Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(116)

He had to resist the temptation to shift from one foot to the other. “Because I never learned. My uncle thought it was a waste of time. A pony and trap was all a minister needed, according to him.”

Justine bit her lip, as if she were trying not to laugh. It was Griffin’s turn to narrow his gaze at her.

“Perhaps you’ll let me teach you to ride someday,” she said politely.

He wasn’t fooled. “Not today. And I don’t want you riding without a groom, either.” When she started to object, he held up a hand. “Justine, it’s not safe. If you wish, you may go for a walk within sight of the house. I’ll speak to the groom when he gets back and instruct him to make sure he is available to you from now on.”

She gave him an adorable little grimace. “I hate it when you’re so sensible. Very well, I’ll go for a walk through the gardens and around the house. That will give me a little exercise, at least.” She moved to the door and then stopped to look over her shoulder, giving him a hesitant smile. “Would you like to come with me?”

Griffin stared at her, tempted to say yes. But he’d revealed more than enough to her last night, and he suspected Justine would simply use the opportunity to pry more secrets from him. “I’m sorry, but I must attend to my correspondence. I’ll see you at lunch.”

She blinked, and he imagined for a second that she was hurt by his rejection. But a moment later she gave him a bland smile and a nod, and left the room.

Griffin ignored his insistent urge to follow her.





Two hours later, Griffin looked up from his correspondence. As far as he knew, Justine still hadn’t come back inside, and it had also started raining a few minutes ago. The cold, steady downpour would surely soak her to the skin. Did the blasted girl not have the sense to return to the house?

He pushed aside his papers and strode out into the hall. He was barely halfway across the tiled floor before Phelps appeared from the back of the house.

“Has Mrs. Steele returned from her walk?” Griffin asked.

“Aye, she checked on Rose and the baby not twenty minutes ago, then went out to the stables.”

“Not to ride, I hope,” Griffin said, his alarm spiking.

Phelps gave him such a pitying glance that Griffin had to clench his teeth not to bite the man’s head off.

“Happens the groom hasn’t returned from the village yet,” Phelps replied, “and I don’t suppose he will until it’s stopped pissing down rain. Missus said she just wanted to take a look at Sir Dominic’s cattle.”

“The silly chit will get soaked to the skin,” Griffin muttered. “I’d better go fetch her.”

“There be some nice heavy cloaks hanging up by the servant’s entrance,” Phelps offered with a sly grin.

Griffin had no idea what his factotum found so damn amusing, so he turned on his heel and headed down the corridor that led to the back of the house. There was a small estate office just by the door that was vacant at the moment. Dominic’s servants—most of them retired from the Service—were an unobtrusive lot. They were rarely seen unless there was a problem or one went looking for them. Griffin approved of that arrangement, since it grated on him to be reminded how dependent he was on Dominic for Justine’s and the baby’s safety. He hated having to depend on others, even Dominic.

Well, most especially on Dominic, the interfering old bastard.

He grabbed a greatcoat off a hook and shrugged into it, then stuffed a heavy cloak under the coat.

Phelps was right. It was pissing down rain, and Griffin yanked his collar up as he darted across the cobblestone courtyard to a tidy building of red brick with a tiled roof. He headed for the closest door, right under the opening to the hayloft, and hurried inside.