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“Why?” Marcia asked quietly. “I mean, when?”

“When I held Bull for the first time,” Felicity said with a small smile, remembering the tiny, squirming infant who seemed so angry at the world, and didn’t look anything like her. “And when your father kisses me.”

Marcia fell off the fence.

“Oh! Marcia! Sweetheart, are you hurt?” Felicity threw herself down beside the stunned girl. “Talk to me!”

“I’m not hurt.” The girl swatted away her probing hands. “You and Papa kiss?”

Felicity realized a blush was creeping up her neck. Blast. Had she said that out loud? She hadn’t meant to admit how much she liked Griffin’s kisses—not to his daughter, at least.

Thank goodness you did not mention the other things her father does which make you pleased you are a woman!

Marcia was now sitting up, her weight resting on her palms, her be-trousered legs sticking out straight. Her eyes were wide, and Felicity realized she couldn’t get out of answering the question.

“Um…yes.” Her gaze darted toward the stables, desperate for something to look at besides the curious girl before her. “That is part of the deception, is it not? Pretending we are married?”

To her surprise, the girl looked…excited at the thought of Felicity kissing her father. “That’s brilliant! The Duke will have to believe you’re married now! Maybe you ought to ask Papa to do a bit more than kissing, eh? To make it more believable, eh?”

When she started winking, Felicity groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “You are beginning to sound like Mrs. Mac,” she mumbled.

“Where do you think I learned it, eh?” Marcia sounded far too cheerful for someone who’d just fallen off a fence.

Before Felicity could admit that yes, she had asked the girl’s father for far more than kisses, and yes, she had enjoyed it very much, Marcia gasped in delight.

“Oh! Oh, Flick, look!” Her voice was hushed, and the tone excited enough for Felicity to peek through her fingers.

There, sniffing around the hem of her green skirts, was a tiny kitten. It was a ball of pale fluff, with a squashed face with black markings which made it look as if it were perpetually frowning.

“Hello there,” she whispered, instinctively holding out her hand so the kitten could sniff it.

“Don’t scare it away,” Marcia warned. “It’s even cuter than the coos!”

Felicity’s attention was focused on the small kitten, which was curious enough to step delicately across the silk of her skirts to sniff at the fingers being offered. “I told you so,” she muttered to the girl. “Kittens are cuter.”

“Can we keep him?” Marcia breathed.

At that moment, the kitten climbed up into Felicity’s lap, padded in a full circle, and settled back, staring expectantly up at Felicity.

When she raised her hand to stroke the wee beastie, it didn’t pull away. It seemed expectant, even with the markings which made it looked irritated.

“I think…I think we might,” she murmured, stroking the little fluff ball. “Do you have any food?”

“You know what else trousers are great for?” Marcia asked excitedly as she shifted to one side. “Pockets! I brought this as a snack.”

It was a sandwich. She’d made and wrapped a bacon sandwich—goodness knows what the servants in the kitchen thought of her helping herself—and shoved it in her pocket.

Felicity’s brows rose wryly as she took the wrapped snack from the girl and broke off a piece for the kitten, who seemed grateful.

“What can we name it?” the girl asked.

Felicity studied the animal, wondering if the Duke would object to them bringing home a pet. Presumably the kitten was from the stables—making it Duncan’s property, she guessed—but it was so friendly, and seemed so grateful for the food…

“I think we should name him after his markings,” Marcia declared. “He looks like he’s frowning all the time!”

“Yes, he does. How about Griffin?”

Marcia burst into laughter, which startled the kitten, but it didn’t do anything more than freeze and stare owlishly at the girl, then settle back to eating small pieces of bacon from Felicity’s fingers.