She bounced him gently in her arms as she studied the two women. Rose had clearly been ready for bed when the intruders had burst in, but Mrs. Phelps was still dressed in one of the neat, gray gowns and white aprons she wore every day.
“Tell me what happened,” Justine said in a quiet voice.
“Well, Miss Justine—I mean, Mrs. Steele,” Rose said, “we were havin’ a bit of a late night. Neither of the little ones wanted to sleep, so I thought I’d best bring them down to the kitchen for a bit and have a spot of tea with Mrs. Phelps.”
“Little Sammy has a tooth coming in,” explained Mrs. Phelps. “Makes him a bit fractious.”
“I didn’t want to leave Stephen up there by himself, not with you away from the house,” Rose said. “Thank God I brought him down.”
Justine’s legs suddenly felt weak. She sat down in the chair next to Rose. Behind her, the door swung open and a moment later Griffin came to stand silently behind her. He placed a hand on the back of her neck in a comforting, possessive gesture but remained silent.
“What did they want?” Justine asked.
Rose hoisted Sammy to her shoulder, patting him on the back. “Don’t know. They were bloody foreigners, and that’s a fact. I heard one of them yelling out in the hall and it weren’t no King’s English he was speaking, I can tell you.”
Justine glanced back at Griffin. “Was anyone able to make out what they were saying?”
He hesitated but when Justine scowled at him, he gave a slight shrug. “Dominic’s man said he thought they were speaking Italian, although he wasn’t entirely sure. He didn’t recognize the dialect.”
“What was one of Uncle Dominic’s men doing here, anyway?” she asked. “Was he looking for you?”
“No. He was keeping an eye on the house.”
It took Justine a few moments to digest that. When she did, her temper spiked. “And neither of you thought to tell me that? Clearly, Uncle Dominic suspected something like this might happen or he would not have placed a man on guard.”
She knew well how her godparent worked. He would only place a man to watch the house if he had concerns for the security of those inside. The fact that he had felt it necessary to do so, when Griffin already had a fair amount of protection, told her something about the nature of the threat.
“He didn’t want to worry you, and I agreed,” Griffin said. “You had enough on your mind already.”
“Thank you for making that decision on my behalf,” she groused.
He simply arched an arrogant eyebrow, making Justine want to kick him in the shins. But there was no point in ripping up at him now. She’d discuss the decision to treat her like a silly miss with him—and Dominic—at a more appropriate time.
“How did they manage to get into the house?” she asked. “How many were there?”
“Apparently they came by carriage,” Griffin said. “There were five of them but only one presented himself at the door, telling Phelps he had a message for me. When Phelps opened the door to let him in—and that man did speak English—the others came swarming out of the carriage. Fortunately, Deacon was working in my office and heard the commotion. Dominic’s man was also able to alert the porter on the door at The Golden Tie. Between the four of them, they were able to repulse the attack.”
“But what did they want?” Justine asked. “Were they trying to rob you?”
Griffin pressed his lips into a hard line, as if he didn’t want to answer.
“Tell me,” Justine demanded.
He grimaced with grudging capitulation. “They made no attempt to try for my office, where the safe is, nor did the man who got upstairs show any interest in my bedroom or belongings.”
Already dreading the answer, Justine cradled the now-sleeping baby more closely against her shoulder. “Where did he go?”
“To my room, miss,” said Rose in a grim voice. “And he tossed it right proper, too. He was looking for something, all right. Although what he hoped to find in a baby’s cradle is a mystery to me.”
Horrified, Justine stared into Griffin’s implacable, knowing gaze. She could barely force the words past her lips. “He was looking for the baby. And for the ring.”
Chapter Sixteen
A gentle hand on Justine’s shoulder roused her from sleep.
“Mrs. Steele, it’s time to get up now. Griffin and Sir Dominic are waiting for you in the breakfast room.”
Justine sat up, trying to focus her bleary gaze on Madeline Reeves’ face. The madam was a model of composure, garbed in an elegantly simple gown of burgundy wool. It didn’t seem to matter what time of day or night it was, Mrs. Reeves always appeared cool and calm, never less than in perfect control of the circumstances. She was beginning to wonder if the woman actually needed sleep in order to function.
Unfortunately, Justine had only the vaguest memory of what it was like to get a full night’s sleep, uninterrupted by break-ins, colicky babies, or husbands intent on seduction. She suspected she wouldn’t be correcting the situation anytime soon.
Stifling a yawn, she threw off the cashmere throw someone had placed over her last night—or this morning, she should more properly say. By the time they’d managed to get everyone settled and the babies back to sleep, it had been almost four o’clock. Justine had felt too rattled to sleep, but Griffin had insisted.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” he’d said, giving her a little push toward her room. “I’ll be sitting up the rest of the night, as will Deacon and Phelps.”
“I’m not worried, but I think it would be best to speak to Uncle Dominic as soon as possible, don’t you?”
“Contrary to what you might believe, my wife,” he’d drily responded, “I am not an idiot. I sent Dominic’s man out to run him down over an hour ago. As usual, he’s never where you want him to be, so we just have to wait.”
She’d peered at him, almost cross-eyed with fatigue but still battling the feeling that she should be doing something. “I could keep you company while you waited. It might be easier to stay awake if you had someone to talk to.”
The tough lines of his face had softened as he studied her. “Sweetheart, the best thing you could do is to get some rest. The baby will be awake soon enough.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she’d responded, “but I want to speak with Uncle Dominic as soon as he gets here.”
“I promise to wake you when he arrives,” he’d said, turning her to the door and giving her another little shove. “Now go.”
She’d given him a sleepy smile, touched by his concern for her, and stumbled her way up to bed. After kicking off her shoes—taking off her dress had defeated her—she’d crawled onto the high mattress. Her last conscious thought had been how thoroughly Griffin had taken control of the situation, handling everything with a masterful calm while reestablishing order over his domain. Only her confidence in him—and she had hazily realized how much confidence she did have in him—allowed her to drift off to sleep.
“What time is it?” she asked Mrs. Reeves as she dragged herself to her dressing table.
“Going on seven o’clock. Sir Dominic arrived a short time ago, and he and Griffin are having breakfast.” The other woman pulled a gown from Justine’s wardrobe and placed it on the bed. “Griffin said to dress warmly and be prepared for travel.”
Justine stared at herself in the mirror, disgusted by her pallid complexion and the state of her beautiful evening gown. It had been demolished by her restless sleep. But at Madeline’s words, she pulled her attention away from her unfortunate reflection.
“Travel? Did Griffin say where? Will the baby come with me?”
“There’s no point in asking me. I’m sure he’ll explain everything to you when you get downstairs. Hurry, now. You must get changed and then I have to awaken Rose.”
Justine bit back the myriad questions on the tip of her tongue. She’d learned there was little point in pressing Griffin’s people for information. His establishment struck her as something akin
to a feudal household, where the master demanded total loyalty and offered protection and security in return. In some ways he reminded her of her grandfather, imperious to a fault but utterly responsible and committed to all who fell under his care.
In other words, Griffin was a typical, old-fashioned nobleman. Despite his disreputable background, he was a man who displayed a fundamental decency and honesty she’d found lacking in many other members of the breed.
She pondered that irony while she washed, hurrying through her toilette as Mrs. Reeves slipped into the other room to wake Rose. After the madam returned to button her up, Justine made her way downstairs, carefully holding onto the polished oak banister. In her muzzy-headed state, she could easily take a misstep and go tumbling down in a heap.
The hall was lit by one spirit lamp on the narrow table by the door. The shattered mirror from last night had been taken away, the blank spot on the wall now the only visible sign of last night’s disturbance. Through the fan light over the door, another gray-smudged London morning struggled to penetrate the interior gloom.
And like a wraith in that gloom, Phelps appeared from the back of the house. He was neatly dressed and wide-awake, even though Justine suspected he’d not been to sleep, either.
She murmured her thanks as he opened the door to the breakfast parlor. Unlike the hall, the cheerful room, decorated in canary yellow with pale blue trim, glowed with light and warmth even though the yellow and blue striped curtains were shut firmly against the encroaching day. But all the wall sconces and lamps were lit, as were several branches of candles scattered on the sideboards and on the rosewood circular breakfast table.
“Good morning, Justine,” said Griffin, rising from his chair and crossing to her. His brow wore a slight frown but his dark eyes sparked with knowing interest as he took her hand.
All but certain he was remembering the intimate scene between them last night, Justine barely mustered up a smile that felt just short of a wince. But she couldn’t even hold on to that expression when he lifted her hand to his mouth for a brief kiss. It forced her to focus her energies in keeping her weak-willed knees from going out beneath her.
“I trust you rested a bit?” His voice held a husky note, but his falconlike eyes darted over her in quick inspection. And like everyone else in this dratted house but her, he looked alert, even though she was certain he hadn’t slept.
He had, however, shaved and changed, switching from evening dress to his habitual black coat and breeches, booted for riding or travel. His long hair was pulled back in a neat club, tied with a black leather thong.
“A bit is how I would describe it,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t know how everyone but me seems rested when I know you’ve all not had a wink of sleep.”
“No rest for the wicked,” Griffin murmured with a gleam of a smile.
“Truer words were never spoken,” Dominic said with heavy sarcasm. He, too, had risen to his feet, pulling out the chair next to him. “Come sit, Mrs. Steele. Your husband can wait on you this morning.”
Justine stood on tiptoe and kissed her godparent on the cheek. “Don’t be so absurd, Uncle Dominic. If you refer to me as Mrs. Steele, I shall likely end up ignoring you. I can barely remember my old name, much less a new one.”
“As you wish,” he said with a smile. “I must say, however, that you’re looking well despite everything. Married life must agree with you.”
“Oh, yes,” she replied. “It’s been what every girl dreams of, what with all the gossip and scandal, and the awkward dinner parties with family members who flirt with one’s new husband. Not to mention capped off by a nice little break-in and attempted kidnapping. Truly, if I’d known it was going to be this much fun, I would have married a long time ago.”
“I assure you, my sweet,” Griffin said as he loaded up a plate at the sideboard, “that marriage to anyone else but me would be a very dull affair.”
“How lucky for me, then, that I avoided the parson’s trap until I met you,” she said tartly.
Dominic laughed. “Indeed. But all jesting aside, how are you holding up?”
She smiled her thanks as he poured her a cup of coffee. “I’m all right, I suppose, although I could do with less excitement and more sleep.”
“I think we have the solution to that,” Griffin said as he deposited a ridiculously full plate in front of her.
“My dear sir, this could feed the entire household,” she protested.
“Come now, Justine. I know you have a healthy appetite, for which I am exceedingly grateful,” Griffin responded. “If there’s anything I loathe it’s a woman who picks at her food, whinging on that she can’t eat another bite. It’s enough to drive a man insane.”
“I suppose you’re correct,” she said, eyeing her plate, “but I don’t think I can face kippers this morning, or underdone beef. Not if we’re to be in a carriage. Mrs. Reeves said I was to dress for travel.”
Griffin and Dominic exchanged another of those swiftly veiled glances, prompting the vague notion in Justine’s tired brain that she might like to stab one of them with her fork. She would no doubt be appalled by the bloodthirsty direction of her thoughts later, but for now she was finding their little habit quite annoying. For two men who supposedly didn’t get on very well, they seemed to communicate quite effectively without words.
But their obvious attempts to shield her from unpleasantness were unnecessary. She was no fragile miss, ready to dissolve into vapors at a moment’s notice. Her father had known that, trusting her with a great deal of his most important business concerns, even including her in his research to break French cypher codes.
“I do wish you two would stop casting such fraught-with-meaning glances at each other,” she said as she heaped a generous spoonful of orange marmalade onto her toast. “I’m not going to collapse into a puddle if you tell me the truth. If I didn’t after last night, I’m certainly not going to do it now. I’ll be just fine.”
“I’m sure you will, my dear,” replied Dominic with a glint of humor in his green eyes. “To answer your question, Griffin and I feel it best that you leave town for a while. You and the baby.”
“I will go with you, of course,” Griffin added in a tone that brooked no resistance. “No one will think twice about us leaving town for a spell, especially since we are so recently married.”
She rolled her eyes to cover up the jolt she’d felt at the thought of going away with him. “Oh, yes, taking a baby with us will certainly convince everyone we’re on a wedding trip.”
That earned her a reluctant grin. “I see your point, but no one knows about the infant. If we quietly decamp from London, no one should be the wiser.”
She thought that over while she chewed her toast. The very idea of going on a wedding trip with Griffin, even a pretend trip, unnerved her. It made their marriage, which felt less and less of a sham as time went by, seem even more real.
“While I agree it’s good to be cautious, especially where the baby is concerned,” she said, “is leaving really necessary? Surely those ruffians who descended on the household last night will not be so foolish as to try that again. And do we truly know whether they were coming for Stephen, or for some other purpose?”
“I think we can say with some degree of certainty that last night was, indeed, an intended kidnapping,” Dominic said. “We can’t be sure that they might not have snatched you or Rose as well, to care for the child. At this point, we simply don’t know enough about their motives to ascertain what they would or would not do. Clearly, they are rather desperate, which makes them dangerous.”
Losing her appetite, Justine pushed her plate to the side. “I see. Do we know anything about them at this point, aside from the fact that they might be Italian?”
“From what Dominic’s discovered, they’re definitely Italian,” Griffin said, pulling Justine’s plate over in front of him. His empty plate indicated he’d already eaten a full breakfast.
“Are you really going to eat th
at?” she demanded. “How can you at a time like this?”
“No point in wasting it,” he replied with an unseemly amount of insouciance for so early in the morning. “I learned a long time ago to never make assumptions about when my next meal would be forthcoming.”
That was certainly a revealing tidbit. She tucked it away for a more propitious time to follow where the trail might lead. “Very wise of you, I’m sure, but to get back to my original question—”
“Yes,” Dominic interjected. “I do have a number of ideas about that, but few hard facts. As you know, Bonaparte’s annexation of Italian territory over the course of the wars displaced the ruling families of several duchies and kingdoms. Some of those families were forced to flee into exile, seeking refuge in Vienna or at other sympathetic courts. Those families have not, however, given up hope of reclaiming their lost kingdoms.”
“Yes,” Justine said, “I know that. But what’s it got to do with Stephen?”
Before her godparent could even answer, she shook her head, annoyed that she’d failed to grasp the answer immediately. Papa would have scolded to see her become so dull-witted. “You think he might be a member of one of those exiled families. Is that what your research into the signet ring has led you to believe?”
“Yes. I believe the signet is from one of the cadet branches of the Hapsburgs, possibly the House of San Agosto or San Gustello. Unfortunately, I cannot be entirely sure at this point, and my investigations will naturally continue.”
Justine frowned, trying to see the sense in hiding a baby away in so extraordinary a fashion. “If so, why all the secrecy? The war is over. And why here, of all places? It seems a rather odd choice for hiding a baby from such a distinguished family.”
“Oh, really?” Griffin asked sardonically.
Drat. Of course, Griffin was from an even more distinguished family, so what she’d just said must strike him as rather insulting. “Well, you know what I mean,” she said, wincing.
He flashed a dazzling and rare grin. The few times she’d seen it, it had made her stomach flutter with excitement. Marriage to him hadn’t lessened the impact.
Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom Page 22
