Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(129)

If Griffin thought she was babbling he kept it to himself. He simply let the words flow around him as he crossed the small but pleasant room to lead her to her chair.

They’d agreed on the first day that the formal dining room was much too large for just the two of them, and so had settled on one of the smaller drawing rooms as a dinner parlor. The room was both intimate and comfortable with its oak paneling and burgundy velvet drapes to keep out the winter drafts. The smaller table allowed them to talk easily instead of shouting at each other from the ends of a formal dining room table. Tonight, though, Justine almost wished she had a good twenty feet of polished mahogany between them.


When she sat, Griffin surprised her by dropping a kiss on her head before returning to his seat. She blushed, but the tight feeling in her chest subsided. He didn’t seem in the slightest bit discomposed by the day’s momentous events, which she took as a good sign. Well, at least she hoped it was a good sign and not an indication that the consummation of their marriage, to her fraught with significance, was to Griffin just another of a long series of encounters with willing partners.

That gloomy thought effectively silenced any impulse she had to talk. Fortunately, Phelps had come into the room with the first course, rendering further comment unnecessary. While the factotum served the soup and arranged a few other dishes on the table, he and Griffin exchanged pithy remarks on the lamentable state of the weather and the disastrous state of the roads. Despite what Griffin had told her last night, country living was clearly not something he found particularly desirable.

As soon as Phelps carried the soup tureen from the room, Griffin switched his attention back to her. Although he appeared completely at his ease, Justine couldn’t fail to note the sharpness of his gaze while he studied her.

“Justine, are you feeling shy about our lovemaking?” he asked. “I hope you realize there’s no need for that sort of thing. Not with me.”

His question was so unexpected that she almost choked on her spoonful of Hessian soup. “No, of course not,” she said, trying not to sound mortified. “Why ever would you think that?”

“Because you can’t look me in the eye,” he said as he casually broke off a chunk of bread from the crusty loaf by his plate. “And your cheeks are so flushed that one might think you were feverish, and not the baby.”

She was beginning to find his offhand manner irritating. “What happened between us this afternoon might not mean very much to you, but it’s not something I’ve ever done before. It was all rather earth-shattering for me, if you want to know the truth.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to shovel them back in. But she forced herself to meet his gaze, even though she felt horribly vulnerable.

Griffin placed his bread down on his side plate. Justine had the distinct impression he was thinking through his response. She found herself holding her breath as she waited for him to speak.

“No, it meant something to me, as well,” he said. A faint, wry smile twisted his lips. “Not that I’m able to put it into words, at least not yet. But that should tell you something about how much you’ve discomposed me.”

“Really?” she whispered as a fugitive whispering of hope stirred in her breast.

He cocked his head, studying her. “Could you not tell?”

“I, yes, I think so,” she stammered. “I hoped so, anyway.”

She fell silent, completely unprepared for this sort of conversation and terrified of revealing her rampant insecurities. No matter what Griffin might say in his attempts to soothe her ruffled nerves, she still couldn’t believe he would appreciate a full-throated declaration of love.