Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(127)

Emulating the words of the poet, he leaned down and nipped her lower lip. Justine felt her bones turn to water all over again, and found herself once more struggling with a tumbled mix of emotions. Who would have thought a man like Griffin Steele would recite florid love poetry to his wife, especially at a time like this?

“Is that Spenser?” she asked, smiling up at him. “It’s very romantic.”


He grinned before easing down to the cot, pulling her against his side so they could both fit. “Good guess, Mrs. Steele. Yes, it’s from the Epithalamion.”

That surprised a snort of laughter from her. “How very apt. But I find it hard to believe that you have much time to sit around memorizing poetry. Don’t tell me you know the entire thing.”

“No, just the salacious bits. After all, it is a poem about sex.” His fingers trailed over her shoulder, drawing little patterns on her skin. “And you’d be surprised what I do in my spare time.”

She frowned at the cool, almost distant tone in his voice. If she didn’t know better, she might almost think her words had offended him. “Did you read much poetry when you were a boy?”

“Milton and Donne, but my uncle would have certainly caned me if he found me wasting my time with Spenser. No, I was only able to expand my education once I came to London. And finally began making some money,” he finished in a dry voice.

Justine was too surprised to respond. Griffin had a reputation for many things, but certainly not as a scholar or a collector of books. She realized again that there was a great deal about her husband she didn’t know. It was clear that he kept much of himself hidden, even from those closest to him.

He let out a sigh and nudged her leg with his foot. “I suppose we’d better get dressed. The rain is letting up and there’s no telling when the groom will pop in and surprise us. Knowing us, it’s more likely to happen than not.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Justine replied with some regret. For some reason, she didn’t want to leave this room, perhaps because she still didn’t know how they were supposed to act toward each other. Was she now a proper wife, and would Griffin treat her as such? Or were they expected to go on as they had before, together only until the mystery of Stephen’s parentage was finally solved?

When Griffin levered them up into a seating position, Justine couldn’t help wincing at the unfamiliar burn between her thighs.

“I’m sorry, my sweet,” he said, wincing with her in sympathy. “You’ll feel better when you have a bath.”

But when he got up, she grabbed his hand. “Griffin.”

He lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “Yes, love?”

Her heart throbbed at the casual endearment, but she beat back the emotion. “What happens now?”

He looked blank for a second, then smiled. “We go back to the house, take baths, and then we have some dinner.”

“No, I mean what happens between us?” she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

He stared at her as he pushed his hands back through his hair, impatiently thrusting it over his broad shoulders. Standing before her like that, naked and so powerfully masculine, he looked like some primitive warrior or perhaps a druidic priest. Her heart thumped hard again, and this time Justine could not hold back the pain.

The pain of knowing that she was falling in love with Griffin, and believing he would never feel the same for her.

“That remains to be seen,” he said bluntly. “Except for one thing.”

“Which is?”

“There will no longer be any talk of annulment, Justine. Not anymore.”