurried from the room, she’d slid her hand down her belly, trying to capture the sensation of his touch. She’d rolled onto her back, inched up her nightgown, and spread her knees. Her fingers had slid along her wetness, and as her touch had become more and more frantic, she’d imagined it was him touching her.

It hadn’t been enough.

“You know, Griffin…there is a way to ensure Peasgoode believes we are married.”

Slowly, his gaze rose to meet hers. There was a something blazing in those blue depths, something dangerous. “What is that?”

Felicity swallowed, frightened, but not frightened away.

“Share my bed,” she whispered. “Teach me what I want to learn.”

Moving faster than she thought possible, he scooped her hand from his leg, and made as if to toss it aside. But instead he flipped it over and twined his fingers through hers. “I dinnae have to teach ye anything, Flick. Ye’re smart. Yer husband taught ye what ye need to ken.”

And before she could stop it, the admission slipped out. “I was never married.”

His expression slid into something softer. It wasn’t pity, it wasn’t confusion. But he had questions, she knew. She knew it as surely as she knew she didn’t want to answer them.

He told you about the death of his wife.

Yes, but Exingham, what he’d done… She wasn’t ready to share that.

Not yet. Not ever.

So she took a deep breath. “Griffin, I want—no, I need to understand this. And if you want Peasgoode to believe we are happily married, this is what needs to happen.”

His fingers briefly spasmed around hers. “Are ye saying…if I dinnae sexually pleasure ye, ye willnae perform yer end of this subterfuge?”

That wasn’t what she’d been saying at all. And she would tell him that. Right after her brain started working again.

But now she could only think of the shape his mouth had made as he’d said sexually pleasure ye, and really, how could she be blamed?

“Ah.” It was all Felicity could manage. “Ahhh.”