Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom

CHAPTER Nine



Justine hadn’t said a word or even looked at Griffin for the last half hour. Instead, she perched on the edge of her armchair, grimly stitching away on a piece of tambour as they waited for Dominic to arrive.

And for possibly the tenth time in that same half hour, Griffin pulled out his pocket watch and checked it even though the ornate ormolu clock on the drawing room mantelpiece confirmed each quarter hour that the minutes were crawling by. He did his best to throttle back his anger with himself, and his annoyance with Dominic for taking so long to respond to the urgent missive he’d sent. Griffin had no desire to rattle Justine any more than she already was.

For despite putting on a brave face, she was obviously completely unnerved. The strain showed in the paleness of her skin that made the spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks stand out in high relief, and in the sharp set to her jaw that pulled her rosy lips tight. Her world as she knew it had just come to an end with a spectacular crash. Justine could no more return to her quiet life as a companion to Lady Somebody-or-other than she could run away and join a troupe of acrobats.


Rising from his chair in the bay window, Griffin finally gave in to the urge to move, pacing the length of the drawing room. He’d no doubt wear a path into the thick pile of the Aubusson carpet by the time this day was through, but if he did, he would simply buy another one. That was how he dealt with most of the problems in his life. He threw money at them or he employed another sort of power. He had many means at his disposal for achieving his ends, but money had proven to be the most effective and cleanest.

Fortunately, his need to utilize violence had faded over the years as his reputation grew along with his power and influence. Most days, merely invoking some vague threat was enough to achieve the desired result, and for that he was thankful. He’d never been squeamish—not after the life he’d led—but violence and intimidation had a way of coming back full circle, dragging a lot of unpleasantness along with them.

But in this particular situation, neither money, nor threats, nor violence, nor any bald exercise of power could save Justine or him from the parson’s trap. Griffin had made a truly fatal mistake—he’d grown arrogant and careless, and for that Justine would pay the price. The only thing he could do now was salvage the situation as best he could, and hope that marriage would ultimately prove less of a scandal for her than suffering with a permanently soiled reputation.

“Must you keep doing that?” she snapped, breaking into his ruminations.

He stopped in front of her. “Doing what?”

She sucked in a deep, exasperated breath, which drew his attention to her magnificent bosom. That was a consolation, at least, and a considerable one. He’d finally get the girl into his bed, where he’d wanted her almost from the moment he’d met her.

“Pacing back and forth like a caged animal,” she gritted out. “It’s annoying.”

Well, perhaps at some point in the future he’d get her into his bed, but if the pinched look on her face and the frosty glint in her eyes was any indication, it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

“No doubt you’re feeling peckish,” he said. “Why don’t you try to eat something? I’m sure you’ll feel better if you do.”

She stared at him like he was capering about the room in a dunce’s cap and then returned to her needlework, muttering under her breath. She’d been doing that on and off since she’d stalked into the drawing room and taken a seat by the fire, completely ignoring the generous tea Mrs. Phelps had laid on. Griffin had even poured her a cup, but she hadn’t touched it.

“When do you think Uncle Dominic will get here?” she asked when he resumed his pacing. “It’s been forever since you sent the note.”

“It’s only been an hour, Justine. And if there’s one thing we both know, it’s that Dominic answers on his own timetable. But I’m sure he’ll be here soon enough.”

She shook her head, punching her hook through the innocent piece of fabric. She mumbled something about men under her breath, and then went right back to ignoring Griffin.

He rubbed the knotted muscles across the back of his neck. Actually, it had been more than an hour since he’d sent Phelps out with the note. That had been the first order of business after he’d announced to Justine that their marriage was essentially a fait accompli. After that, he’d taken pity on the girl, knowing she needed to escape his presence for at least a few minutes. He’d sent her upstairs to check on the baby and hopefully take the opportunity to compose herself. Aside from everything else, she’d clearly dashed to the rescue this morning with hardly a care to her appearance. She’d been wearing a simple morning gown, with her dark red hair in a careless knot that had mostly come down around her shoulders. No wonder that bastard Mulborne thought she was his light o’ love. With her tumbled tresses, heavy, sleep-deprived eyes and simple gown, she’d looked lush and sleepy, like a woman who’d just risen from her lover’s bed.

A rap on the door stopped Griffin in his tracks. He strode to the window and glanced down in time to see Dominic entering the house.

“Your time of trial is over, my dear,” he said. “Uncle Dominic has come to the rescue.”

“Thank God,” Justine muttered, setting her work aside.

She looked so worried, miserable, and exhausted—all three conditions attributable to him in one way or another—that Griffin was hard-pressed not to pick her up and plop down into a chair with her on his lap. That, however, would no doubt send her shrieking from the room.

Despite what he’d just said, of course, the reality was that her trial was just beginning.

A quick tread out in the hallway signaled Dominic’s arrival, along with his raspy voice telling Phelps that he would see himself in. When the door opened, Justine launched herself from her chair.

“Oh, Uncle Dominic,” she exclaimed in a choked voice as she threw herself into his arms.

Dominic’s head jerked back in surprise, but then he gathered her into a consoling embrace. “There now, child,” he said, patting her back. “Whatever is the cause of so much upset?”

Griffin had to clamp down hard on the impulse to stalk across the room, pull Justine out of Dominic’s arms, and plant a facer on the older man’s aristocratic features. That impulse shocked him so much that he stood rooted to the spot, trying to analyze the wild swings in his emotions. If he didn’t know any better, he would think he was . . . jealous.

He mentally shrugged that off with a scowl. Griffin did know better, and if there was one emotion he didn’t feel, it was jealousy, especially over a woman.

By the time he’d wrestled himself back under control, Justine had pulled out of Dominic’s arms, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands and attempting an embarrassed smile.

“Good Lord, I haven’t done anything like that in years,” she said. She looked at Griffin and grimaced. “I apologize, sir. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

“I’m thinking that you’ve had a difficult morning,” he replied more abruptly than he intended.

Justine looked momentarily startled by his tone, but she quickly recovered, taking a deep breath and smoothing her skirts with a practiced hand. She returned to her chair, her expression settling into tense but calm lines. Griffin felt a reluctant admiration stir inside. He was beginning to think that what he’d first taken for a disapproving, spinsterish manner was, in fact, an iron self-discipline born of hard necessity. And that was something he could understand.

“Would someone like to tell me what’s going on?” Dominic asked politely.

Griffin waved him to a seat and fetched him a brandy.

“As bad as all that?” the older man said as he accepted the glass.

“Worse,” Griffin replied.

“I see. Well, you’d better tell me all about it.”

“We had an incident next door,” Griffin started, “while I was out. Justine was involved and was seen.”

He frowned, looking into the fire to avoid Dominic’s searching gaze. Normally, he cared little for what his self-appointed mentor thought of him, but today’s debacle could only be laid at Griffin’s door. Dominic would be furious that he’d put his godchild in danger, and no one could blame him.

But when the silence stretched under an unbearable tension, Griffin forced himself to look up.


Dominic hadn’t moved a muscle, although Griffin thought he detected an element of surprise in the ironical lift of his dark brows.

Griffin stared at him, puzzled. He’d been certain Dominic would lose his temper. He’d only seen that happen a few times and, as inured to strong emotions and even violence as Griffin was, he had no desire to repeat the experience. But instead of flaying him alive with his tongue, the older man merely studied him, as if waiting for a fuller explanation.

“That is a pickle,” he finally said in a mild tone. “Now I understand the urgency of your message.”

Griffin and Justine exchanged a startled glance.

“That’s your response?” Griffin asked, incredulous. “That we’re in a pickle?”

Dominic turned one hand, palm out. “Perhaps you could elaborate so that I may be able to arrive at some conclusions.”

Justine shot Griffin a warning glance, clearly wanting to explain the matter herself. “You see, Uncle Dominic, there was a . . . a commotion next door, while Mr. Steele and Deacon were both out. One of the maids came across looking for help, and there really wasn’t anyone else about but me.”

Griffin rolled his eyes. “That’s bloody ridiculous, Justine. Phelps was out back in the mews. He and Rose could have dealt with it. There was no need for you to go bolting over there like an avenging angel. You put yourself in a great deal of danger by doing so.”

She went all stiff and starchy, and her pale cheeks flooded with pink. “I disagree. Rose needed to remain with the children and keep them safe. Besides, I was the one with the pistol. I was perfectly able to defend myself, and Patience, for that matter.” She finished with a disdainful sniff. “Unlike you or Deacon, who could not be found.”

“I’m glad to hear that you still carry your pistol when you travel, Justine,” Dominic interjected in an approving voice. “It shows a great deal of sense on your part. I’m only sorry that you felt the need to use it.”

Justine directed a warm smile at Dominic, which made Griffin want to hit him. Then she switched her attention back to Griffin, looking smug. He could swear she was on the verge of sticking her tongue out at him.

“Have you both gone completely mad?” Griffin snapped. “She charged over to The Golden Tie, publicly exposing herself to three members of the ton and then threatening to shoot one of them. If I hadn’t come in when I did, we’d probably be breaking her out of Newgate at this very moment.”

“Well, you did come in and nothing happened. So, perhaps we can just get on with it,” Justine said haughtily. “Truly, I think you are making a great deal more out of this situation than is necessary.”

“Are you perfectly sure Justine was recognized?” Dominic asked.

“Good Christ,” Griffin muttered. “Of course she was recognized. She might as well have been wearing a sign around her neck announcing exactly who she was. I only wonder she didn’t sell tickets to the event.”

She crossed her arms over her breasts and gave him a sullen stare. “It wasn’t as bad as all that.”

“No, it was worse.”

Dominic held up a restraining hand. “Who identified her?”

“Mulborne, for one,” Griffin replied. “And Reginald Phillips and Sir Montegue Clarke.”

Dominic set his glass down on the small oval table next to his chair. “Ah, that is an unfortunate development.”

“Really, what difference does it make?” Justine said, practically bouncing in her seat. “It’s not like I’m going to be living in London anytime soon. Who cares who saw me?”

“It makes a great deal of difference,” Griffin replied, wanting to shake some sense into her. “Mulborne and his cronies have no doubt spread the news throughout the entire ton, by now.”

Dominic sighed, looking at Justine with a mixture of both affection and resignation. “I hate to criticize, my child, but it was perhaps not the wisest course for you to engage yourself in that particular situation.”

Justine’s shoulders slumped like a little wind-up doll that had just run down. As annoyed as he was with her, Griffin couldn’t help wanting to comfort her.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Dominic,” she said, sounding miserable. “But I didn’t know what else to do.”

Dominic leaned over and gave her hand a fatherly pat. “I’m sure you did exactly as you saw right, my dear.”

“Well, I did think so at the time. I had an odd feeling about it.” She shook her head, as if trying to make sense of it all. “Something seemed wrong to me, something to do with Stephen.” She looked at Griffin as if seeking confirmation. “That strange foreigner . . .”

Dominic shot Griffin a sharp glance. “A foreigner was among the company?”

Griffin nodded. “Supposedly someone attached to the Papal Nuncio, which sounded like bollocks to me. Why would a member of the Papal legation be visiting a brothel?”

“Nothing would shock me less,” Dominic replied in a dry voice. “Did you get his name?”

“Count Marzano,” Justine replied. “His behavior was very unsettling.”

“In what way?”

“First of all, he wasn’t inebriated. If he had spent the night carousing with Mulborne’s crowd, it didn’t show in the slightest. As well, he seemed a great deal more interested in me than he was in Patience or anything else going on.”

“He probably took you for one of the girls,” Griffin commented sarcastically.

To his surprise, she didn’t bristle. “No, it wasn’t like that. He seemed interested in a focused way. Not only in me but in his surroundings, too, almost as if he was looking for something.”

Dominic cast Griffin a look of silent inquiry.

“She might be right,” he admitted, sitting on one of the settees. “He certainly seemed to be out of place with that particular crowd.”

“What did he look like?” Dominic asked.

Griffin provided a description.

“I don’t recognize the name,” Dominic said in a thoughtful voice. “I know most of the members of the Papal legation and I can’t recall any who answers to your description.”

Justine leaned forward in her chair. “Do you think his presence had something to do with the baby?”

Dominic uncrossed one of his long legs, as if preparing to stand. “That is surely worth looking into. Leave it with me.”

As he started to rise, Griffin held up a restraining hand. “You do realize we need to address the situation with Justine, don’t you? After this morning, her situation is untenable.”

“I’m sure you exaggerate, Mr. Steele,” she said in a prim little voice. “If we just ignore what happened and I stay out of sight, the problem will fade away in a few weeks.”

Both men stared at her—Griffin in amazement and Dominic with an expression that could only be described as pity.

“You do know the only solution, don’t you?” Griffin asked Dominic.

“It should be obvious to all of us,” Dominic replied, “which was why I didn’t believe it necessary to spell it out.” His green eyes narrowed to flinty chips. “I don’t, do I?”

Again, Griffin resisted the impulse to level the man. “No, you don’t, but I would appreciate your help with a few of the details. Matters need to progress even more quickly than you might think.”


“For heaven’s sake,” Justine broke in. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that I told Mulborne and his troupe of merry men that you were my wife,” Griffin replied, exasperated.

“Did you?” Dominic looked vaguely impressed. “That was quick thinking on your part, Griffin. Well done.”

Justine shot to her feet, her gaze wild and verging on desperation. “It wasn’t well done at all. It was insane. The question now is how to get out of it.” She took a step toward Dominic, her fists clenched anxiously into her skirts. “You have to help us think of a way to do that, Uncle Dominic. Surely you can, can’t you?”

Her voice caught on a pathetic little break that Griffin both resented and understood. He knew how bad a bargain he was for a woman like Justine, but he had enough self-conceit to wish she didn’t act like her world was ending in a flaming ball of hellfire.

Dominic came to his feet. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and silently encouraged her to retake her seat. Once she did, she stared up at her godparent with an expression of dread pulling her pretty features into a tight mask.

“Justine,” Dominic started in a kind voice, “I have always spoken the truth to you, have I not?”

She gave a sad little nod.

“Then I must speak the truth to you now. Regardless of what either of you desires in this situation, the die has been cast. You have no choice but to marry Griffin, and as soon as possible.”

She went from miserable to appalled. “You must be joking, sir.”

“Indeed not. It is the only way to preserve your reputation. Surely, you see that.”

She waved a dramatic, impatient hand. “Oh, hang my reputation. I have no desire to get married and I never did. And I’m sure Lady Belgrave won’t care. She never does when it comes to ton gossip and scandal. I’ll just go back to Cambridge and eventually everything will be fine.”

“I think you’ll find she cares a great deal about this,” Dominic said. A faint note of exasperation began to creep into his voice. “There is also your family to consider—your uncle, Viscount Curtis, and your brother.”

She visibly winced, but just as visibly wasn’t yet ready to give up. “I’ll explain it to them.” She cast a glance in Griffin’s direction. “They couldn’t possibly wish me to marry a . . . a . . .”

“Whoremaster? I believe that’s the term you’re looking for,” Griffin said. “I’m sorry if that disconcerts you, Justine, but there’s nothing I can do to change it.”

His voice sounded bitter and harsh, but never had he regretted his chosen profession more than right now. For her sake, as well as his.

“I don’t care about that, and you know it,” she retorted, waving her hands. “But my family doesn’t know you like I do. They won’t understand.”

Her unintentional and generous candor gave him a jolt. Dominic, as well, if the look of surprise on his face was any indication.

“Then we’ll explain it to them,” Dominic finally said in a reasonable tone. “I’ll help you.”

Her gaze flicked between the two men. Griffin hated that her eyes held the desperation of a trapped animal, but there was no alternative course of action. He might be a right bloody bastard, but he’d never intentionally harmed an innocent, and Justine was as innocent as they came. Even more to the point, he refused to follow in his father’s footsteps. Cumberland had used Griffin’s mother, impregnating her and throwing her to the side without a second thought, ruining more than one life in the process. Griffin would be damned if he did the same. He’d do whatever he could to make the situation acceptable to Justine, but she had to understand that neither of them had a choice.

“But . . . but I’m sure you don’t want to marry me, either, do you?” she asked him in a pleading voice. Her face had gone as white as chalk and the freckles stood out like pinpoints of flame.

He glanced at Dominic who gave him a little jerk of the head, his features calmly set and implacable. Something in Griffin froze in a warning. He stared back at his erstwhile mentor in shock as realization struck him with a heavy blow.

Dominic wasn’t in fact upset at this turn of events. If anything, he looked almost . . . satisfied.

Christ.

Dominic had been trying for years to reform Griffin, but if he thought marriage to Justine would do the trick, he was in for a surprise. It would take a great deal more than marriage to a reluctant, innocent spinster to steer Griffin off his long-charted course.

He glanced down at Justine. Her pleading gaze remained fixed on him, her vulnerability so stark that it wiped away any temptation he had to respond cynically to the outcome of events. Instead, Griffin went down on one knee beside her and took her cold little hand.

“I won’t deny that this is a very odd situation indeed, or that I didn’t plan on marriage,” he said.

“Well, then—”

He touched a finger to her lips, silencing the words, although he couldn’t fail to hear her sharply indrawn breath.

“But I would be most grateful if you would consent to wed me, Justine,” he said in a grave voice. “I promise I will do my best to make you as comfortable and happy as I can.”

“But how?” she whispered. “How is this even possible?”

“It is entirely possible,” he said. “And we can discuss the details later, once you’ve had a rest. For now, all you need to do is say yes. Dominic and I will take care of everything else.”

She glanced up at Dominic, who stood over them. Whatever she saw in his face gave her no comfort. She blinked twice, then switched her attention back to Griffin. For a long moment, she stared at him, and then a weary resignation settled on her pretty features.

“It would appear I have no choice,” she said, her voice a strained imitation of her normal rich tones.

“None,” Griffin replied. Impatience stirred within him, and something more fundamental—a need for her to confirm what part of him already knew. That in some way he couldn’t yet define, she belonged to him.

She nodded, looking quietly and tragically shattered. “Very well, Mr. Steele. I accept your generous offer.”