Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(118)

Her gaze flicked to the cloak he’d draped over the adjoining stall. “Is that for me?” she asked in a breathless voice. “It started to rain just as I came in here. I thought it best to wait until it let up.”

“Yes, it’s for you, but there’s no rush to return to the house.”

When she kept her eyes fixed on some point beyond him, Griffin skimmed his hand up to her shoulder and then her chin. Tilting it up with two fingers, he forced her to look at him.

“I’m happy to have the opportunity to spend some time alone with my wife,” he said, letting his voice go deep with sexual intent. “Without being interrupted by mewling babies or interfering servants.”

Her sapphire blue eyes stared back at him, shadowed by an emotion that startled him. It looked like sadness, or perhaps a yearning for something she could never have. It seemed to twist its way around his heart, as if she’d attached a ribbon to it and pulled it tight.

“I wish you wouldn’t amuse yourself at my expense,” she finally replied. “It’s not very nice of you.”

He frowned, disconcerted by her words. Not because it wasn’t partly true—he wasn’t a nice person, which she surely realized by now. But when it came to her, it suddenly struck him how serious his intentions were. Whatever careless words might emerge from his lips, in truth he could no more jest about wanting to be with her than he could turn back the hands of time and wipe away the ugliness of his past.

Griffin habitually viewed the world through a prism of mocking cynicism, but not when it came to Justine. Though that should have surprised the hell out of him, it didn’t. Her character was as finely and cleanly wrought as the most delicate Venetian glass, but a great deal stronger. The generosity and decency that were so intrinsically a part of her could move even the most hardened of cynics.

Feeling oddly humbled, he opened his fingers, cradling her chin.

“I assure you, Justine,” he said quietly, “that I am not jesting. In this moment, I count myself exceedingly lucky that you are my wife. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any woman.”

Her eyes went wide, and a flush of pink stained her cheeks. That small display of vulnerability had the opposite effect on him, since all the blood in his head seemed to rush down to his groin. His arousal, a lazy simmer only moments ago, flared with blazing heat. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait any longer to have her.

“But it’s not like either of us wanted this marriage,” she said, sounding torn between puzzlement and nerves. “You didn’t want to marry me. You had no choice in the matter, and neither did I.”

He let his fingers drift down to her throat, enjoying the petal-soft texture of her skin. “Perhaps that was true at the time, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want you. And those feelings are a great deal stronger now.”

Slowly, he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. She seemed to hold her breath, but one hand crept up to his chest to nestle into his cravat, coming to rest like a small bird seeking shelter from the storm.

When he ended the gentle, teasing kiss, he pulled back a few inches. A flare of satisfaction surged through him at the sight of her dazed eyes and the gently bemused look on her face.

“Really?” she whispered. “You mean what happened in the carriage the other night wasn’t simply about taking advantage of a convenient set of circumstances? I quite thought it had more to do with being annoyed with me than anything else.”

He ignored the second part of her comment, though it was partly true. But his need to dominate her was only one element in their complicated relationship. Besides, admitting that would hardly help his case. Justine was not the sort of woman to roll over simply because a man, even her husband, snapped his fingers.