Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom

CHAPTER Twenty



Justine hurried down the hallway, buttoning up her sleeve as she went. She was already terribly late for dinner, as Phelps had reminded her when he’d come knocking on her door. She had no excuse since Rose had all but shoved her out of the nursery earlier and told her to get changed. But Justine hadn’t wanted to leave Stephen, since his sniffles had developed into a miserable cold.

“It’s not the first time I’ve cared for a sick wee one,” Rose had said. “But if it makes you feel any better, you can sit up with him for the first part of the night. That way I can snatch a bit of sleep.”

Justine’s relief at having a logical excuse to avoid spending the night with Griffin told her all she needed to know about the state of her nerves after their earth-shattering encounter in the stables. As glorious as her first sexual experience had been, her emotions were still in turmoil and she dreaded being alone with him.

After they’d returned to the house, Griffin had planted an affectionate kiss on the tip of her nose and sent her upstairs to bathe. Feeling ridiculously awkward, she had simply given him a grateful smile and headed up the staircase. But when she reached the top and glanced down, she was startled to see Griffin’s dark eyes locked on her. His smile had disappeared and his impassive gaze had revealed nothing of his emotions. She’d shivered, and not from the cold or from her rain-dampened skirts.

Their lovemaking had changed everything, forever erasing Justine’s half-formed and admittedly na?ve plans to seek an annulment. Since she hadn’t a clue how her husband truly felt about her—aside from the fact that he took pleasure in her body—that thought was unnerving.

As to her state of mind and heart . . . it wasn’t comforting. Consummation of their marriage had shown her quite clearly that she was falling in love with her husband. Not that she intended to share that fact. Instinct told her that Griffin would label such a declaration of emotion as inconvenient sentimentality.

When she came to the bottom of the stairs, Phelps appeared from the back to show her into dinner. “Mr. Griffin’s waiting for you in the small dining parlor, missus. He said to serve as soon as you come down.”

Justine gave Phelps a weak smile, knowing she’d forced Griffin to wait for his dinner. She couldn’t help mentally wincing at the way she’d been dragging her feet like a guilt-ridden child afraid to face the consequences of her actions.

Silently scolding herself for acting like a ninny, she plastered a smile on her face, determined to look entirely composed and in control. After all, she was his wife, and she’d done nothing more than spend the afternoon with her lawfully wedded husband. The fact that they’d spent that time engaging in delicious sexual intimacies, in a stable no less, had no bearing on the present situation or the fact that she was late for dinner.

Since Phelps replied to her bright smile merely with a shake of the head and a few muttered words under his breath, Justine rather suspected she’d failed to pull it off. Sighing, she walked into the room knowing she probably looked flustered and out of sorts.

“Ah, my love, there you are,” Griffin said in a gently ironic voice as he rose from the dining table. “I was beginning to wonder if we’d have to send a Bow Street Runner to track you down.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I took forever with my bath, which was quite selfish of me, I know, and then I wanted to spend time with the baby. He’s not feeling well, you know, and I can’t help being a bit worried about him. Rose says I worry too much, but one never knows with these sorts of illnesses in infants. They can quickly grow into something quite serious if not properly attended to.”

If Griffin thought she was babbling he kept it to himself. He simply let the words flow around him as he crossed the small but pleasant room to lead her to her chair.

They’d agreed on the first day that the formal dining room was much too large for just the two of them, and so had settled on one of the smaller drawing rooms as a dinner parlor. The room was both intimate and comfortable with its oak paneling and burgundy velvet drapes to keep out the winter drafts. The smaller table allowed them to talk easily instead of shouting at each other from the ends of a formal dining room table. Tonight, though, Justine almost wished she had a good twenty feet of polished mahogany between them.


When she sat, Griffin surprised her by dropping a kiss on her head before returning to his seat. She blushed, but the tight feeling in her chest subsided. He didn’t seem in the slightest bit discomposed by the day’s momentous events, which she took as a good sign. Well, at least she hoped it was a good sign and not an indication that the consummation of their marriage, to her fraught with significance, was to Griffin just another of a long series of encounters with willing partners.

That gloomy thought effectively silenced any impulse she had to talk. Fortunately, Phelps had come into the room with the first course, rendering further comment unnecessary. While the factotum served the soup and arranged a few other dishes on the table, he and Griffin exchanged pithy remarks on the lamentable state of the weather and the disastrous state of the roads. Despite what Griffin had told her last night, country living was clearly not something he found particularly desirable.

As soon as Phelps carried the soup tureen from the room, Griffin switched his attention back to her. Although he appeared completely at his ease, Justine couldn’t fail to note the sharpness of his gaze while he studied her.

“Justine, are you feeling shy about our lovemaking?” he asked. “I hope you realize there’s no need for that sort of thing. Not with me.”

His question was so unexpected that she almost choked on her spoonful of Hessian soup. “No, of course not,” she said, trying not to sound mortified. “Why ever would you think that?”

“Because you can’t look me in the eye,” he said as he casually broke off a chunk of bread from the crusty loaf by his plate. “And your cheeks are so flushed that one might think you were feverish, and not the baby.”

She was beginning to find his offhand manner irritating. “What happened between us this afternoon might not mean very much to you, but it’s not something I’ve ever done before. It was all rather earth-shattering for me, if you want to know the truth.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to shovel them back in. But she forced herself to meet his gaze, even though she felt horribly vulnerable.

Griffin placed his bread down on his side plate. Justine had the distinct impression he was thinking through his response. She found herself holding her breath as she waited for him to speak.

“No, it meant something to me, as well,” he said. A faint, wry smile twisted his lips. “Not that I’m able to put it into words, at least not yet. But that should tell you something about how much you’ve discomposed me.”

“Really?” she whispered as a fugitive whispering of hope stirred in her breast.

He cocked his head, studying her. “Could you not tell?”

“I, yes, I think so,” she stammered. “I hoped so, anyway.”

She fell silent, completely unprepared for this sort of conversation and terrified of revealing her rampant insecurities. No matter what Griffin might say in his attempts to soothe her ruffled nerves, she still couldn’t believe he would appreciate a full-throated declaration of love.

Finally, he nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, tell me about the baby. What worries you?”

Justine breathed a mental sigh of relief at the change in topic, since she felt like she’d been caught in a thicket of brambles. She had much to worry about, particularly the man sitting across from her, but for now the baby’s needs must come first. Anything else at this point would be self-indulgent.

“Stephen is worse than he was this morning,” she said. “Rose thinks it’s only a nasty head cold, but these sorts of fevers in babies can turn bad very quickly.”

Griffin looked genuinely concerned. “Would you like me to send for a doctor?”

“Is that possible? Is there someone who can be trusted, given our need to keep the baby hidden?”

Griffin glanced at Phelps, who had soft-footed his way back into the room with a platter of ham and boiled potatoes.

“Well, Phelps, what about it? Is there anyone who can be trusted?”

“Aye,” the factotum replied, putting the platter down in front of his master. “Happens I already asked about that. Mrs. Moore—”

He paused to roll his eyes at Griffin’s bemused expression. “She’s Sir Dominic’s cook and fairly well runs the house, as you would know if you troubled yourself to ask.” When Griffin simply grinned at him, Phelps carried on in a long-suffering manner. “Mrs. Moore says there’s a good surgeon in Horsham that’s to be relied upon. Sir Dominic has used him in the past.”

“Thank heavens,” Justine said, starting to rise. “I’d better speak to Rose and see what she thinks. I know I’d feel better if we had someone look at the poor darling.”

“Please sit down and finish your dinner,” Griffin said. “Phelps can discuss the situation with Rose.”

“But—”

“Sit down, Justine,” he said in a voice that brooked no opposition. “It is entirely unnecessary for you to run around like one of the servants. You need to eat and you need proper rest, otherwise you’ll fall ill yourself.”

Before she could utter a word of protest, Griffin flicked a glance at Phelps, who nodded and scuttled out of the room.

“I am entirely capable of dealing with the situation,” Justine said indignantly. “There is absolutely no need for you to order me around.”

“Apparently there is,” he said as he served her a slice of ham.

When she put her fork down and crossed her arms over her chest, Griffin sighed. “Justine, it’s time you stopped acting like a nursemaid. You’re my wife, and you must learn to conduct yourself as such.”

To her mind, that instruction raised a number of questions. It also brought her anxiety about their changed relationship roaring back full force.

“But I don’t even know what that means,” she blurted. “Or how to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Be your wife.”

It took only a moment for the wicked gleam to appear in his dark eyes. “You made a very good start of it this afternoon.”

“I’m serious, Griffin,” she said. “I don’t have the faintest idea what we’re doing, or how we’re to go on. I asked you this afternoon what would happen now, and you couldn’t answer me.”

He picked up one of his knives and started to fiddle with it, an uncharacteristic sign of hesitation. “I couldn’t answer you because I didn’t know the answer.”

She shook her head. “I’m not comfortable with that kind of uncertainty.”

“Very well,” he said, putting down his knife. “What, specifically, would you like to know?”

She wanted to know so many things, but one question topped the list. “After this situation with Stephen is resolved—”

Justine paused, struck by the realization that part of her didn’t wish for the situation to be resolved. With every day that passed, she hated the idea that Stephen’s care might soon pass from her to a stranger.

“Yes?” Griffin prompted.

Her father’s voice whispered in her head. One problem at a time, my girl. That’s how you’ll get on.

“Once Stephen’s situation is resolved,” she continued firmly, “what are your immediate plans?”

“My immediate plans are to conclude my business with Madeline and her partners, rent out the house on Jermyn Street, and arrange for my departure from England.”


Justine’s stomach gave a nasty little flip. “Your departure?”

Griffin hesitated, but then he gave her a smile that was more cautious than welcoming. “Our departure, if you agree to join me. I’d be very pleased if you’d travel abroad with me, Justine. Not only might you enjoy it, but I believe it to be the wisest course of action for you.”

She frowned. “I’m not sure I follow.”

His lips firmed and his nostrils flared a bit. It was a look Justine was beginning to recognize, and it signaled her husband was about to dig in his heels.

“Despite my ability to set you up in a comfortable situation, either in town or in the country, you will be left without the protection of your husband,” he replied. “My name will only go so far in keeping you safe if I’m not here to see to your well-being.”

“Why would I need protection?” She cut him off with the wave of a hand. “Yes, yes, I understand that less than honorable men will see me as a target ripe for seduction, particularly given the, er, irregular nature of our marriage. But surely you can’t believe I’d be susceptible to that sort of thing.”

When he didn’t answer, her stomach dropped again. “Griffin, you cannot believe I’d be capable of such a thing,” she said, aghast. “I would never betray you.”

A glimmer of a smile lightened his brooding expression. “I know. You are eminently trustworthy, my sweet, more than anyone I’ve ever known.”

A great sense of relief allowed her to breathe again. “Thank you,” she said, shyly pleased by his compliment. “But then what could possibly concern you? I am not without friends and family, as you know. I can always rely on them for help in your absence.”

Except I don’t want him to leave—ever.

Justine did her best to ignore that useless wish.

He was back to fidgeting with his knife again, and she began to get a very bad feeling. “Griffin, what is it?”

He put down the fork and let out a sigh. “I’ve made enemies over the years, Justine. Powerful enemies. If I am not close by to protect you, any one of those men might decide to use you as a tool of retribution or revenge. Dominic might be able to keep you safe from some of them, but he cannot protect you like I can.”

Justine could do nothing but stare at him. It seemed insane to be discussing such a thing in so domestic a setting. But for the first time, perhaps, she began to realize just what it meant to marry a man like Griffin Steele. How much she would be forced to give up, like her long-sought and cherished peace, and the quiet order of her days.

He held her gaze, and she saw in the dark depths of his eyes a bleak cynicism. For a man who was not yet thirty, he suddenly looked considerably older.

“Justine, I’ve had little cause to regret the choices I’ve made since coming to London. But what I do regret is the impact of those choices on your life, and the difficulties they cause you.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, as if he could scrub away some sort of pain. Then he rested his arms on the table and looked at her with a weary sort of resignation that cut through her like a blade.

“It’s not your fault, at least when it comes to me,” she said. “After all, it’s not as if you wanted to marry me. And I know you did everything you could to protect me.” She tried for a wavering smile. “I’m sure everything will be fine. We simply need to think about it a bit more, that’s all.”

Well, as long as Griffin’s enemies didn’t try to murder her, that is.

“Perhaps we should talk to Uncle Dominic,” she said, hoping to quell the sick burn in her stomach. “He did promise to help, after all.”

“You’re not Dominic’s responsibility,” Griffin said quietly. “You’re mine.”

Justine knew that was wrong, too. She alone bore responsibility for her life, but there was no point in arguing with Griffin, a man whose very nature dictated protecting those he considered his own.

Which, apparently, included her.

“Where do you intend to travel?” she asked, trying to be practical about the discussion.

His eyebrows ticked up at the question. “Italy and Greece, and probably Egypt. I’d also like to visit Constantinople and possibly farther east, as well. But I haven’t made any final decisions.”

Justine had to admit she quite liked the idea of visiting Italy and Greece. But Egypt and the Byzantine Empire seemed much too exotic to her. If she were honest with herself, Griffin was much too exotic for her, too.

“Might not some of those places be dangerous?”

He lifted his broad shoulders in one of his insouciant shrugs. “Not for me and, by extension, not for you. You must know that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

She did trust him to do his best, but even Griffin couldn’t keep her safe from shipwrecks or marauding bandits. “And how long do you think you would be away? What are your plans for returning to England?”

His dark gaze bore into her. “I have none, at least not for the immediate future.”

She couldn’t think of any coherent reply, couldn’t do anything but stare at his impassive, handsome face. He was proposing the overthrow of the only life she’d ever known. She couldn’t decide which was the greater risk—to remain in England and possibly be a target for his enemies, or to toss away every shred of caution she’d ever possessed and follow her husband on a madcap journey into foreign lands.

Griffin surprised her by coming swiftly around the table and going down on one knee beside her. Gently, he took her hand and silently urged her to face him.

“Come run away with me, my sweet Justine,” he said in a husky and surprisingly emotional voice.

He stroked her cheek, and she had to resist the fierce impulse to nuzzle into his hand. Whenever he touched her with such tenderness, her resistance melted away like a snowcap on a warm spring day.

“We wouldn’t have to answer to anyone but ourselves, or think of anyone but ourselves,” he said, making it sound like a forbidden, tantalizing gift.

He leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss on her mouth. Justine clutched at his shoulders, dizzy with nerves and a strange sort of excitement.

“Think of all the adventures we could have, just the two of us,” he whispered against her lips.

Adventures.

That word brought her thudding down to earth. That’s what Papa had always called it when he had to go away on a mission—adventures. But his last adventure had killed him.

Griffin must have sensed the change in her because he pulled back, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

Before she could answer, the door opened and Phelps hurried into the room. Griffin cursed under his breath and stood.

“What is it, Phelps?” he asked curtly.

The factotum looked at Justine and grimaced. “The wee one ain’t doing so well. Rose says you’d better send for the doctor.”