Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom

CHAPTER Nineteen



As Griffin captured her in his arms—and capture described it perfectly—Justine’s legs began to tremble. In fact, her entire body shook from a combination of longing, anxiety, and excitement.

The trembling had started deep inside when she first heard his step on the stable floor and had then seen him strolling toward her, looking as if he were on a leisurely walk about the grounds in the pouring rain. But the predatory gleam in his eyes had told her better than words why he had searched her out, and that had been a considerable surprise.

God help her, she welcomed his desire, too, on some level that defied every shred of sense she’d ever possessed. But her body had a logic all its own, and no contrary argument she posed in her mind had the power to refute it.

As for her heart, she rather thought it best not to examine it too closely for fear it was even more foolish than her body.

Griffin’s voice was as smooth and dark as polished obsidian. Murmuring in her ear, he told her how beautiful she was as he lowered her to the cot. When he knelt beside her and went to work once more on her bodice, Justine had a sudden, infuriating attack of shyness. She put her arms around his neck and clung to him, trapping his hands between their bodies. She hid her face against his shoulder, taking in the clean scent of rain on his coat and in his hair and silently berating herself for acting like a totty-headed maiden of seventeen.

Still, the prospect of making love to Griffin was intimidating. Along with the trepidation that a normal bride—and the circumstances were hardly normal—might be expected to feel, she had the added burden of exposing her ignorance to a man who surely knew everything there was to know about intimate relations, including things she suspected she’d rather never hear about. It made not one whit of difference that one’s husband was generally expected to have more experience. In Griffin’s case, the gap in knowledge between them was simply too great to contemplate.


His hands slipped around to her back, moving along her spine in a soothing stroke. “Far be it from me to criticize,” he said, a hint of apology in his voice, “but I think things might go more smoothly if you let me take your clothes off. Unless you’d like to suggest another way we could go about this.”

She couldn’t help giving a smothered laugh. “I suppose that makes sense,” she said against his shoulder, still too shy to look at him.

“Well, it is rather what one expects. Of course, we could pretend you’re the kitchen maid and I’m the stable boy, and I could just tup you under your skirts. That might be fun. On second thought, however, I don’t think I’d recommend that for your first time.” His voice teased her with polite regret.

Justine pulled back and gave him a rueful smile. And even though his eyes still smoldered with heat, the taut, almost wolfish cast to his features that had so unsettled her had been transformed into amusement.

“Now, that’s just silly,” she said, resting her hands on his chest.

“You’d be surprised at how much fun silly can be.” He leaned back on his heels, bracing his palms on his lean, muscular thighs. He looked so at ease that the ball of tension in Justine’s chest started to unwind.

That is, until her gaze took in the substantial bulge pressing against the fall of his breeches. When she jerked her eyes back up to his face, he regarded her with a great deal of wry sympathy.

“It’s normal to be nervous, but that will fade fairly quickly, I promise.” He raised an arrogant eyebrow. “I do know what I’m doing.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “That’s the problem. You do and I don’t.” When his eyes widened a fraction, she flapped her hand. “Of course, I know the basic mechanics, but you know a great deal more than that. You know all the . . . the . . .”

“Finer points?” he finished for her in a sardonic voice.

She tried not to wince as heat rushed to her cheeks.

He laughed softly, then reached forward to carefully part her unbuttoned bodice. “Mechanics are the least important part, believe me. There’s an art to making love, Justine, and you’re about to get your first lesson.”

When he pulled the fichu away from her shoulders, exposing her underthings and the tops of her breasts, her breath seized. But both the way he stared at her body, as if riveted by what he saw, and the tick of a muscle in his tense jaw, also triggered a glow of warmth low in her belly.

“And what is that lesson?” she whispered as his fingers traced along the top of her stays. Wherever he touched her, shivers danced across her skin.

“Learning to trust,” he said, not taking his eyes from her body. “Do you trust me, Justine?”

She closed her eyes and thought about it for a few seconds. The answer wasn’t long in coming. “I do trust you, although I’m not sure why.”

“We’ll turn our minds to that interesting little question later. For now, please open your eyes.”

When she did, his lips parted in a full-out smile that dazzled her with its charm. “If you trust me, then everything will be fine.”

This time when he moved to undress her, Justine helped him. And even though her hands trembled a little, the heat in his gaze and the hungry cast to his handsome features unleashed a growing desire inside her that warred with her nerves.

With surprisingly little fuss, Griffin soon had her out of her garments. She perched on the edge of the cot, clad only in chemise and stockings, her half boots pushed under the cot. He’d piled her clothes neatly onto a nearby rush chair, as if he helped her undress every day. But the look on his face as he inspected her, his hands clenched into fists, turned her breath ragged. Nothing about this moment was like anything she’d experienced, or had hardly even imagined.

“Now what?” she asked in a thin voice as he rose to his feet.

“Now I get undressed.”

He’d already discarded the heavy wool greatcoat, and now pulled off the rest of his clothes but for his breeches. He quickly folded his shirt, coat, and neck cloth, stacking them on top of her riding habit. Justine wanted to giggle, struck by the oddly cozy domesticity of the scene. Who would think that a reprobate like Griffin Steele would so casually undress his inexperienced bride and then fold their clothes in a tidy stack? It made him seem almost like a normal man, as human as anyone else, and not the least bit exotic or dangerous.

But when he turned back to her and started to unbutton the fall of his breeches, the lie was given to that notion. His body was hard, lean, and well-muscled without being coarse, and possessed a tough, masculine elegance that was as far from safe as she could imagine. A stripped-down, almost primal sense of power wrapped itself around him like a second skin.

And then there was his tattoo. The beautifully inked creature in shades of blue and black was both graceful and fierce, with its sharp-beaked head reaching over to Griffin’s breastbone, its wings spread wide and its long tail curling up to his shoulder. Both exotic and evocative, it defined the man who wore it with a strange perfection, highlighting a balance of skin, bone, and muscle. Justine had always found him to be a handsome man, but only now could she fully appreciate why the girls at The Golden Tie had been so eager to lure him into their beds.

But it wasn’t just his body that seemed designed to undermine a woman’s self-control. His dark eyes, so knowing and wicked, his arrogantly elegant features, his hard sensual mouth—all seemed to touch something deep in her core, something that clicked smoothly into place. Just looking at him made the hidden parts of her go soft and damp, and she blushed at her eager response to him.

Then again, he was her husband, so she supposed it wasn’t a bad thing to desire him, despite her nerves over the . . . mechanics. For once, Justine was more than happy to engage in conduct that might count for less than respectable, at least by her terms.

Griffin made short work of his breeches and then stood before her dressed only in his smalls, which she suspected he’d kept on to protect her modesty. He needn’t have bothered, since his erection pressed thick and long against the fabric, the wide top of it straining up and out the top like a tempting piece of smooth, forbidden fruit.

“Would you like to touch it?” he asked in a husky rumble.

“Ah, perhaps later,” she said. She did, but she hadn’t quite worked up the confidence for that yet. “But it’s very kind of you to ask,” she finished, trying not to seem thoroughly flustered.

When he laughed at that spectacular piece of idiocy, she dropped her head in her hands and groaned.

A moment later, his hands were on her body. He stretched her onto the cot and came down next to her, crowding her to the edge. Justine squealed and flailed her arms, convinced she was about to topple over the other side. But with superbly controlled strength, Griffin lifted her and a second later had her straddling his hips while he settled onto his back.

“There, that’s better,” he said.

His lips curved into a self-satisfied smile as he arranged her on top of him. Too startled to resist, Justine let him do as he wished. But then she realized with a mental jolt that her shift had rucked up around her hips. That meant that her most intimate parts—naked parts—were pressed firmly against his hard length.

When she wriggled, embarrassed to be so blatantly exposed, a spasm unexpectedly pulsed out from her most tender flesh. It felt so pleasurable that she gasped and grabbed his forearms, steadying herself.


“Ah, that was lovely,” he purred. “Did you like that, Justine?”

His voice brushed over her like a silk scarf, making her want to squirm again. “I take it that’s supposed to happen,” she said with a weak smile.

True, she’d felt nice things down there before, but not quite like that. Not so strongly that she wanted to slide against him, rubbing into his hard length. To her mind, sexual congress had always sounded like a rather messy and unpleasant business. For the first time she could begin to see its appeal.

But only with Griffin.

“Yes,” he said with a quizzical smile. “Did you never touch yourself down there? Make yourself climax?”

She felt her eyes go wide. “Or course not! Really, Griffin, where would you get such an idea?”

When he opened his mouth to answer, she waved both hands. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“Oh, but I think you will want to know what I have to teach you.” His hands crept up her thighs, slipping under the hem of her chemise. His slightly rough fingertips felt divine on her skin. “Take off your shift, love, so we can begin your first lesson.”

Her pulses jumped at the heat in his eyes, making her feel almost light-headed with excitement. Never had Justine imagined she could be so naughty. But with Griffin, it seemed . . . natural.

She didn’t want to examine that thought too closely, so before she lost her nerve she dragged her shift over her head. Still too rattled to look at him, she twisted a bit and tossed the garment onto their pile of clothes.

A low hiss startled her, and she turned back to him.

“What is it?” she asked, peering at him with concern. His eyes had narrowed to glittering slits, and his mouth was pulled into a tight line. “Did I hurt you?”

“God, no,” he said. His voice, low and harsh, sounded as if the words had been dragged from his throat. “Christ, Justine. You’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Blushing, she looked down at herself as his long fingers settled at the top of her stockings to play with her garters. Her heart jolted to see her breasts, the nipples rosy and hard, and her auburn curls nestling against his erection, barely hidden by his smalls.

“Thank you,” she said, feeling shy all over again. “I think the same about you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You think I’m perfect?” He let out a low chuckle. “You would be in a minority of one, if that’s true.”

“Not according to the women at The Golden Tie,” she teased, tentatively stroking his arms and then letting her fingers trail to his chest. She explored his ribs, then traced the outlines of the mythic beast inked onto his skin. His muscles seemed to jump under her fingertips. Justine couldn’t help smiling.

“Did it hurt when you got this?” she asked. “It’s quite large.”

“God, yes. It was all I could do not to cry like a baby,” he replied.

“Then why did you go to the trouble?”

His hands continued their exploration of her body, slipping along the inside of her thighs, dancing their way up to the curls that hid her feminine flesh.

“I liked the artist’s work,” he replied, sounding distracted. “And I liked what it said about me, about what I had become.”

Justine frowned, not sure what he meant. But then his fingers carefully delved through her curls and parted her flesh to brush the little nub hidden there. She sucked in a breath at the shock of sensation, her back instinctively arching as he gently rubbed her. She grabbed his forearms, stunned by the intensity of what she felt, but she didn’t try to stop him.

“So beautiful,” he murmured as he stroked her damp, tender flesh. “Let your body do whatever it wants, my sweet. Move however it wants.”

She moaned and let her head fall back. A moment later, he quietly urged her to clutch at the blanket beneath them rather than grip his arms. Once he’d done that, his hands once more explored her dampening flesh, seeking out that most tender part of her body to begin teasing her again.

Tease he did, stroking and gliding over the exquisite point, making her grow even wetter and softer with the luxurious little pulses that seemed to ripple out from her sheath. All the while, he murmured encouragement in a husky, dark voice, telling her how beautiful she was and how he couldn’t wait to be inside her.

It didn’t take Justine long to reach a point of such heightened sensation that she felt almost frantic. One moment she wanted to arch her back, as if to strain away from him, and the next she was pushing her body down into his hands, desperately trying to increase the pressure. But Griffin controlled her, one hand clamped firmly on her thigh while the other slipped through her drenched folds, keeping her poised and straining for more.

“Griffin, please,” she finally panted out, not recognizing her voice. Her entire body was drowning in pleasure, but somehow it wasn’t enough.

He gazed up at her, his black eyes glittering with feral intensity, his features taut and fierce with wanting. “Lean down to me, love,” he growled. “That’s it. Just bend down a bit.”

Awkwardly, she braced her hands on the cot and leaned forward. His hand left her thigh and came up to capture one of her breasts. He squeezed it and then thumbed her nipple. She moaned at the delicious tingle that seemed to dart straight from the tight point to her womb.

He plumped her breast between his fingers and then his mouth fastened on her with a firm suck. A strangled cry forced its way from her throat and she squirmed, unable to remain still under the delicious onslaught. His other hand moved to snake up her spine, urging her forward so that her breasts hung low and heavy. While he suckled one nipple, alternately drawing on the tight bead or flicking it with his tongue, his hand went to her other breast. He gently squeezed the aching tip, rolling it between his fingers.

Unable to stop herself, Justine moved against him, spreading her legs even wider and rubbing against his thick erection. Sensation rose up through her in a heady spiral, every rational thought in her head blasted away by the sensual storm he evoked in her as he suckled and played with her breasts. They felt full and aching. Indeed, her entire body ached with a need only he could fulfill.

A wave of carnal desire swept through her, so strong it threatened to overwhelm her. But just when she thought she’d reached her limit, every nerve in her body on fire, one of his hands moved between her legs again and he found the tight knot of flesh, so hot and incredibly sensitive. Then his fingers slid over it and slowly came up into her body, parting the folds and penetrating her sheath.

She felt a burning sensation, but it quickly subsided into a pleasing ache that had her instinctively clenching her inner muscles around his fingers. Griffin rumbled his approval. He moved his hand in a slow, deliberate movement, pumping inside her before pulling his fingers out to slick over the tight bud. It took only a touch for every muscle in her body to pull tight and then release in one magnificent, throbbing pulse, forcing a strangled shriek from her lips. She shuddered and pressed into his hand to draw out the delicious contraction until it gently ebbed away.

Damp, messy, and dazed beyond measure by the sensations he’d induced in her, Justine slowly collapsed onto Griffin’s chest.

“Oh, my goodness,” she panted. She sprawled on him in a clumsy heap of limbs, but didn’t have the energy to do anything more than that.


Griffin shifted her a bit, turning her head sideways and easing her legs down to ride low around his hips.

“I’ll take that comment as a sign of approval,” he murmured, stroking his hand down her perspiring back.

“I’ve never felt anything like it, I can assure you,” she managed, trying to make light of the entirely earth-shattering experience. “If I’d known things would be like that, I would have been a great deal more receptive to your advances on our wedding night.”

His laugh vibrated through her body, making her shiver with pleasure. She sighed and snuggled closer, relishing the feel of his arms and legs enveloping her, all hot skin and hard muscle, with his rampant erection still nudging between her legs. Never had she felt so relaxed, so physically replete, or so . . . safe.

Justine drowsed like that for a few minutes until she became aware of two things. The first was that her back and legs, exposed to the air, were rapidly cooling. The second was that Griffin’s body felt as hard as iron, tensed beneath her even though his hands were still gently stroking her skin.

She lifted her head. His eyes smoldered and his handsome features seemed stretched tight, almost as if he was annoyed or in pain.

“What’s wrong?” Anxiety gave her a sudden jab. “Are you sorry we did this? Do you want to stop?”

His expression lightened and he laughed. “Of course not. We’re just getting started, love. I was simply letting you catch your breath before . . .” He trailed off on a meaningful note.

“Before we consummate our marriage?” she whispered.

Griffin nodded, his gaze so intent, her mouth went dry. There was no denying the next few minutes had the power to change the course of her life forever.

“Are you cold?” he asked, suddenly looking concerned. She loved that about him. Griffin was the most rampantly masculine and proud man she’d ever met, but he always seemed to be thinking about her comfort.

“A little,” she admitted. “I think the stove has gone quite cold.”

“Let’s take care of that, shall we?”

Thinking he meant to build up the fire, Justine started to shimmy off him. But she let out a gasp when he quickly shifted, rolling her over and coming down on top of her. The cot swayed alarmingly and she held her breath, expecting them to go tumbling down at any moment.

Griffin shifted again, carefully placing his forearms on either side of her shoulders to steady the cot.

“It will be a miracle if we don’t end up on the floor,” Justine muttered.

He smiled down at her, the expression on his face tender and yet hot with arousal. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

He lowered his head until their lips met in a slow, damp kiss that made her head reel. It seemed so natural now to open to him. Their tongues played, tangled, and tasted each other in slow, sensual glides. Justine wound her arms around his neck, sighing with pleasure, drinking up the slow passion he so expertly fed her.

Then he pulled back a few inches. Her lips tingled from the warm pressure of his, a pressure she was eager to feel again.

“Are you ready?” His quiet voice was at odds with the gleam in his hawklike gaze and the hectic flush across his sharp cheekbones.

Justine stared back at him, unsure how to answer. She didn’t know if she truly was ready for this—to bind herself to Griffin in so profound a way. But she also knew she couldn’t say no. She wanted this—wanted him—more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life.

Her throat tightened so she simply nodded, hoping he could see in her eyes what she felt—trust, yes, but also a measure of trepidation over what the future held for both of them. And, even more importantly, a longing and a need for him she could no longer deny.

Something blazed in his eyes at her nod—a fierce, bright emotion. Then he was nudging her legs wider apart and settling more heavily between them, the broad head of his erection slipping easily between her wet folds. Slowly, he began pushing in, parting her flesh with a careful, deliberate invasion.

Justine sucked in a breath, instinctively pushing back against the sharp sting as she clenched around him. She stared up at him, noting the strain on his tight features, digging her nails into his rocklike shoulders as he held himself back.

Griffin eased down to brush her lips in a soft, comforting kiss. He hooked a hand under her knee. “Pull your legs up, Justine. Yes, that’s it.”

She moved at his urging and let her breath go as the pain began to fade. In fact, as he slowly rocked into her, she gave in to the impulse to pull her knees up high and wide, opening herself to him.

He groaned and dipped his head, his long hair coming loose from its leather tie, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. She pulled the strip of material from his hair and flung it away, then tunneled her fingers through his thick, long locks, smoothing them down over his back. Justine felt like she was drowning in a world of sensation and emotion, and she willingly went under.

“My God, Justine,” he gasped before planting a searing kiss on her mouth.

Then his movements quickened, his erection filling her. Desire coiled low in her belly. She wrapped her legs around his lean flanks and her arms around his neck, pushing her breasts up against him in her desperation to feel every part of his body on hers. She felt on fire as he took her, melting into him, dying with the pleasure of Griffin inside her, around her, driving deep into her soul.

He shifted, rocking into her high and fast, nudging his hard length over her most sensitive flesh. She arched into him as tiny contractions teased her, clutching at him with all the strength left in her body. A moment later, he rolled his hips with one last, hard push, jolting her to the very core. With a harsh groan, he stiffened, shaking in her arms with the force of his release. Then slowly and with careful control, he lowered himself on top of her until he blanketed her body, his heaving chest pushing her into the blankets.

Justine smoothed her hands down the long fall of his hair, blinking hard against the sudden rush of emotion that had her eyes stinging with tears. It didn’t make sense to want to cry, since she’d loved what he’d just done to her. But the moment seemed replete with a harrowing tenderness, at least for her. Instinct told her, however, that Griffin wouldn’t welcome any such emotional outpourings, particularly since she’d be hard-pressed to even explain what they meant.

Finally he moved, lifting from her body to look at her. His eyes were slumberous and the tension had drained from his face, and she thought he must be the very picture of masculine satisfaction.

Justine gave him a hesitant smile, not sure what was expected of her.

“Ah, my virgin bride,” Griffin murmured in a somewhat mocking tone.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Not anymore.”

He smiled, but then something shifted in his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was husky and deep.




“Her goodly eyes like sapphires shining bright,

Her forehead ivory white,

Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath rudded,

Her lips like cherries charming men to bite.”




Emulating the words of the poet, he leaned down and nipped her lower lip. Justine felt her bones turn to water all over again, and found herself once more struggling with a tumbled mix of emotions. Who would have thought a man like Griffin Steele would recite florid love poetry to his wife, especially at a time like this?

“Is that Spenser?” she asked, smiling up at him. “It’s very romantic.”


He grinned before easing down to the cot, pulling her against his side so they could both fit. “Good guess, Mrs. Steele. Yes, it’s from the Epithalamion.”

That surprised a snort of laughter from her. “How very apt. But I find it hard to believe that you have much time to sit around memorizing poetry. Don’t tell me you know the entire thing.”

“No, just the salacious bits. After all, it is a poem about sex.” His fingers trailed over her shoulder, drawing little patterns on her skin. “And you’d be surprised what I do in my spare time.”

She frowned at the cool, almost distant tone in his voice. If she didn’t know better, she might almost think her words had offended him. “Did you read much poetry when you were a boy?”

“Milton and Donne, but my uncle would have certainly caned me if he found me wasting my time with Spenser. No, I was only able to expand my education once I came to London. And finally began making some money,” he finished in a dry voice.

Justine was too surprised to respond. Griffin had a reputation for many things, but certainly not as a scholar or a collector of books. She realized again that there was a great deal about her husband she didn’t know. It was clear that he kept much of himself hidden, even from those closest to him.

He let out a sigh and nudged her leg with his foot. “I suppose we’d better get dressed. The rain is letting up and there’s no telling when the groom will pop in and surprise us. Knowing us, it’s more likely to happen than not.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Justine replied with some regret. For some reason, she didn’t want to leave this room, perhaps because she still didn’t know how they were supposed to act toward each other. Was she now a proper wife, and would Griffin treat her as such? Or were they expected to go on as they had before, together only until the mystery of Stephen’s parentage was finally solved?

When Griffin levered them up into a seating position, Justine couldn’t help wincing at the unfamiliar burn between her thighs.

“I’m sorry, my sweet,” he said, wincing with her in sympathy. “You’ll feel better when you have a bath.”

But when he got up, she grabbed his hand. “Griffin.”

He lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “Yes, love?”

Her heart throbbed at the casual endearment, but she beat back the emotion. “What happens now?”

He looked blank for a second, then smiled. “We go back to the house, take baths, and then we have some dinner.”

“No, I mean what happens between us?” she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

He stared at her as he pushed his hands back through his hair, impatiently thrusting it over his broad shoulders. Standing before her like that, naked and so powerfully masculine, he looked like some primitive warrior or perhaps a druidic priest. Her heart thumped hard again, and this time Justine could not hold back the pain.

The pain of knowing that she was falling in love with Griffin, and believing he would never feel the same for her.

“That remains to be seen,” he said bluntly. “Except for one thing.”

“Which is?”

“There will no longer be any talk of annulment, Justine. Not anymore.”

When he turned away to fetch their clothing, she was left to wonder whether he was pleased by that fact or simply resigned.