He dismissed that with an irritated wave. “I had no way of knowing that.”
“Of course,” she said, not wishing to argue. “How did he manage to eventually find you?”
He scoffed at her. “He’s a spy, Justine, although he’s never explained to me how he tracked me down. He found me about a year after I started working at The Cormorant.” He shook his head. “Wanted me to come live with him. Not bloody likely, I told him.”
She frowned. “Why not? You would have had a much easier time of things if you had.”
“It took me years to escape from under my uncle’s thumb. I had no intention of putting myself at the mercy of Dominic’s tender ministrations. He’s an interfering old woman, as you well know. He wanted to send me away to school and then University, if you can believe that.”
She glared at him. “Uncle Dominic cares for you, Griffin, and he wants to help you. It’s what he does.”
His jaw set in a stubborn line. “I don’t need anyone’s help.”
Not even hers, she supposed, but there was little point in following up on that contentious and depressing fact.
“Did Uncle Dominic know your mother was still alive?”
“Not until I told him. It’s the only time I’ve seen him completely set back on his heels.” He frowned. “Well, almost the only time. He’s been fairly put out over this entire affair with Stephen, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
Justine rested her clasped hands on the tea table. “Yes, but I suspect we’ll never know the reason why.”
Griffin looked like he wanted to say something but then thought better of it.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing. Are we done with the interrogation?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Almost. I was just wondering if Uncle Dominic did anything to try to find your mother.”
“He certainly did. Came up empty, too, despite all his damn connections and resources.”
Justine stared at him, puzzled. “So, you don’t know whether your mother is alive or not, do you?”
He hesitated, then a grim resignation settled onto his shoulders like a heavy weight. “No, I suppose I don’t. Dominic is convinced she’s alive, but that’s probably wishful thinking on his part. He’s spent the better part of his life looking for her. God only knows why.”
Justine understood why—Dominic obviously loved Chloe Steele and refused to give up on her. Griffin, however, had never known his mother’s touch, or seen evidence of her love. To him, family meant harsh treatment and rejection and, in the case of his parents, complete abandonment. What could he feel about a mother who never made any attempt to find him?
“What are you thinking?” he asked in a quiet voice.
She drew in a deep breath, searching for the right words. His confession, so reluctantly given, was both amazing and heartbreaking. Even given her unconventional childhood, she could hardly begin to understand the emotional burdens he had carried over the years.
“I’m thinking how sorry I am that you were denied the love you deserved as a child. That you were cruelly betrayed by those who should have known better.” She had to stop for a moment, fighting to hold back the tears that threatened to thicken her words. “And I hate that you were so alone when you came to London, and that you had to live on the streets, starving and half perished from the cold.”
He scowled. “Justine, I already told you—”
He broke off when she slipped out of her chair and went down on her knees before him. His eyes widened with surprise, but his mouth flattened and he looked wary.
“No, you misunderstand me,” she said earnestly. “I’m in awe of what you’ve done . . . the life you’ve made for yourself out of nothing. I know it’s probably wrong of me to say so, given the sort of life you’ve led and how you’ve made your fortune, but I’m proud of you, Griffin. You forged your own path in life and you’ve taken care of the people who depended on you. You’ve more than earned their love and respect.”
A hint of color tinged his cheeks. “Love might be overstating the case,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “They simply believed that I’m a generous employer, that’s all.”
“Dominic cares a great deal about you, too,” she said stoutly, resting her clasped hands on his knee.
“Interfering old sod,” he muttered. Still, he didn’t contradict her.
“And you get along very well with your cousin Aden, and with Vivien, as well. Really, when one thinks about it, you have quite a lot of people who care about you.”
He rolled his eyes at that. “Justine, do not imagine that you’re going to domesticate me. Dominic has tried that more than once and it’s not going to work.”
“No, I suppose not.” She sighed, dropping her gaze as she opened her fingers on his muscled thigh. “But it would be nice if you could at least realize that you’re not as alone in the world as you think you are.”
His hand trapped her fingers, holding them against his thigh. The muscles under her fingertips were as hard as granite. With the edge of his other hand, he tipped up her chin, forcing her to look at him.
“What about you, my wife? How do you feel about me?” he challenged.
His eyes glittered with a fierce, complex emotion she couldn’t read. But he clearly wanted something from her—no, needed something from her—that she suspected had been missing from his life for a long time. He would deny it if she spoke its true name, but that didn’t mean he didn’t yearn for it all the same.
She felt the sting of tears as she stared into his hard, handsome face. He was so proud, so determined to show the world he needed nothing and no one to make his way. But Justine knew his secrets now, and understood something of the boy that had become the man and the boy that lived in him still.
“I care for you, Griffin,” she whispered. Her heart beat so hard she could barely force the words from her throat. “Very much.”
He searched her face, his gaze hot and devouring. He might never be able to declare his love for her—or even recognize the feeling—but she knew that he would protect her and even cherish her because she now belonged to him. Rationally, it made no sense, but it was who he was.
His hand moved from her chin to her cheek, cradling it. “I’m very glad to hear that,” he said in a husky voice.
He bent to her, and his lips whispered across her mouth in a kiss so tender it teased out those incipient tears. She closed her eyelids against them, afraid he would think her a sentimental fool. But what she felt had nothing to do with girlish sentiment and everything to do with love.
With a moan, she opened her mouth to him as she dug her fingers into his muscled thigh. Desire swept through her, making her shake. But before she could move into his embrace, he slipped his hands under her arms and stood up, bringing her with him. Before she knew what was happening, he’d lifted her into his arms.
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
“Since the interrogation has now concluded,” he said, heading for the door, “I’d like very much to make love to my wife.”
“Oh, very well,” she said, flustered. She probably should object, given how unsettled things remained between them, but she found herself unable to come up with any logical reasons to do so.
Griffin glanced down at her and paused at the door. He raised his eyebrows. “We are finished with the questions, are we not?”
“I do have one more,” she said apologetically. “If you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” he said with exaggerated patience as he juggled her briefly to open the door. “Go right ahead, my dear.”
She touched the faint scar running down the side of his face. “How did you get this?”
He looked momentarily blank. “The scar? I fell out of a tree when I was eight. The edge of a branch caught me on the way down and sliced my face.” He strode down the hall, holding her securely against his chest. “Hell of a mess it was, too, although my uncle told me it served me right for climbing trees instead of doing my
lessons.”
Justine stared at him, then burst into laughter. All this time she’d been imagining the worst of reasons for his scar, and yet it was nothing more than a simple boyhood accident. It was an ironic counterpoint to the harsh tale he’d just told, and endearing in its normality.
“You wouldn’t have laughed if it had happened to you,” he said with a wry smile.
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said, stretching up to kiss him. His arms tightened around her.
“Griffin, where are we going?” she said as he turned into the other wing of the house.
“My bedroom.” He’d lengthened his stride. “I suspect it’s the only place in the house where we won’t be interrupted. Besides the stable, that is.”
She snuggled against him. “That sounds nice.”
More than nice. It sounded like heaven, especially after the tensions of the last few days. It might only be a temporary respite from the troubles confronting them, but at least for a little while Justine could find refuge in her husband’s strong arms.
But when she heard a quick step behind them she mentally sighed.
“Mr. Griffin, wait.”
Cursing under his breath, Griffin turned to glower at Phelps, who hurried toward them.
“What is it?” he snapped.
“A message from Sir Dominic,” Phelps said. “The wee one’s family has been found.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Griffin watched his wife pace the drawing room like a nervous cat. “Justine, please sit down. I swear all this pacing will ruin my nerves.”
She shot him a resentful look. “Nothing affects your nerves.”
While true in most cases, seeing Justine so close to panic was ratcheting Griffin’s frustration until he felt ready to crawl out of his skin, too. Unfortunately, until Dominic arrived and provided them with information about the baby, there was little he could do to calm her down.
She stopped by the window yet again, flicking aside the drapes to peer out at Jermyn Street. “Why is Uncle Dominic so late? We’ve been back in town for hours.”
Griffin sighed and rose from his seat. “It’s not yet five o’clock, which is when Dominic and Count Marzano are expected to arrive.”
She cast him a disgruntled look, still unhappy that he’d dragged her and the baby back to London. Justine had told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t trust the sudden reappearance of little Stephen’s relatives—not in light of everything that had gone before, including the assault on his house. Griffin was inclined to agree with her, but he’d learned to trust Dominic’s judgment, no matter how much it stuck in his craw to admit it.
Dominic’s messenger had been perfectly clear. Stephen’s family had been found, and they were insisting the baby be returned to them immediately. Justine had balked, saying that Stephen was not yet ready to travel, and Griffin had acceded to her wishes for one day. But the tone of Dominic’s missive had left Griffin in no doubt that further delay would complicate the situation, and even cause problems on a political level.
Justine stopped in the middle of the floor, her hands clenched tight against her stomach. “I really don’t understand why we had to rush back, especially since Stephen has barely recovered from his illness. What could Uncle Dominic be thinking?”
“We’ll find out soon enough, my sweet,” he said in a soothing voice. He gently pried her fists away from her stomach. “Come sit down. I’ll pour you a glass of sherry while you wait.”
“Now you’re trying to manage me,” she said with a little scowl. Still, she let him lead her over to one of the chaises.
“I would never be foolish enough to even try,” he said as he poured her a small glass from the drinks trolley. “Such an effort would surely be doomed to failure.”
That won him a grudging laugh. Griffin sat next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders and gently pulling her against him. She resisted for a moment then came to him with a sigh, all soft curves and the comforting scents of talc and lemon that would forever remind him of her.
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a pest.” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder. “I know the last few days haven’t been very pleasant for you, either.”
“There’s no need to worry about me, Justine. I’m fine.”
Except for the fact that he’d been forced to give up on his plans to get and keep Justine in his bed. Once Dominic’s order to return to London had arrived, Justine’s enthusiasm for Griffin’s lovemaking had vanished. She’d then spent every minute before their return to the city with the baby, watching over him like a lioness with one cub. One thing had become crystal clear to Griffin—they had to resolve Stephen’s situation or his wife would turn into a wreck and he would go mad from sexual frustration.
The sound of the knocker on the front door jolted her. When she tried to jump up, he grasped her by the arms to hold her still.
“Justine, you must try to be calm. Let Dominic take the lead and do your best to listen to what he has to say.”
She starched up. “I will not be intimidated into silence, nor will I keep quiet my concerns for Stephen’s welfare.”
He rubbed her shoulders. “All I’m suggesting is that we might learn more about the man’s intentions by observing and listening rather than picking a fight. If you let your emotions get the best of you, you’ll make yourself vulnerable. Does that make sense?”
She clearly wanted to disagree, but grumbled her acquiescence. “That’s exactly what Papa would have said, ironically enough.”
“Then I’m in good company. I want you to watch Count Marzano very carefully. Let me be the source of any irritation he might feel. As you know, I’m very good at that.”
“Oh, very well,” she said with a sigh.
“Good girl.” He kissed the tip of her nose and then stood as Phelps ushered their visitors into the room. “Ah, Dominic,” he said. “We’ve been awaiting your arrival most eagerly. Your cryptic message has left us in a frenzy of curiosity.”
“I’m sure it has,” Dominic returned sardonically. He switched his attention to Justine. “No, don’t get up, my dear,” he said with a smile. “You’re looking very well. I trust your new husband has not been too great a bother?”
Justine managed a tight smile. “He’s been all that is kind and generous.”
Dominic’s left eyebrow quirked up. “I’m happy to hear it. And now I’d like to properly introduce you to Count Marzano, councillor to Marco, Duke of San Agosto, a duchy in the northern Italian states. I believe you might already know each other.”
Griffin studied the man who was giving Justine a graceful, flourishing bow. Not surprisingly, he was the same gentleman who’d been involved in the altercation at The Golden Tie that led to Justine’s discovery, clearly using the opportunity for his own devious agenda.
Justine barely acknowledged the count, her suspicious demeanor in marked contrast to the Italian’s warm manner.
“Mrs. Steele,” the count said, his accent soft and cultured, “I am delighted to meet you under more appropriate circumstances. I truly regretted the unfortunate scene next door that was so discomforting to you.”
“I have no doubt,” she responded tartly.
“Now that we’ve made our formal introductions,” Dominic smoothly interrupted, “perhaps we can take our seats and discuss the baby’s situation. I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Steele are both eager to see the situation resolved to little Stephen’s benefit.”
“We are all ears,” Griffin said with gentle sarcasm as he sat beside Justine.
He clasped her hand and brought it to his knee, holding it in a loose grip. Her fingers jerked, then curled around his.
“First, let me say how grateful the duke is for your care of his son,” the count began. “He was extremely worried that Stefano had fallen into a dire situation.”
“So worried, in fact, that he apparently let him slip out of his care in the first place,” Griffin replied.
“Do you mean to tell me that Stephen is
the son of an Italian duke?” Justine demanded, forgetting her earlier promise. “How in God’s name did he end up dropped on the doorstep of a stranger? It seems too ridiculous to be believed.”
When Count Marzano stiffened, clearly offended, Dominic intervened again. “Perhaps it would be best to start with the most salient point. Although Stephen, or, Stefano, is the duke’s son, he is illegitimate, the product of a liaison with a shopkeeper’s daughter. Most of the confusion in this situation stems from that fact.”
Griffin leaned forward, narrowing his gaze on Dominic. “So, the fact that he is the illegitimate child of royalty excuses his abandonment on my doorstep? Do you truly believe such nonsense would hold any merit for me?”
When Justine squeezed his hand in sympathy, he cast her a glance. Surprisingly, she was scowling at Dominic, too.
“My dear sir, you misunderstand,” the count exclaimed. “The duke was devastated when his son disappeared. He has spared no expense in his search for him.”
“Which, apparently, included breaking into my house and attacking my people,” Griffin snapped.
Count Marzano shook his head. “I have no knowledge of this attack, and I assure you that His Highness would never approve of such brutality.”
Griffin didn’t believe that for a moment. But before he could challenge the man, Dominic gave a slight but clear shake of the head.
“Then what were you doing at The Golden Tie?” Justine asked, obviously missing Dominic’s signal. “And please don’t insult my intelligence by telling me that your presence there was a coincidence.”
The Italian bowed his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it, dear lady. As you have surmised, I was there seeking information about Stefano. Information had reached us that he was hidden in a brothel. I was simply attempting to ascertain if that was true. I might add that The Golden Tie was not the only such establishment I visited.”
“Would it not have been easier to simply ask me?” Griffin said.
The count spread his hands in a self-deprecating gesture. “The threat of scandal, Mr. Steele. I was trying very hard to avoid it.”
Justine shook her head, exasperated. “I don’t understand any of this.”
Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom Page 30
