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He’d been her first. Not her first fook, of course, but the first to make her come.

The thought still made him inordinately proud, and he felt his cock stir in his trousers.

No’ the best time for a cockstand.

Besides, he was beginning to think what he and Felicity did was something besides fooking. Making love?

There ye go with the L-word again. This isnae love. This is lust.

Aye, lust. That was likely it. Right?

A noise in the corridor had him jerking his head up and around.

Fook fook fook!

He should’ve made his escape, then pondered the frustration of not finding what he was looking for!

Griffin pressed his back to the wall beside the door. If it opened, he could either duck to his right behind a surprisingly large potted fern—why would someone put a plant in their bedchamber?—and hope like hell…or he could duck out behind the interloper.

His fists curled instinctively at his side, reminding him there was always another option.

Nay, he needed the reminder that whoever was coming closer was just doing his or her job, and didn’t deserve to have their face knocked in or their neck broken because Griffin had forgotten the basic rules of sneaking about.

But as the footsteps passed the large double doors, Griffin found himself releasing a breath.

Deciding that the universe had given him one more opportunity to make up for his cock-up, he counted a full minute, then slowly eased the door open. Not seeing anyone in the corridor, he quickly ducked out and pulled the door shut behind him.

The trick, when you were somewhere you weren’t supposed to be, was to act so confident no one would question you. So he shoved his hands in his pockets, pursed his lips as if he were ready to whistle—although not actually whistling, because that would be idiotic—and did an impression of a man out for a stroll along his twenty-eighth-cousin-twice-removed’s corridor.

And then, turning the corner, he came face-to-face with Ian.

Fook.

“Griffin!” The man looked surprised, then delighted. Not at all the reaction of a guilty man when faced with someone sneaking near his private rooms. “I didn’t expect to see you until dinner!”

Ah yes, the “family” dinners had quickly become the Duke and Ian’s favorite parts of the day.

And yers, if ye’re willing to stop lying to yerself.

Griffin couldn’t allow his mind to linger on the reluctantly fun dinners. “I left Rupert to entertain Duncan.” It wasn’t an excuse, but a deflection.

And it worked, judging from Ian’s fond smile. “Your lad is truly remarkable, Griffin, although I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that. He’s a veritable fount of information, and Duncan very much enjoys his discussions with the lad. Did he tell you he’s started to lend Rupert some of his favorite histories of the Highlands?”

Griffin didn’t need to fake the wry twist of his lips. “God help us!”

But Ian shook his finger in mock sternness. “Now, now, none of that. If Duncan chooses you to be his heir, then Rupert will one day inherit Peasgoode, and thus nothing could be more important than educating the lad on its history, as well as the husbandry and land stewardship.”

A few days ago, Griffin would’ve brushed off that statement. He knew Duncan’s estate would be out of his reach after proving the man a traitor. But now…

His stomach churned at the thought that not only might the Duke of Peasgoode be innocent, he could very well want Griffin—and thus Rupert—as his heirs.

Oh, shite.

Since the older man was still watching him expectantly, Griffin managed a feeble grin. “Well, better him than me,” he said weakly.

“I’m not so certain, Griffin,” Ian said softly. “You might not have experience with land management, but Lord knows you can hire any number of clerks, as long as you trust them. I have plenty of recommendations—John Totwafel has been my second-in-command on the estate for about three years now—but do not doubt your own ability and intellect.”

When he clasped Griffin on the shoulder, Griffin only managed not to duck out of his hold and flip him as he would an attacker.