Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom

CHAPTER Five



After a quick knock on the connecting doors, Rose stuck her head into Justine’s bedroom. “Mr. Griffin wants you in the drawing room, love. He said to give me the baby and come down as soon as you can.”

Ignoring the little jolt to her stomach at the very mention of her host’s name, Justine looked up from the letter she was writing to her brother, Matthew. “Did he say why?”

In the three days since she’d moved into Griffin Steele’s house, she’d done everything she could to avoid him. For some reason that defied analysis, the man made her unaccountably nervous. Any rational person would surmise it was because he made his living off the wages of sin, but Justine didn’t think that was entirely the case. One could not have a spy for a father without encountering those who led unsavory lives. It was a hazard of the profession.

She would be lying, however, if she claimed it didn’t bother her that he owned a brothel. How could it not? Prostitution was a horrible profession by any measure, and she hated that any woman had to earn a living by peddling her body. But Rose was sweet if rather outrageous, and Mrs. Reeves and the other girls Justine had met had been nothing but kind. They didn’t seem the least bit downtrodden, either. Still, the activities next door made her shudder, so she did her best not to think about them at all.

Fortunately, adorable little Stephen fully occupied her attention.

Rose wandered over to check on the baby, sleeping in the middle of Justine’s large bed. “He just said to hurry down and that I was to stay with the baby.” She gave an exaggerated roll of the eyes. “Best not keep him waiting, love. Never a good thing to get on Mr. Griffin’s bad side.”

Justine was folding up her unfinished letter, but at Rose’s words she shot her a quick glance. “Does he have a violent temper?” A horrible thought congealed inside her like a lump of ice. “He’s never hit you or any of the other girls, has he?” Though she had not thought it of him, why should she make that assumption? She knew nothing of the man.


Rose snorted as she eased down on the bed next to the baby. “Not him, love. The only time I’ve ever seen him take fists to anyone is when someone tried to hurt one of the girls. Mr. Griffin’s thrashed more than one cove for treating us badly. He’s not as big as the footmen at The Golden Tie, but he’s strong and quick as lightning. He’d rather kill a man than see any of us hurt,” she finished in a proud voice.

“Oh, that’s good,” Justine replied, not quite sure how she felt about that. It heartened her to hear that he cared so greatly about his employees, but she couldn’t feel comfortable with such violent tendencies.

“Mr. Griffin’s not the sort to fly off the handle. That’s not his style,” Rose said, clearly enjoying a little gossip.

“Then what did you mean by not getting on his bad side?” Justine asked as she smoothed down her skirts and checked to make sure her cap was straight.

“If he’s mad, he gets all cold like. He never yells, but his voice goes all hard and the look in his eyes . . .” Rose gave a dramatic shiver, as if she were reciting a thrilling ghost story. “Well, let’s just say it’s like to freeze a body right to her bones. And if you really gets him mad, then bad things can happen. Things you don’t want to hear about.”

Justine almost shivered, too. “What sort of things?” she whispered, unable to keep from asking.

Rose scrunched up her face in a comical grimace. Justine would have been tempted to laugh if the subject wasn’t so unsettling.

“Lord, miss. I don’t rightly know. Mr. Griffin takes care of his people, so I can’t say as I’ve ever seen anything particularly horrible. But I’ve heard rumors.” She solemnly tapped her nose.

Justine conducted a short debate with herself, trying to decide if she actually wanted details of those rumors.

Fortunately, Rose abruptly switched the topic. “Miss Justine, it’s beyond me why you wear those fusty old caps, and you with that beautiful hair. I’ll wager you’re not three and twenty, so there’s no cause to look like an old tabby.”

Justine fetched the wool shawl draped at the foot of her bed, wrapping it around her shoulders. “I’m almost twenty-five, Rose, and quite firmly in the spinster category. Besides, my hair isn’t beautiful. It’s red.”

She couldn’t keep distaste from creeping into her voice. Her hair, although thankfully a bit darker now, had been the bane of her youth, prompting merciless rounds of teasing from her cousins and even her brother. Aunt Elizabeth, the woman who had raised her and Matthew after Mamma’s death, had always insisted that Justine’s tresses reminded her of the Celtic princesses of old, and that she should consider them her crowning glory. Though Justine loved her dearly, her aunt had always been prone to flights of fancy, like imagining her niece as a descendant of ancient royalty.

“There’s many a man that has a fancy for hair like yours,” Rose said. “It makes them curious about other things, if you take my meaning.”

Justine didn’t, but that wasn’t surprising. She didn’t understand half the things Rose said, which showed how boring and sedate her life had been for the last few years.

Thank God.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she told Rose. “Don’t hesitate to come get me if the baby starts to fuss or Sammy wakes up from his nap.”

She hurried out to the staircase. As always, she was struck by the rich appointments of Mr. Steele’s house, even in an upper hallway. The walls were painted in deep shades of red, and a plush pink and gold carpet runner cushioned her footfalls. Three narrow tables lined the hall, each with a lamp or branch of candles. No stinting on candles or oil for Griffin Steele. He liked his house brightly lit, and luxurious to the point of decadence. Justine was not averse to creature comforts by any means, but these struck her as excessive, particularly since her host was a disciplined man who, according to the hints dropped by the servants, had fewer vices than the average man of the ton.

Justine glanced at the door to his bedroom as she walked by. Her first night under his roof had found her unnerved by the fact that he slept mere feet away from her. She’d never been alone with any unmarried man—not without a relative or proper chaperone somewhere in the immediate vicinity. Such was not the case in Steele’s town house. Only three adults slept on this floor—Steele, Justine, and Rose. And by no stretch of the imagination could Rose be thought of as a chaperone.

But after a restless first night when she’d jerked awake at every random sound or footfall, her nerves had finally given way to rational thought. There was no earthly reason Steele would have any interest in her, not with a brothel full of willing women next door. And that they were willing was beyond doubt, since Rose had explained in graphic terms just how attractive the women found him.

Besides, she’d hardly seen the man since moving in. He generally locked himself away in his office or worked next door, not returning home until the early hours of the morning and well past the time Justine retired to her bed. As for the infrequent times their paths did cross, he either muttered a distracted greeting or seemed to regard her with amused disdain. She much preferred the former, since the latter never failed to bring a resentful flush to her cheeks.

She descended the stairs and paused outside the drawing room, checking her cap one last time. Then, taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped into the room.

Steele and Dominic glanced up from their discussion and rose as one from their armchairs by the fire. Justine’s godfather, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a penetrating gaze, commanded respect just by his very presence. A man like Steele, some inches shorter and lean rather than bulky, should have faded in his company.

But the opposite was true. Steele came to his feet with a lithe, masculine grace that spoke of quietly controlled power. That sense of power, combined with his darkly ruthless gaze, would signal to even the most careless or insouciant observer that she ignored Griffin Steele at her peril. Since Justine was neither careless nor insouciant, she would never ignore him, but would do her best to keep him at a healthy distance.

“Ah, Justine, how nice to see you,” Dominic said with a warm smile. “How are you faring with your new charge?” He cast a meaningful glance in Steele’s direction. “I trust everyone is treating you well.”

She bobbed a slight curtsy before sitting down on the elegant Etruscan daybed across from their chairs. The two men resumed their seats, Steele lounging in his with a languid sprawl of long, muscular legs. Justine’s gaze unconsciously lingered on those legs just a few seconds before she jerked herself back to attention.

“Yes,” she assured him. “Mr. Steele and his staff have seen to all of my needs. I have no complaints.” She hesitated, then gave a slight grimace. “Well, I must admit to feeling rather cooped up. I’m not used to being housebound for any stretch of time, though I do understand the need for it.”

Steele narrowed his eyes on her. “A good thing, too. You wouldn’t want anyone to see you wearing that ugly thing on your head.”

Justine blinked at his rude response. Now that she thought about it, on the occasions she’d run into him, he’d sometimes inspected her with a perplexed, almost disapproving stare.


“You dislike caps, Mr. Steele? Do they, perhaps, strike you as inappropriate attire for your household?” she asked, hoping to embarrass him.

“I dislike ugly ones,” he replied. “Especially on young women who have no business wearing them. It makes you look like an ape leader.”

She bit back the impulse to snap. “Since I am an ape leader, I have every business wearing one. Not that it’s any of your business,” she finished, giving in to temptation.

“My dear, you are nothing of the sort,” Dominic interjected. “Come to think of it, I don’t remember you wearing a cap the last time I saw you. I must say I agree with Griffin on this. You’re much too young to be wearing so dowdy a fashion.”

Justine felt her face flush, which she knew from experience clashed abominably with her hair.

“I hardly think you asked to see me to critique my wardrobe, Uncle Dominic—”

“Thank God for that,” murmured Steele.

Justine ignored the desire to pull off the offending cap and whack her host across his arrogant nose with it. “What did you wish to see me about, Uncle Dominic?”

Her godparent leaned over and patted her hands. Only then did Justine realize she was clenching them in her lap.

“I do wish to discuss a few things with you,” he replied. “But first tell me how you and the baby go on.”

Justine smiled. “I must admit that he’s a complete love. He’s a sweet boy, and gives me very little trouble.”

“Really? Is that why he’s been keeping us awake at night with his caterwauling?” Steele asked.

“I’m not sure how you would even know that, since it’s almost morning by the time you come upstairs,” Justine retorted. “I’m quite sure the baby doesn’t keep you awake at all.”

His dark brows lifted with amusement. “And how do you know what time I come to bed, Miss Brightmore? Have you been keeping track of my movements? I confess I’m intrigued by your curiosity.”

Justine gasped at his outrageous implication, but before she could respond, Steele cut a sardonic glance in Dominic’s direction. “I suppose you have her spying on me, don’t you? You never could keep your nose out of my business.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dominic said before returning his attention to Justine. “Is the baby proving difficult, my dear? Do you need more help? I will look about for a nurse who can be trusted, if that’s the case.”

“No, it’s fine,” Justine said, unaccountably annoyed. She rarely lost her temper and never with her godparent, but Steele had a knack for putting her on edge. She hated to think what she’d be like if she had to spend any appreciable amount of time with him.

She took a deep, restorative breath, and smiled. “I will admit that Mr. Steele is not entirely wrong. Stephen has been colicky, but I’ve been bathing him with lavender water and giving him small doses of chamomile tea. As a result, he was much better last night. Rose has been very helpful, too. I assure you, sir, we have everything under control.”

“I knew I could depend on you,” Dominic said. “I hope you realize how grateful I am for your assistance.”

His praise warmed her. Papa had once commented that nothing seemed to make her happier than being useful, and Justine supposed it was true. After all, if one couldn’t be of use to the people one loved, what was the point of life?

“Of course I do, Uncle Dominic,” she said with a warm smile. “You must know that I will do everything I can to help.”

“Would that you could help find this unfortunate baby’s parents so he could be returned to them posthaste,” Steele interjected in a long-suffering tone.

“I don’t know why you should complain, since Justine and Rose have largely relieved you of any inconvenience in this matter,” Dominic responded tartly.

Steele flicked his penetrating gaze to Justine. “One might think so, but then one would be wrong.”

She frowned. Could no one in this house speak in a straightforward fashion, in terms she could understand? There had been moments since arriving in Steele’s household when she imagined she’d been cast adrift in a foreign land, without knowing a word of the language.

“Then you’ll be happy to hear I have some news on that front,” Dominic said.

Steele’s elegant sprawl remained unchanged, but Justine had the uncanny sense he’d suddenly come alert. That was another thing she found so disconcerting—a heightened awareness of him whenever he was near. It was as if every nerve in her body pealed like a bell in response to him.

“I am all eagerness to hear this news,” he drawled.

Instead of responding, Dominic fished something out of his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Justine. It was a black velvet pouch, the kind used to carry jewelry. When she tilted her head in inquiry, her godparent nodded at her to open it.

Justine tipped a heavy gold signet ring into her palm. “Goodness,” she breathed, holding it up to the light. “Is this the ring that was tucked in Stephen’s basket?”

“It is,” Dominic replied. “What do you make of it?”

She peered at it from various angles. “It looks very old. Several centuries, I would guess.”

“Fourteenth, or possibly fifteenth century,” Steele said in a quiet voice, leaning forward to look at the ring.

Justine blinked. What would a man like him know about antique jewelry?

“Yes, I would say that’s correct,” Dominic said. “What else can you make out, Justine?”

She squinted at the engraved motto circling the crest. “My Latin is rusty . . . something about a wolf and not irritating, I think.”

“Irritate not the wolf,” Steele said.

She couldn’t help gaping at him. “You read Latin?”

His upper lip curled in a disdainful sneer. “I’m not a complete ignoramus, Miss Brightmore.”

Justine winced, annoyed that she’d allowed herself to be surprised into rudeness. “Forgive me, sir,” she said quietly. “I meant to suggest nothing of the kind.”

When he continued to inspect her with the same sardonic expression, her annoyance turned outward. “It’s simply that one doesn’t expect someone in your particular line of work to be a Latin scholar,” she said. “It hardly seems a useful skill amongst the muslin company.”

When his eyes widened a fraction, Justine wanted to kick herself. Why did she allow him to provoke her into such uncharacteristic behavior? She was acting as badly as he was, and he would surely bite her nose off for it.

But to her surprise, his eyes lightened with reluctant amusement. “Touché, Miss Brightmore. I suppose I walked right into that.”

“You certainly did,” replied Dominic as he retrieved the ring.

“It’s that bloody lace cap,” Steele complained. “You don’t expect cutting remarks from someone who tricks herself up like a dim-witted spinster.”

“Perhaps we can agree that appearances can be deceiving,” Justine said, trying not to clench her teeth.

Steele’s gaze dropped to her chest and lingered there for a long moment. “Yes, I think we can agree on that,” he said.

An odd warmth curled low in Justine’s belly. She found herself trapped in his dark gaze, one that had transformed from amusement to a heavy-lidded sensuality. She’d seen men with that expression on their faces before, but it had never been directed at her.


“What else can you tell us about the ring, Uncle Dominic?” she asked, a shade too loudly.

Fortunately, her godparent seemed not to notice anything strange. She didn’t dare look at Steele, since she just knew he’d be laughing at her. What he found in her that was so amusing, she didn’t know. She was the most boring woman alive, and her lack of suitors proved it.

During her first Season, Justine had tried to become adept at the kind of light gossip and conversation that seemed to amuse young men, but she’d never mastered the art. Her aunt Elizabeth, who moved in artistic and radical circles rather than the upper reaches of the ton, would attempt to console Justine by saying that she had greater depths than the average young man at Almack’s, and that she should never be ashamed of her education or her serious turn of mind. Indeed, Aunt Elizabeth cherished her own reputation as a bluestocking, and encouraged Justine to do the same.

That was all very well and good until she found herself trying to make awkward conversation with a man she actually liked, only to see his eyes glaze with an all too familiar look of boredom.

She forced her attention back to her godparent.

“Some aspects of the signet suggest that it is Lombardic,” Dominic said, “from one of the cadet branches of the Hapsburgs, as I originally suspected. As to which one, that will require further research. Since the Italian states remain in some degree of turmoil after the fall of Napoleon, further investigation will be required before I can determine its provenance. But suffice it to say, I believe the ring suggests that our little guest has some Italian heritage, and is very likely from a noble family.”

Justine frowned. “Then what is he doing here?”

“That is the mystery,” Dominic replied. “One possibility is that either his father or mother—or both—was from a noble Italian family that came here in exile after Napoleon seized their lands. The ring suggests the child is legitimate, although we can’t be entirely sure of that.”

Justine grimaced, feeling a sharp pang of sympathy for the sleeping baby upstairs. “But if he’s legitimate, it makes no sense that he would be abandoned in so cavalier a fashion.”

Dominic sighed, seeming to slump a bit in his chair. For the first time, Justine noticed how weary he looked, with dark circles under his eyes. Her godparent had always seemed indomitable to her, but today he looked much older than his two and forty years.

Steele leaned forward in his chair, bracing his hands on his knees. He, too, was studying Dominic, with an intensity that surprised Justine.

“What of the note?” Steele asked. “Have you uncovered any additional information on that?”

“Nothing of any value,” Dominic replied. “You needn’t concern yourself with that.”

“I think I do,” the younger man fired back. “I saw how you reacted when you first read it. What aren’t you telling me?”

Dominic’s eyes glittered like polished emeralds. And he no longer looked like the tired man of a few seconds ago. Instead, in one breath to the next, he had transformed into the powerful—and deadly—spymaster Justine knew him to be.

“As I said, you needn’t concern yourself with it, Griffin,” he said in a hard voice. “In fact, I would strongly suggest that you not concern yourself with it.”

Steele slowly rose to his feet, a challenging smile playing around the corners of his cynical mouth. “Really, Dominic, is that intended to frighten me? If so, I must disappoint you.”

Dominic’s lips were drawn into a tight slash across his tanned face. He also came to his feet, anger and frustration coming off him in waves that seemed to crash loudly through the room. “You should be frightened, Griffin. I know I am.”

Then he turned and stalked out, slamming the door behind him. It was such an uncharacteristic response from a man Justine knew to be the epitome of discipline and control that all she could do was gape after him.

“That was certainly interesting,” Steele said, not looking bothered in the least. “It would appear that our little guest upstairs is not the only one harboring secrets.”