Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom

by Vanessa Kelly

  “Have you both gone completely mad?” Griffin snapped. “She charged over to The Golden Tie, publicly exposing herself to three members of the ton and then threatening to shoot one of them. If I hadn’t come in when I did, we’d probably be breaking her out of Newgate at this very moment.”

  “Well, you did come in and nothing happened. So, perhaps we can just get on with it,” Justine said haughtily. “Truly, I think you are making a great deal more out of this situation than is necessary.”

  “Are you perfectly sure Justine was recognized?” Dominic asked.

  “Good Christ,” Griffin muttered. “Of course she was recognized. She might as well have been wearing a sign around her neck announcing exactly who she was. I only wonder she didn’t sell tickets to the event.”

  She crossed her arms over her breasts and gave him a sullen stare. “It wasn’t as bad as all that.”

  “No, it was worse.”

  Dominic held up a restraining hand. “Who identified her?”

  “Mulborne, for one,” Griffin replied. “And Reginald Phillips and Sir Montegue Clarke.”

  Dominic set his glass down on the small oval table next to his chair. “Ah, that is an unfortunate development.”

  “Really, what difference does it make?” Justine said, practically bouncing in her seat. “It’s not like I’m going to be living in London anytime soon. Who cares who saw me?”

  “It makes a great deal of difference,” Griffin replied, wanting to shake some sense into her. “Mulborne and his cronies have no doubt spread the news throughout the entire ton, by now.”

  Dominic sighed, looking at Justine with a mixture of both affection and resignation. “I hate to criticize, my child, but it was perhaps not the wisest course for you to engage yourself in that particular situation.”

  Justine’s shoulders slumped like a little wind-up doll that had just run down. As annoyed as he was with her, Griffin couldn’t help wanting to comfort her.

  “I’m sorry, Uncle Dominic,” she said, sounding miserable. “But I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Dominic leaned over and gave her hand a fatherly pat. “I’m sure you did exactly as you saw right, my dear.”

  “Well, I did think so at the time. I had an odd feeling about it.” She shook her head, as if trying to make sense of it all. “Something seemed wrong to me, something to do with Stephen.” She looked at Griffin as if seeking confirmation. “That strange foreigner . . .”

  Dominic shot Griffin a sharp glance. “A foreigner was among the company?”

  Griffin nodded. “Supposedly someone attached to the Papal Nuncio, which sounded like bollocks to me. Why would a member of the Papal legation be visiting a brothel?”

  “Nothing would shock me less,” Dominic replied in a dry voice. “Did you get his name?”

  “Count Marzano,” Justine replied. “His behavior was very unsettling.”

  “In what way?”

  “First of all, he wasn’t inebriated. If he had spent the night carousing with Mulborne’s crowd, it didn’t show in the slightest. As well, he seemed a great deal more interested in me than he was in Patience or anything else going on.”

  “He probably took you for one of the girls,” Griffin commented sarcastically.

  To his surprise, she didn’t bristle. “No, it wasn’t like that. He seemed interested in a focused way. Not only in me but in his surroundings, too, almost as if he was looking for something.”

  Dominic cast Griffin a look of silent inquiry.

  “She might be right,” he admitted, sitting on one of the settees. “He certainly seemed to be out of place with that particular crowd.”

  “What did he look like?” Dominic asked.

  Griffin provided a description.

  “I don’t recognize the name,” Dominic said in a thoughtful voice. “I know most of the members of the Papal legation and I can’t recall any who answers to your description.”

  Justine leaned forward in her chair. “Do you think his presence had something to do with the baby?”

  Dominic uncrossed one of his long legs, as if preparing to stand. “That is surely worth looking into. Leave it with me.”

  As he started to rise, Griffin held up a restraining hand. “You do realize we need to address the situation with Justine, don’t you? After this morning, her situation is untenable.”

  “I’m sure you exaggerate, Mr. Steele,” she said in a prim little voice. “If we just ignore what happened and I stay out of sight, the problem will fade away in a few weeks.”

  Both men stared at her—Griffin in amazement and Dominic with an expression that could only be described as pity.

  “You do know the only solution, don’t you?” Griffin asked Dominic.

  “It should be obvious to all of us,” Dominic replied, “which was why I didn’t believe it necessary to spell it out.” His green eyes narrowed to flinty chips. “I don’t, do I?”

  Again, Griffin resisted the impulse to level the man. “No, you don’t, but I would appreciate your help with a few of the details. Matters need to progress even more quickly than you might think.”

  “For heaven’s sake,” Justine broke in. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the fact that I told Mulborne and his troupe of merry men that you were my wife,” Griffin replied, exasperated.

  “Did you?” Dominic looked vaguely impressed. “That was quick thinking on your part, Griffin. Well done.”

  Justine shot to her feet, her gaze wild and verging on desperation. “It wasn’t well done at all. It was insane. The question now is how to get out of it.” She took a step toward Dominic, her fists clenched anxiously into her skirts. “You have to help us think of a way to do that, Uncle Dominic. Surely you can, can’t you?”

  Her voice caught on a pathetic little break that Griffin both resented and understood. He knew how bad a bargain he was for a woman like Justine, but he had enough self-conceit to wish she didn’t act like her world was ending in a flaming ball of hellfire.

  Dominic came to his feet. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and silently encouraged her to retake her seat. Once she did, she stared up at her godparent with an expression of dread pulling her pretty features into a tight mask.

  “Justine,” Dominic started in a kind voice, “I have always spoken the truth to you, have I not?”

  She gave a sad little nod.

  “Then I must speak the truth to you now. Regardless of what either of you desires in this situation, the die has been cast. You have no choice but to marry Griffin, and as soon as possible.”

  She went from miserable to appalled. “You must be joking, sir.”

  “Indeed not. It is the only way to preserve your reputation. Surely, you see that.”

  She waved a dramatic, impatient hand. “Oh, hang my reputation. I have no desire to get married and I never did. And I’m sure Lady Belgrave won’t care. She never does when it comes to ton gossip and scandal. I’ll just go back to Cambridge and eventually everything will be fine.”

  “I think you’ll find she cares a great deal about this,” Dominic said. A faint note of exasperation began to creep into his voice. “There is also your family to consider—your uncle, Viscount Curtis, and your brother.”

  She visibly winced, but just as visibly wasn’t yet ready to give up. “I’ll explain it to them.” She cast a glance in Griffin’s direction. “They couldn’t possibly wish me to marry a . . . a . . .”

  “Whoremaster? I believe that’s the term you’re looking for,” Griffin said. “I’m sorry if that disconcerts you, Justine, but there’s nothing I can do to change it.”

  His voice sounded bitter and harsh, but never had he regretted his chosen profession more than right now. For her sake, as well as his.

  “I don’t care about that, and you know it,” she retorted, waving her hands. “But my family doesn’t know you like I do. They won’t understand.”

  Her unintentional and generous candor gave him a j
olt. Dominic, as well, if the look of surprise on his face was any indication.

  “Then we’ll explain it to them,” Dominic finally said in a reasonable tone. “I’ll help you.”

  Her gaze flicked between the two men. Griffin hated that her eyes held the desperation of a trapped animal, but there was no alternative course of action. He might be a right bloody bastard, but he’d never intentionally harmed an innocent, and Justine was as innocent as they came. Even more to the point, he refused to follow in his father’s footsteps. Cumberland had used Griffin’s mother, impregnating her and throwing her to the side without a second thought, ruining more than one life in the process. Griffin would be damned if he did the same. He’d do whatever he could to make the situation acceptable to Justine, but she had to understand that neither of them had a choice.

  “But . . . but I’m sure you don’t want to marry me, either, do you?” she asked him in a pleading voice. Her face had gone as white as chalk and the freckles stood out like pinpoints of flame.

  He glanced at Dominic who gave him a little jerk of the head, his features calmly set and implacable. Something in Griffin froze in a warning. He stared back at his erstwhile mentor in shock as realization struck him with a heavy blow.

  Dominic wasn’t in fact upset at this turn of events. If anything, he looked almost . . . satisfied.

  Christ.

  Dominic had been trying for years to reform Griffin, but if he thought marriage to Justine would do the trick, he was in for a surprise. It would take a great deal more than marriage to a reluctant, innocent spinster to steer Griffin off his long-charted course.

  He glanced down at Justine. Her pleading gaze remained fixed on him, her vulnerability so stark that it wiped away any temptation he had to respond cynically to the outcome of events. Instead, Griffin went down on one knee beside her and took her cold little hand.

  “I won’t deny that this is a very odd situation indeed, or that I didn’t plan on marriage,” he said.

  “Well, then—”

  He touched a finger to her lips, silencing the words, although he couldn’t fail to hear her sharply indrawn breath.

  “But I would be most grateful if you would consent to wed me, Justine,” he said in a grave voice. “I promise I will do my best to make you as comfortable and happy as I can.”

  “But how?” she whispered. “How is this even possible?”

  “It is entirely possible,” he said. “And we can discuss the details later, once you’ve had a rest. For now, all you need to do is say yes. Dominic and I will take care of everything else.”

  She glanced up at Dominic, who stood over them. Whatever she saw in his face gave her no comfort. She blinked twice, then switched her attention back to Griffin. For a long moment, she stared at him, and then a weary resignation settled on her pretty features.

  “It would appear I have no choice,” she said, her voice a strained imitation of her normal rich tones.

  “None,” Griffin replied. Impatience stirred within him, and something more fundamental—a need for her to confirm what part of him already knew. That in some way he couldn’t yet define, she belonged to him.

  She nodded, looking quietly and tragically shattered. “Very well, Mr. Steele. I accept your generous offer.”

  Chapter Ten

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Drat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  So much for keeping a polite distance.

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

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

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

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