Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom

CHAPTER Ten



Justine paused outside the door of Mr. Steele’s—Griffin’s—study, automatically smoothing down her skirts and then her hair before she knocked. Why she cared was a mystery. She was sure her soon-to-be husband didn’t give a fig about her appearance. After all, their marriage would be in name only, the reluctant parties forced into it by the inexorable march of circumstances. There was no need to pretend it was anything else, something she had every intention of reiterating to him in no uncertain terms.

As soon as she worked up the nerve to speak to him.

After that ghastly discussion with Dominic and Griffin earlier in the day, Justine had fled to her bedroom. She’d locked herself inside and sunk, trembling, onto the bed, trying to sort out the ruin of the life she’d so carefully built these last few years. It had taken a great deal of effort and will to finally smooth out the rough contours of her existence, and that included defying the most powerful member of her family, her uncle, Viscount Curtis. But it had all been worth it. After a lifetime of dramatic uncertainty in her father’s household, Justine had finally found the peace she’d always craved in the serenely old-fashioned household of Lady Belgrave. She’d fought hard for that life, and she cherished every moment of it.


But now, with one necessary but reckless action on her part—and didn’t that just sound like her father—Justine had blown it all up. For the foreseeable future, she was tied to one of the most notorious men in England. Griffin Steele led anything but a quiet, respectable life, so she couldn’t have done a better job of finding her exact opposite.

She sighed and pressed her fingertips against the sore spots where her jaw hinged. Her face felt like a gigantic toothache, the result of clenching her teeth for hours as waves of panic rolled through her. Her molars would soon be ground down to stubs.

As she reluctantly raised her hand to knock on the oak door, Griffin’s voice sounded from inside his office. “Justine, stop loitering out there in the hallway like an eavesdropping maid and come in.”

Biting back a gasp, she pressed a hand to her chest, right over her thudding heart. He’d simply startled her, that’s all. She most certainly was not responding to the inherent sensuality of his drawling tones.

Courage, Justine. Face the problem head-on, and everything will be fine.

She blinked at the quiet words filtering through her mind. It was as though her father were standing beside her, supporting her. So many times in the past, when she’d wanted to fade into the background or avoid some unpleasant task, he’d gently but implacably urged her to confront whatever troubled her.

“No point in avoiding it, my dear,” he would say with a wry smile. “Most times, the only way to manage a problem is to go directly through it. And the source of your problem, whoever it is, will respect you all the more for standing up to him.”

More than once, she’d found that to be the case.

“Justine, do I have to come out there and get you, or have you finished running through every problem that comes into your pretty little head?”

Drat.

Griffin was so blasted perceptive. Why couldn’t he be as thick-headed as most other men, never knowing how a woman truly thought? And how in heaven’s name had he heard her in the first place? She wore soft slippers and she knew she hadn’t made any noise coming down the hall. But Griffin seemed to have the uncanny and annoying ability to sense everything that was happening in his domain.

Composing her face into serene lines, she opened the door and stepped into the room, determined to exert the upper hand in the ensuing conversation. There was much they needed to discuss, and much more she needed to understand.

They could start with how he envisioned the daily order of their lives. Their marriage would be a sham, but in the eyes of the law it would be entirely legal. The very idea that the man lounging behind his massive desk, a man looking for all the world like a pirate or highwayman, would soon have control over virtually every aspect of her life made the pit of Justine’s stomach raw with acid.

Griffin was dressed in black again but for the white shirt underneath his black waistcoat. He’d discarded both his jacket and his cravat, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. The sight of his tanned forearms, corded with muscles and lightly dusted with dark hair, made her poor stomach give an odd little flip.

Griffin’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he rose, but his words were scrupulously polite. “Come in, my dear, and sit before the fire. You look chilled.”

He strolled around the desk, laying a gentle hand on her elbow as he steered her to one of the club chairs in front of the grate. She didn’t fail to notice his swift but searching inspection.

“You’re pale as milk,” he added as she took her seat. “Why didn’t you join me for dinner after I made a point of asking you? You need to eat.” He waved an impatient hand to forestall her answer. “And don’t use the baby as an excuse. You’re not a nursemaid anymore, Justine. It’s time you realized that.” His tone conveyed his disapproval with her small show of defiance about dinner.

Through Phelps, he’d all but ordered her to join him in the dining room. Justine had sent back a politely worded refusal, saying Stephen was fractious and Rose too worn out to watch him. Phelps’ grimace conveyed how little he’d relished the idea of relaying that news to his master, but Justine had no intention of allowing Griffin to impose his will on her. She might, within the next few days, be his wife in truth, but she intended showing him that she would remain her own person.

Besides, she’d been so rattled and sick about the whole business that she’d doubted her ability to keep down a single morsel of food.

“I wasn’t hungry,” she replied. “And Stephen was fractious. You can’t expect Rose to do everything, you know. That’s why you brought me here in the first place.” She gave him what she hoped was a pleasant but disinterested smile that signaled her intention to keep her distance.

His dark brows lifted with elegant disdain. “Matters have changed, Justine. You will soon be mistress of this household, and it would be unseemly for you to act like a common servant.”

“I have neither the intention nor the desire to run your household, and I’m sure you don’t want me to, either,” she fired back.

So much for keeping a polite distance.

His lips thinned with irritation. Pivoting on his boot heel, he crossed to the whatnot behind his desk and pulled down a crystal decanter and a small glass.

“I don’t want any brandy,” she protested. “My stomach is unsettled enough as it is.” Then she winced as she realized what she’d revealed.

He cast her a half smile. “It’s only ratafia, the perfect thing for your stomach and your nerves.”

When he returned with the glass, she accepted it with a resigned sigh. She knew him well enough by now to know better than to refuse.

He stood over her, staring down at her with a brooding but curiously absent gaze. As the seconds ticked by, she had the impulse to fidget, and not even the soothing warmth of the liqueur could counteract it.

“Mr. Steele, are you deliberately trying to make me more anxious than I already am?” she finally asked.

He looked blank for a moment, then shook his head. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Well, I have noticed you like to keep everyone around you slightly off balance.” She forced a smile to her lips. “It is an effective method of control, I’ll grant you.”

His low, purring laugh somehow both ruffled and soothed her nerves. “No, I’m not trying to make you anxious. And I have no wish to control you.”

“Except in the matter of forcing me to marry you,” she said, carefully placing the delicate liqueur glass on the circular table between the two armchairs.

His eyes seemed to pinch in the corners, and his lips did their trick of thinning again. “I’m not forcing you to do anything I’m not forcing on myself.”

That unpleasant reminder washed away the false sense of warmth imparted by the ratafia, or by the easiness of his laugh.

“Forgive me,” she said, fighting against the tight sensation in her chest. “In my selfishness, I have forgotten how unpleasant this must be for you, too.”

He rubbed his forehead, as if he were puzzled, and then subsided into the other chair. “Trust me, Justine, marrying you is not the worst thing I’ve ever had to do. Not by a long shot.”

Unexpectedly, he turned and dazzled her with an engaging and, she had to admit it, seductive smile.

“In fact,” he continued, “there appear to be several benefits to the arrangement, so no need to think I’m about to throw myself into the Serpentine.”


She stared at him. “I’m glad to hear that. I think.”

When he laughed again, she found herself relaxing enough to broach the difficult but necessary discussion. He seemed to be taking things with very little fuss, which boded well for their future living arrangements.

“Yes, and along those lines,” she started, “We must reach an understanding of what will happen between us when . . .”

“When we’re married?” he asked in a gently mocking voice.

“Yes.” She realized she was perched on the very edge of the seat, her back ramrod straight. She must look as stiff as a fireplace poker. Taking a deep breath, Justine forced some air into her lungs and tried to force some of the tension out of her body.

“Go on,” he encouraged, relaxing into his usual elegant sprawl.

“Yes, well, I’m sure you’ll have certain expectations, to begin with. I assume I will continue taking care of Stephen to some degree, and doing whatever I can to help Rose.” She paused, suddenly struck with a happy thought. “And I’m hoping for at least one advantage of the changed nature of our situation.”

“And that is?” He looked very much like a sleek black cat about to pounce on a mouse.

“I’ll be able to leave the house. Take the baby to the park and go shopping, if need be. I’m sure Mrs. Phelps is quite run off her feet, what with the extra people in the house, and I would be happy to help alleviate her of some of that burden.”

Griffin slowly sat upright. “You will do no such thing.”

She frowned. “Why ever not? I must do something to earn my keep, at least until this mess is sorted out.”

“We are sorting out the mess by getting married, Justine,” he said with careful emphasis. “And you do not have to earn your keep. You will be my wife, and as such you will be treated with the respect that your change in status deserves.” He leaned forward, his gaze boring into her. “And that means my wife will not be treated like a servant, by me or by anyone else.”

It took a few moments for her to realize her mouth was hanging open. “But . . . but it won’t be a real marriage,” she stammered. “I mean, yes, it will in one sense, but not in the other.”

He barked out a short laugh, and this time it didn’t sound either seductive or amused. “I assure you, my sweet, our marriage will be very real. Dominic and I spent the entire bloody afternoon procuring a special license and making the arrangements. As of tomorrow, you will most decidedly be Mrs. Griffin Steele, in name and in law.”

The invisible band around her chest tightened another notch as she stared at him. Griffin suddenly looked and sounded as imperious as any lord she had ever met, and ten times as intimidating.

But his words were ridiculous.

Regardless of what the law said, she had no intention of bowing down before him. Uncle Dominic wouldn’t expect that of her, and she couldn’t believe Griffin would either.

“Very well,” she said. “I understand the need to present an appropriate front to the world and will conduct myself accordingly. Goodness knows, I wouldn’t want to offend your sense of dignity.”

When he flashed a brief grin at that shot across his bow, it gave her flagging courage a boost.

“I do think, however,” she said, “that we must have very clear expectations of each other, so we avoid any awkward unpleasantness in the future.”

He began to look interested again, tilting his head to study her, much like a naturalist might study an intriguing specimen. In truth, Justine was beginning to feel like she had been sliced up and examined under a microscope.

“Oh, do go on,” he urged. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

“You need to take this seriously,” she said in a severe voice.

“Believe me, my dear, I am all ears.”

She mentally rolled her eyes but congratulated herself on maintaining her equanimity. Lord knows one of them had to behave in a mature fashion, and she was quite certain it wouldn’t be him. His moods changed so quickly and effortlessly that it was like trying to capture the wind in the palm of her hand.

“This is what I expect from our arrangement,” she said. “Since I’m not familiar with all the aspects of your life, including your, er, social life, you must forgive me if I sketch only the basic outlines of the plan. But what I can assure you is that I will present to the world the appropriate appearance of a married woman. And, despite what I said earlier, I will supervise your household, if you wish. That, however, is entirely up to you since your servants clearly know their business.”

She stopped, giving him a chance to comment, but he simply waved her on.

“I will also organize and host any social events you deem necessary.” She paused, thinking that one through. “Although I can’t imagine who would socialize with us, since no respectable woman would set foot in this house.”

“Yes,” he replied. “I’ve always been lucky in that respect.”

“Then I suspect your luck will continue to hold,” she said tartly. “If, however, we are invited by any of the more liberal members of the ton to social events—and knowing Uncle Dominic, I expect we will—then I will of course accompany you as your wife.”

Griffin looked startled. “Good God. Do you really think that will happen?”

She nodded. “Uncle Dominic will do everything he can to mitigate the damage to my reputation. That will surely include persuading some of his friends to invite us to their houses.”

He grimaced and reached for a brandy decanter and glass on the corner of his desk, pouring himself a healthy amount. “I hadn’t thought of that. That’s a bloody terrifying prospect.”

Griffin sounded so genuinely horrified, she couldn’t help feeling a little spurt of triumph. After all, it was only fair that he should be as inconvenienced and, yes, embarrassed by this predicament as she was.

She waited until he’d taken a hasty swallow of brandy. “May I continue?” she asked, primly folding her hands in her lap.

He let out a dramatic sigh. “You might as well outline all the horrors that await me as a married man.”

“Indeed. As to your social life, I have already mentioned that I don’t know what it entails.”

When a sly grin erased the morose cast of his features, Justine raised a restraining hand. “Nor do I wish to know. I only ask that you not require me to host or attend any parties that would involve participation by members of the demi-monde, for lack of a better term, or social occasions that might be looked upon as less than respectable.”

When he remained silent, she felt the need to explain. “It’s not that I disapprove, per se,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “I like Rose a great deal, and the girls next door that I’ve met have been nothing but kind. But if the purpose of this enterprise is to restore my reputation, then it hardly makes sense to drag me into situations which will have the opposite effect.”

“I would never do that to you, Justine,” Griffin said quietly. “Surely you must know that by now.”

His dark gaze fastened on her with an intensity she didn’t quite understand, but which made a hot flush crawl up her neck.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Anything else?”

She took a deep breath. This was the last, most difficult hurdle to jump. She thought she knew what his answer would be, but she couldn’t be entirely sure. Not with a man of his reputation.


“I would assume that we both agree that our marriage will not proceed in the normal manner,” she said, hoping he would understand her vague reference.

Unfortunately, he looked puzzled. “I don’t follow you.”

“Well, that our marriage will be one of convenience. There will be no need to engage in . . . marital activities.”

Something hot and disturbing flared in his eyes. “You mean sex.”

“Yes, not to put too fine a point upon it,” she replied, trying to look like an experienced woman of the world, not someone who actually wanted to crawl into the nearest cupboard and hide.

He leaned forward, bracing his sinewy forearms on his thighs. “So, to be perfectly clear, you do not want to consummate our marriage.”

She nodded, striving to remain as dispassionate as he appeared to be.

Except, she realized a moment later, he wasn’t. Irritation flared in his eyes and he seemed quite put out. It was a mystifying reaction. Surely to God he had never expected that of her, had he?

“May I ask why?” he asked in an icy tone.

“I should think it was obvious,” she hedged.

“Humor me.”

“Well, for one, we barely know each other,” she said.

He gave a casual shrug and leaned back in his chair, taking a leisurely sip of his brandy before answering. But Justine couldn’t shake the feeling that he watched her carefully, and that behind his bland expression a great deal of mental activity was taking place.

“Many husbands and wives barely know each other before finding themselves in the marriage bed.”

“Yes, but they haven’t been forced into marriage,” she said, trying to sound as reasonable as she could. “That makes all the difference.”

“Justine, many a man and woman have been reluctantly marched to the altar, sometimes at the point of a pistol.”

She grimaced. “I suppose that’s true.”

He extended a hand toward her, palm up. “Come now, Justine. Tell me the real reason you want to avoid my bed, when I think we could find some very fine sport between the sheets.”

He might as well have dipped her in a cauldron of boiling water. “Sir, that sort of comment is entirely unnecessary.”

“Perhaps, but I’d still like an answer,” he said, not backing down.

She fumed for several seconds, glaring at him. Really, he was beyond outrageous.

“Very well,” she finally said. “I would like the option to seek an annulment at some point. We can only do that if we do not engage in conjugal relations.”

He stared at her with patent disbelief. “Let me try to understand. You have agreed to marry me to salvage your reputation, but you wish to remain a virgin in order to, at some point in the future, apply for an annulment. After, presumably, the scandal has faded.”

“That is correct.” Her jaw felt so tight she could probably crack walnuts with it.

He shook his head with exasperation and, perhaps, some sympathy. “My dear girl, it will never work.”

“But why not?” she asked, trying not to bristle.

“Because no one will believe you.”

That didn’t make any sense. “Why not?” she asked again, realizing she was beginning to sound like a parrot.

“You know me a little by now, do you not? And you certainly know of my reputation.”

She nodded.

“And with that knowledge, do you think anyone would believe that I didn’t take you into my bed, no matter how skittish and proper you might choose to be?”

She thought her eyes must have crossed for a moment, because he suddenly looked rather blurry around the edges.

“But it would be the truth,” she said. “And if you made the same claim . . .” She stumbled to a halt when he grimly shook his head.

“No one would believe it,” he replied in such a blighting tone that any answer she had dried up on her tongue. “Justine, although there has been some exaggeration regarding my amorous activities, my reputation is, for the most part, well deserved. For your sake, I regret that. But that does not change the situation, which is that you will be wedded to me on the morrow and will likely be wedded to me for many years to come.”

She stared at him, feeling like a bird trapped in a hunter’s snare. Her heart beat fast and light, as if the trapped bird resided within her rib cage.

“But surely you cannot wish that?” she blurted out.

Griffin’s casual shrug did nothing to dispel the intensity that shimmered in the air around him. When he tipped his head to the side to inspect her more closely, the reflected glow of the flames in the grate highlighted the thin, white scar cutting down the side of his face. “I’m reconciled to it.”

She gave her head a shake to dispel the air of unreality that threatened to overcome her. Perhaps she was going about this all wrong. Instead of trying to force him to agree to her needs and expectations, she should be asking him what he expected from a marriage of convenience, no matter how long or short-lived.

“If I may ask, how do you envision our future together?” She gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

“Now, that is an interesting question,” he mused. “The truth is, until this mess with the baby cropped up, I was in the process of selling off the last of my holdings.”

That gave her a jolt. “You mean your bawdy houses and your gaming clubs?”

“I’ve already sold the clubs, and I’m in the process of turning The Golden Tie over to Madeline and some of the girls who work there. And for your information,” he said, with that haughty note creeping back into his voice, “I have only ever owned one brothel—the one attached to the club that once operated out of this house. When I bought the club it was necessary that I buy the brothel, too. It was that or see it hived off to someone who had little concern for the well-being of those who worked there.”

Justine didn’t know what to make of that—except that some mental part of her exhaled a great sigh of relief—so she kept silent.

Griffin’s mouth took on a bitter twist. “I’m not a whoremaster, Justine, no matter what you might think.”

“Yes, I see that now,” she said quietly. “Thank you for explaining it to me.”

His head went back a bit, as if she’d surprised him.

“What did you intend to happen after you sell everything off?” she asked.

He grimaced, reaching around to rub the base of his neck. She’d noticed that he had a habit of doing that when he was frustrated about something. It usually meant he pulled some of his long hair from the confines of its leather band. Rather to her horror, Justine couldn’t help wishing she could touch the dark locks. She suspected they’d be as soft as silk between her fingers.

“I was going to leave England,” he said. “Spend a few years traveling in Europe and the Near East, perhaps Egypt, as well.” He hesitated for only a few seconds before unleashing a charming, crooked smile. “You’d be welcome to travel with me. As husband and wife, it would be entirely proper.”

He leaned toward her again, seeming almost eager. Even with the small table between their chairs separating them, Justine felt the force of his presence like a hand pressing on her chest. She had to struggle to pull in her next breath.

“It would be an adventure, don’t you think?” he said in a darkly coaxing voice. “Just think of all the fun we could have, roaming the world like two free spirits with no one to answer to but each other.”


“I . . . I don’t even know what to say to such an idea,” she stammered.

And she didn’t. Something deep inside her leapt at the idea of exploring exotic lands with Griffin at her side, just the two of them doing whatever they wished. It sounded exciting and risky and even rather dangerous.

And the most dangerous thing of all, she suspected, would be Griffin.

No.

She’d spent her entire adult life trying to escape chaos and drama, and she had no intention of walking right back into it.

He obviously read the answer on her face because he sat back and gave a careless shrug. She couldn’t help thinking he’d found her answer disappointing, and that made her feel she’d somehow failed him.

“Or not,” he said drily. “Rest assured I will not force you to do anything you don’t want to do. But I warn you that I will be leaving England at some point in the next few months.”

“I understand,” she said, surprised at how strangely bleak the notion of his departure made her feel. “In that case, the best thing I can do is return to Lady Belgrave’s house.”

“You will do nothing of the sort,” he said, abruptly coming to his feet. He loomed over her with a glower on his handsome face. “As my wife, I will make a proper settlement on you and provide you with a town house in London or a villa in the country, whichever you prefer. I will not let it be said that I do not take care of my wife or provide for her needs. Do you understand me, Justine?”

She gaped up at him, surprised at the blaze of anger in his eyes. She wanted to argue the point—after all, he didn’t owe her anything—but some instinct warned that she’d pushed him far enough tonight. Better to discuss the situation with Dominic, and make the appropriate plans at another time.

“Yes, I understand,” she said. “I had no intention of offending you, or suggesting that you didn’t have an appropriate sense of duty.”

He let out a sardonic snort, half turning from her to stare into the fire. “Yes, that’s me. A slave to duty.”

The bitter note in his voice tugged at her, making her wish she could touch him, or soothe him somehow. But given what they’d just discussed and her need to keep him at an appropriate distance, to give in to that sort of impulse—especially with a man like him—would be madness.

“Well, then,” she said, coming to her feet, “it would appear that we have reached some sort of understanding as to how to conduct ourselves. In public, we shall present a united front as husband and wife. And in private . . .” She hesitated, not quite sure how to put it into words.

He looked over his shoulder at her, the devilish gleam once more lurking in his eyes. “Yes, and in private?”

Good Lord, the man didn’t know when to stop. Clearly, she had to make her position crystal clear. “In private, we shall live as friends and nothing more,” she replied in a firm voice.

He turned to face her, crossing his arms and resting his broad shoulders against the mantelpiece. “Ah, but marriage is the truest form of friendship, is it not?” The purring tone of his voice left her in no doubt as to his meaning.

The man was simply beyond incorrigible.

“Then brother and sister,” she said.

“Gawd, that’s an awful thought,” he muttered.

Despite herself, Justine had to bite back a smile. “If that’s all, please allow me to excuse myself. I need to check on the baby.”

“Just a moment,” he said, strolling over to her. “Now that we’ve reached an agreement, I think we need to mark it somehow.”

As he closed in on her, Justine had to tilt up her chin to meet his gaze. The strange, almost taunting look on his face made her pulse skip a bit.

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” she blurted out. “I trust you.”

“Nonetheless,” he said, reaching down to wrap his long fingers around her hand, “I feel we should salute our agreement.”

“Oh,” she said weakly as he intertwined his fingers with hers. “Very well. I suppose there’s no harm shaking on it.”

His other hand tilted her chin up another notch, forcing her to look directly into his midnight eyes. How could something so dark seem to glow with so much fire and heat?

Her heart lost what was left of its steady rhythm, and a flash of nervous excitement rushed out from the core of her body to her limbs, making her tremble.

“Come now,” he murmured. “We can do much better than a cool handshake. On such a momentous occasion, a kiss would be a far more appropriate response.”

When she let out a shocked gasp, he smiled. “A kiss between friends, of course,” he whispered in a dark voice. “Entirely chaste and respectable.”

“I . . . I . . .”

He silenced her witless stammering by leaning down a few more inches and sealing the words in her mouth with his warm, firm lips. When her body jerked in surprise, he moved his other hand to her shoulder, taking it in a gentle grip as if to steady her. All the while, his lips gently explored hers, brushing as soft as a feather from one corner of her mouth to the other, tasting her as delicately as a hummingbird sips from a flower. Oddly, his kiss was both soothing and stimulating. Part of her wanted to rest against him, finding shelter in the strength of his embrace, while another part stirred with a growing, restless need, one that urged her to entwine her arms around his shoulders and come up on her toes, plastering every inch of her body against him.

For several long moments they stood like that—their mouths as the only point of contact other than his hands on her shoulder and chin. Twice, his hand nudged her jaw, adjusting the angle of the kiss so their lips fit perfectly together. Justine shivered under his gentle ministrations as his slow, silky kisses—flowing from one to the other—lured her into resting her hands on his satin waistcoat and leaning ever so slightly into him.

Never had she felt such delicious warmth, or imagined that a kiss could cast such a transfixing spell over her body. Though her mind reeled in astonishment, she wanted to stand there forever, greedily drawing in his heat and strength. Drawing in the heady taste of him—something wild and masculine and utterly tempting.

But then his mouth opened and she tasted brandy as his tongue slipped between her lips, demanding entrance. She stiffened in his arms—shocked by his boldness, and astounded by her instinctive desire to open up to him.

She pressed her hands against his chest and pushed, ready to resist by fighting him if she had to. But to her surprise he immediately drew back, his black eyes unfocused as he blinked down at her. If she didn’t know what kind of man he was, she would have suspected he was just as stunned as she was.

“That was hardly a friendly kiss,” she said in an accusatory voice as she stepped out of his arms.

Somewhat to her disappointment—and wasn’t that completely irrational—he made no attempt to retain his hold on her. “Come, Justine,” he said, his face settling into its usual cynical expression. “That was nothing to make a fuss about. I’m sure that more than one lad has tried to kiss you on the terrace at a ball, or lured you into a convenient window alcove.”

His eyes mocked her, but she heard the low, husky note in his voice. And as he reached to shove back an errant lock that had fallen forward against his cheek, she could have sworn his fingers trembled ever so slightly.


“I am not making a fuss in the least,” she said in a prim tone, praying he wouldn’t hear the sound of her knees knocking together. “Nor do I sneak off to alcoves or terraces to engage in improper behavior.”

Not that anyone had ever offered her the opportunity to do so, but he certainly didn’t need to know that.

“No, I imagine you don’t.” He studied her face, now sober as a judge. Griffin’s moods were as changeable as the weather, and just as unpredictable. “In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would suspect this was your first kiss.”

Drat the man.

“Well, if you don’t mind,” she said in a dementedly bright voice, backing her way to the door. “I’ve got to check on—”

“Yes, the baby. I know. Be off with you, then.”

She nodded gratefully and turned to open the door, her shaking fingers slipping on the knob. When she finally got it open, his voice, gently sardonic, followed her into the hall.

“And don’t stay up too late, Justine. Remember—tomorrow is your wedding day.”