Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom

CHAPTER Two



With a grateful sigh, Griffin shoved aside the ledger as the knock from the front door sounded through to his office. He’d sent Phelps out to search for Dominic over two hours ago, then before stalking back to his office had ordered Madeline to find someone to take care of the baby. What those orders entailed in the short term, he hadn’t a clue. In the long term, he prayed to God that Dominic could take the infant off his hands. Griffin had enough to worry about without adding a blasted and inconvenient mystery on top of everything else.

Naturally, Dominic had taken his sweet time answering Griffin’s urgent summons. Phelps had finally run him to ground, but had been sent back with a curt message that Dominic would come as soon as he could, after he had completed his business. Repressing an oath, Griffin had sent Phelps to check on Madeline and the baby while he tried to plow through the mountain of work on his desk. He hadn’t been very successful, too caught up in his irritation and curiosity—irritation that the entire affair might turn into a complication that would delay his departure from London, and curiosity over both the infant and the annoyingly elusive veiled woman.

He had, he was forced to admit, a reluctant compassion for the little mite. Griffin knew all about abandonment. It twisted the soul into unnatural shapes that changed one forever. As much as he wanted to divest himself of this unwanted responsibility, he knew he couldn’t until the child was safely accounted for.

Phelps popped his head around the office door. “Sir Dominic’s in the morning room, guv.”

Griffin nodded as he rose from his desk. “Fetch Madeline and have her bring the baby down.”

Taking his time, he locked the ledger in the cabinet behind him, slipping the key into his waistcoat pocket, where it clinked against the signet ring in its little velvet pouch. Then he slowly made his way up to the morning room, having every intention of making Dominic wait that extra minute or two.

The ridiculous game that Griffin played with his erstwhile and usually unwanted mentor was less about trying to annoy Dominic than asserting some control over their relationship. Dominic had been trying for years to bend Griffin to his will, in his best interests, or so Dominic calmly asserted. But Griffin didn’t like any man—or woman—exerting control over him. For too many years he’d been subject to the whims and sometimes the fists of others, and he’d worked too hard to gain full mastery over his life. He had no intention of allowing Dominic to chip away at that, no matter how well-intentioned the man might be.

Unfortunately, Dominic had a knack for putting him in his place with an uncanny ability to predict Griffin’s reactions and even his emotions. There was a reason the man sat near the pinnacle of England’s Intelligence Service—indeed, near the Crown itself—quietly exercising influence over anyone who crossed his path. Dominic seemed to know everyone’s business better than they knew it themselves, from the Prince Regent down to the most downtrodden whore in the stews, and they all owed him favors. It made him one of the most powerful men in England, and a royal pain in Griffin’s arse.

Because for some demented reason, Dominic had made it his mission to reform Griffin, as he called it. It seemed to matter not one whit to the man that Griffin had no desire to reform. But once Dominic set his mind to something, there was no convincing him otherwise.

When Griffin opened the door to the morning room, Dominic looked up from making notes in his small pocket book and graced him with a faintly sardonic smile. “For someone who was so eager to see me, you certainly aren’t in a hurry.”


Griffin affected surprise. “Have you been waiting long? Do forgive me. I hope Phelps offered you something to drink. A cup of tea, perhaps?”

Dominic’s barely there smile slid into a rare grin. “For some odd reason, I seem to make Phelps nervous. The poor man couldn’t wait to get out of the room. Fortunately, I availed myself of your excellent cognac while awaiting your arrival. I may even be able to convince myself that you acquired it by legal means.”

“I expect Phelps is afraid you’ll have him arrested. Perhaps for free-trading, if nothing else comes to mind. You must understand that it makes my servants a tad unsettled when you insist on treating my business ventures as little better than criminal enterprises.”

“Not that it ever stopped you,” Dominic commented with a hint of acid.

Griffin strolled over to the four-tiered whatnot tucked between two windows, plucked up a crystal decanter, and poured himself a few fingers of cognac. “No, but as you are wont to point out, I am sadly lacking in nerves. You must admit that it’s a useful quality for a man who makes his living the way I do.”

“The way you used to make a living. Now that you’ve sold all your gaming clubs at a spectacular profit, I understand you’re about to complete an agreement to turn over the brothel to Madeline Reeves and a few of your other girls.”

Griffin eyed Dominic with disapproval. Of course, he would know about the impending deal, even though Griffin and his staff had a strict policy of keeping all business within house. The air of mystery that surrounded Griffin and his dealings both enhanced his reputation and prompted others to treat him, if not with respect, then with healthy caution. In some quarters, he was looked upon as little better than a crime lord. Griffin had always found it to his advantage to foster that perception, especially when it came to persuading others to see his point of view on business and financial affairs.

The fact that he was also willing to exact appropriate retribution against anyone who was fool enough to betray him also helped. Reputation meant little without the will and the means to support it with an iron fist. His hardscrabble years on the streets of London had taught him that long ago.

“I’m not going to ask how you found out about that,” he said as he settled into one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace.

“Best not to,” Dominic replied in a sympathetic tone totally at odds with his somber, craggy features. “Besides, I doubt you’d want to know.”

Griffin didn’t bother rising to the bait, instead enjoying the truly excellent cognac—which had, of course, come from free traders—and letting the velvet burn slide down his throat.

Dominic took the matching chair opposite him. “I am pleased at the direction you’re heading in, Griffin. You’ve invested well and your fortune—your legal fortune—will continue to grow. But what I cannot understand is why you wish to leave everything behind to go haring off to parts of the world best left alone, now that you’ve so effectively consolidated your position.” He leaned forward, his gaze compelling. “Surely you know that’s not necessary. Given a little time and patience on your part, and some effort on mine, I have no doubt you’ll gain acceptance among even the first families of the ton.”

Even though Griffin had barely mentioned a word about his plans to anyone, Dominic had known for a long time that he wished to leave England—and his past—far behind him. As soon as Griffin’s business affairs were settled, he had every intention of catching the first ship sailing east to the Orient.

“I already come from the first family of the ton,” he replied. “I have no desire to interact with the rest of them, at least not outside the confines of a gaming house or brothel.”

Dominic’s eyes narrowed to flinty chips of emerald green, as they so often did when Griffin annoyed him.

“I know,” Griffin said with a mocking sigh. “I’m a trial. But I didn’t ask you here to speculate about my failings or my impending travels. An unfortunate problem has been deposited on my doorstep, and I’m hoping you can take it off my hands.”

Dominic stared at him for several seconds before he obviously decided on a tactical retreat. “So I understand. Phelps left a ridiculous message about babies and signet rings and veiled ladies. It sounded like a bad melodrama. I trust there really isn’t a baby, is there?”

Fortuitously, the door opened and Madeline entered with a blanket-swaddled bundle in her arms. She cast Dominic one of her most enticing smiles as she gracefully drifted into the room, looking as far from a madonna as one could imagine. Madeline had been trying for years to seduce Dominic, but the man had always seemed impervious to feminine wiles. That, however, had never stopped her from making her best attempt.

Dominic slowly stood up, a rare expression of surprise on his features. His glance jumped to Griffin’s face. “It’s not—”

“Of course it’s not mine,” Griffin snapped. “You know how I feel about that sort of thing.”

Dominic knew the circumstances of Griffin’s birth, and had once been close to Griffin’s mother. They also shared a mutual loathing for Griffin’s father, the Duke of Cumberland, younger brother of the Prince Regent. Dominic hated the duke for his seduction of Griffin’s mother when she was barely fourteen, and Griffin hated him for refusing to acknowledge his son or show even the least bit of interest in him or the girl he’d wronged.

Not that Griffin had any desire, at this point, for a relationship with his father. But that didn’t mean he still couldn’t hate the bastard. More than anything else the disgust he shared with Dominic for Cumberland had been the source of the strange bond that had formed between them over the years.

“Whose is it, then?” Dominic asked.

“Damned if I know.” Griffin waved Madeline closer, so Dominic could get a better look.

As she stood between them, gently rocking the sleeping baby in her arms, Griffin felt his heart twist in an unfamiliar and unwelcome manner.

He’d given up the more tender emotions years ago, knowing they could only do him harm. Sympathy was one of the worst, as far as he was concerned. It reminded him too much of pity. Loyalty he could understand and appreciate, and he did everything he could to foster that quality in his employees. That meant taking care of them and being attentive to their needs. But he didn’t need to feel affection for them. Griffin only needed to understand them, provide for them, and insist they be loyal to him. That philosophy had served him well over the years, and he had no desire to clutter it with mawkish sentimentality.

But this abandoned child threatened to shift something inside, reminding him of things he hadn’t felt in a long time. Things better left alone.

“Does he have a name?” Dominic inquired as he carefully brushed aside the blanket tucked up around the baby’s chin. Madeline’s lips curved into a soft smile as she gazed at the infant. She looked almost besotted, and for once it had nothing to do with Dominic’s presence.

“Stephen,” Griffin said curtly, unaccountably annoyed.

Glancing up, Dominic’s dark brows lifted with surprise. His gaze, all too perceptive, had Griffin grinding his back molars. Whatever Dominic might think, Griffin had nothing in common with this blasted baby.


“And does Stephen have a last name?” Dominic asked gently.

Griffin stared at him. “Do you think I would have demanded your august presence if I knew that? Haven’t you figured out by now that the situation is a complete bloody enigma?”

Dominic eyed him for a few more seconds and then smiled at Madeline. “Mrs. Reeves, would you see about getting us some coffee? It would appear that it might take some time to work through this interesting little puzzle, and I will obviously need my wits about me.”

Griffin frowned, noticing for the first time how tired Dominic looked. His austere features were pulled tight with strain, and his eyes held a bleak, hollow cast. Griffin couldn’t help wondering what troubled him. Dominic was not the sort of man to show weakness under any circumstances.

Madeline nodded. “Of course. Do you want me to take the baby?”

“You may leave him with me,” Dominic said, deftly taking the bundle and settling it in his arms.

“Never figured you for the paternal sort,” Griffin said after Madeline left the room.

Dominic sat back down, taking care not to jostle the baby. “There are many things you don’t know about me, Griffin.”

“I’m sure, but I’d rather not hear about them today. I’ve got enough on my hands without having to hear another chapter from the life of Dominic Hunter, Spymaster.”

The other man cast him a wry grin, relaxing comfortably into his chair. Outside, the blustery wind rattled the windowpanes and the murky light of a late-January afternoon barely penetrated into the room. But the bleak winter’s day was no match for the warmth of the coal fire burning in the register grate, or the light cast by the cut-glass candlelabra and giltwood wall lights.

After a childhood spent in a grim Yorkshire vicarage and later barely surviving on the streets of London, Griffin cherished both light and heat. Every room in his house reflected that. No cool blues or greens for him. The walls glowed with warm yellows or reds, with lavish gilded moldings and thick velvet draperies tied back with gold tassels. He surrounded himself with beauty and comfort, with the most elegant Sheraton-style furniture mixed with ornate Chippendale, and silk and satinwood chaises in vibrant colors. The exotic, sometimes riotous mix, appealed to him on a primitive level he found deeply satisfying.

Madeline had once told Griffin that he reminded her of a cat—always searching for that slash of sunshine filtering through a window, seeking its warmth. Though he supposed it was true, too many days he felt cold to the marrow of his bones. Perhaps in Italy or Greece, or points farther east, he might find the heat and light he craved. God knew he’d never find it in England. He’d tried long ago, when he’d first set out to find his mother, but he’d eventually left that fruitless quest to Dominic.

For if Griffin was a cat, Dominic was a mastiff. Once he got something between his jaws, he never let go.

“Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened?” Dominic prompted.

Griffin propped a shoulder against the marble mantelpiece as he recounted the strange events. While he talked, Phelps came in with the coffee, followed by Madeline. She poured for the men, then silently took the baby and retreated to a chaise in the corner while Griffin finished the tale with the note and the signet ring. When Dominic lifted an eyebrow, he fished the ring out of his pocket and handed it over.

Dominic turned the ring to catch the light from the fire. “Abbs Noli irritare lupus. Irritate not the wolf. That sounds fairly ominous,” he said drily. He peered more closely. “A family coat of arms and a royal one at that, I’d wager.”

“Italian, perhaps?” Griffin ventured.

“Yes, probably one of the minor Hapsburg branches, if I’m reading it correctly. But I can’t tell you more without doing some research. May I take it with me?”

When Griffin nodded, Dominic slipped it into an inside pocket of his coat. “And what about the mysterious note?”

Griffin handed that over, and Dominic spread the small missive open on his knee. After only one glance, his demeanor changed. He had been sitting comfortably in the wingback chair, with his long, booted legs stretched toward the grate, but now he snapped up straight. His entire body conveyed astonishment as he stared at the note.

“What’s wrong?” Griffin asked.

Dominic lifted his gaze, and Griffin could swear the pupils in the other man’s gaze had dilated with shock. His normally swarthy complexion had paled, too, making the green of his eyes stand out in startling relief.

“No one saw the face of the woman who sent this, not even the messenger boy?” Dominic asked in a hoarse voice.

Uneasiness prickled the back of Griffin’s neck. He’d seen Dominic angry, sardonic, worried, and frustrated, but he’d never seen him this unsettled before. He realized that every muscle in his own body had tensed in an instinctive reaction. “No. She was heavily veiled.”

“Christ,” Dominic snapped. “Could you find the boy again, if you had to?”

“Yes, and no. I told him to come to me if he ever saw the lady again. If you want, I can send Phelps out to see if he can find him.”

Dominic seemed not to hear, raising a hand to his jaw, as if to rub it, then putting it back on his knee, fist clenching. He seemed to be gazing past Griffin, as if staring into a very deep pit, one that sucked the light out of everything. Griffin wasn’t one to be easily unsettled, but the expression on Dominic’s face was doing a good job of it. He’d come to rely on Dominic in some vague way he’d never bothered to analyze, and seeing him so agitated was more disturbing than he cared to admit.

He snatched up Dominic’s cognac glass and strode to the sideboard. Madeline, peering with concern at Dominic, started to rise, but Griffin waved her back to her seat. He grabbed one of the Waterford decanters and splashed out a measure of cognac, then returned to thrust the glass into Dominic’s hand.

“Whatever it is, this should improve the situation,” Griffin said.

Dominic took the drink without comment and poured it down his throat, barely wincing. Then he took a slow, deep breath. His normally impassive demeanor seemed to spin up like a cocoon around him, cloaking his emotions and leaving the cool-eyed, implacable spymaster in its place.

But a faint echo of something like desolation lingered in his green gaze, and that told Griffin the situation with the baby was far more complicated than he’d originally hoped it would be.

He wanted to give this complication a very wide berth, if at all possible.

He sat in the opposite wing chair but kept a wary eye on Dominic. “Are you going to tell me, or shall I just guess?”

Dominic responded with a ghost of a smile. “You couldn’t possibly, so don’t even bother. And, no. I don’t want you to send anyone after the boy. But if he does contact you again, send for me immediately. Other than that, you are to do nothing.”

Griffin stared at him in disbelief. “Do nothing? What the hell is going on here, Dominic? What aren’t you telling me?”

The older man gazed imperiously down his long, arrogant nose. “I cannot come to any conclusions until I launch an investigation. I need to find out more about both the note and the ring.”

Griffin resisted the impulse to rub the knot forming at the back of his neck. “And how do you propose to do that?”

Dominic held the note up to the light, his eyes narrowing in speculation. “The paper is good quality—although I don’t recognize the watermark—which suggests that our mystery lady is a woman of means.”


“The baby’s blankets and clothing are well made and of the best materials,” Madeline piped in. “And he’s obviously well-cared for and healthy.”

Dominic absently brought the note to his nostrils, as if searching for an elusive scent. “So it would seem. Someone loved this child, which begs the question as to why he would be given up, and in so odd a way.”

“Obviously, because he’s in danger,” Griffin replied sarcastically, waving his hands in the air. “It’s all nonsense, if you ask me. Why the hell would a baby be in such mortal danger that he needed to be hidden in a brothel? With me, of all people?”

Dominic thought for several long seconds. “Perhaps because a brothel is the last place one would think to look for a well-born child. And you have a reputation for being a dangerous man to cross. A well-earned reputation, I might add,” he finished, gently sardonic.

“I’m assuming that’s a compliment,” Griffin responded.

“What interests me,” Dominic mused, ignoring the jab, “is why this woman would pick you, specifically. She obviously knows you.”

“A lot of women know me,” Griffin snapped. “The real question is why the hell would she leave a mewling infant on my doorstep?”

“Because she thinks you understand what it means to be abandoned?”

Griffin jolted slightly in his chair, then stilled as the words tapped into the cold rage that ran deeply and swiftly within him. That emotion was a subtle, thrumming current underscoring every part of his life. He’d struggled for years to harness the power of it, mostly succeeding. But those close to him knew that certain subjects were forever barred from discussion. Those who made the mistake of raising them never did so more than once.

Except for Dominic, naturally. He knew too much, and he had no compunctions about using that knowledge to his advantage.

“I’d advise you to be careful, my friend,” Griffin said in a soft voice.

Dominic gave a casual shrug. “I’ve made my point.”

“And I suggest you not make it again.”

The other man bowed his head in gracious retreat.

“To return to the problem at hand,” Griffin said in a blighting tone, “I would be profoundly grateful if you could take this blasted infant off my hands. Before something happens to him.”

“I think not.” Now Dominic sounded almost amused. “Little Stephen must certainly remain here.”

Griffin felt his mouth drop open. “Surely, you’re joking.”

“I am not.” Dominic rose smoothly to his feet. “I’m inclined to agree with your veiled woman.” He paused as a curious shadow crossed his face. He gave a slight shake of his head as if to dispel it. “Your establishment is a very safe place for a child who is clearly in some sort of peril. Stephen can remain hidden here while I conduct an investigation. With any luck, I’ll discover his parentage within a few weeks.”

Griffin sprang to his feet. “A few weeks? How the hell am I supposed to take care of a baby until then? I can’t even tell if he’s old enough to be weaned. Who’s going to take care of that little detail, may I ask?”

“You needn’t worry,” Madeline said in an annoyingly cheerful voice. She stopped to coo at the baby, now coming awake with a sleepy yawn. “Rose is just weaning her own son. She has plenty of milk to spare.” When Dominic raised an inquiring eyebrow, Madeline explained. “Rose is one of the girls at The Golden Tie.”

“It’s entirely unseemly to have this baby living in a brothel, nursed by whores,” Griffin said, starting to feel a bit desperate.

Dominic snorted. “For a supposed crime lord and a whoremaster, you’re a bit squeamish, aren’t you?”

Griffin ran a frustrated hand through his hair, pulling half of it out of the narrow leather band that tied it back. “I’m not a crime lord, and I won’t be a whoremaster much longer. But that is not the issue. Besides, Rose cannot be expected to nurse two babies at once. And how, exactly, does one go about keeping a baby in a brothel, especially a secret baby? You are both clearly demented for thinking such a mad scheme could possibly work.”

“Oh, but he won’t really be staying in the brothel, will he? He’ll be staying here with you. As we both know, no one gets into your house unless you want him to,” Dominic said as he crossed to the bell pull in the corner of the room.

“Except street urchins and babies, apparently,” Griffin snapped.

“Truly, Griffin,” Madeline said earnestly, “Rose won’t mind helping out for a little while, and neither will I. Besides, unless I miss my guess, this little one is going on four months, so he will be able to be weaned very soon. That should make things easier.”

“Well, that’s a comfort,” Griffin replied sarcastically. He’d clearly lost control of the situation, which often happened when Dominic was involved. “And in the meantime, is Rose expected to move in with me, along with her little bundle of joy? Bloody hell, I might as well shoot myself now and get it over with.”

Rose was one of the most popular girls in the brothel, well liked for her excessively cheerful nature. But she was also exceedingly noisy and outspoken, and Griffin couldn’t spend more than five minutes in her company without developing an overwhelming urge to flee.

“It can’t be as bad as all that, surely,” Dominic said with mock sympathy.

“Believe me, it is.” Griffin repressed the impulse to curse again as he gazed down at the baby in Madeline’s arms. The little blighter was fully awake, waving his chubby little arms and kicking his legs against the blanket. His eyes were a dark brown, the color of coffee beans. He stared at Griffin, round-eyed and rosy-cheeked, and then his little mouth split into a toothless grin.

Griffin reached down to touch one of his tiny fists. The fingers splayed themselves wide, opening like the petals of a flower, then wrapped themselves around Griffin’s thumb. The baby’s grip was surprisingly strong.

Sighing, he capitulated. Dominic knew him too well. Griffin could no more abandon the poor brat than he could cut off his arm. Because he did know exactly what it felt like to be abandoned, and he understood the damage it inflicted. This baby was far too young to understand anything but that he was warm, dry, and fed, and that someone held him with a gentle touch. Griffin had known the absence of all those things in his life, at one time or another. He’d experienced hunger and cold, and the dark terrors of the streets of St. Giles.

He gently pried the baby’s finger from around his thumb. Little Stephen’s eyes screwed up and he started to huff and puff in obvious preparation for letting out a wail. Madeline hastily rocked him as she leveled a frown at Griffin.

“All right, he can stay,” Griffin said to Dominic. “But I have a condition. You must—”

A knock interrupted him, and then Phelps popped his head into the room. “You rang, guv?”

“No, Phelps, I did,” answered Dominic. “Would you please bring my coat and hat?”

“In a twinkle,” Phelps said before disappearing.

“Griffin, it’s time you acquired a proper butler,” Dominic said. “I’m sure Phelps has many estimable qualities, but he is lamentably lacking in polish.”

Griffin resisted the impulse to tell the older man to sod off. “I don’t want a butler, nor do I wish to discuss your unceasing efforts to reform me. What I do want is to discuss my condition for allowing this infant to remain in my house.”


“I imagine you want a proper nurse,” Dominic said.

“Yes, and sooner rather than later,” he snapped. “This entire situation is bloody inconvenient and disruptive. It’s the last thing I need, especially now.”

“I’ll attend to that immediately,” Dominic said in a soothing voice calibrated to grate on Griffin’s nerves. “I know how agitating you find disruption in your household to be.”

Madeline exchanged a glance with Dominic. They were both evidently trying not to laugh. Griffin glared at them, wondering when he’d started to act like a querulous old woman instead of a man in control of his own fate.