Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(100)

Rose, dressed in a blindingly green and purple striped dressing gown, rocked her little boy in her arms. Sammy’s eyes were big and round and he sucked his thumb for all it was worth. Mrs. Phelps, cradling little Stephen, got to her feet and came to Justine.

“Everything’s fine, missus,” she said in a soothing voice. “Don’t you worry none.” Carefully, she transferred Stephen to Justine.

The baby gazed up at her, his eyes red and his fat cheeks stained with tears. He was still snuffling and hiccupping, but he gave Justine a watery smile and grabbed for her curls as she transferred him to her shoulder.

“There, there, my love,” she crooned as she patted his bottom. “No one will hurt you, I promise.”

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?”