Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(132)

“Justine, I’ve had little cause to regret the choices I’ve made since coming to London. But what I do regret is the impact of those choices on your life, and the difficulties they cause you.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, as if he could scrub away some sort of pain. Then he rested his arms on the table and looked at her with a weary sort of resignation that cut through her like a blade.

“It’s not your fault, at least when it comes to me,” she said. “After all, it’s not as if you wanted to marry me. And I know you did everything you could to protect me.” She tried for a wavering smile. “I’m sure everything will be fine. We simply need to think about it a bit more, that’s all.”

Well, as long as Griffin’s enemies didn’t try to murder her, that is.

“Perhaps we should talk to Uncle Dominic,” she said, hoping to quell the sick burn in her stomach. “He did promise to help, after all.”

“You’re not Dominic’s responsibility,” Griffin said quietly. “You’re mine.”

Justine knew that was wrong, too. She alone bore responsibility for her life, but there was no point in arguing with Griffin, a man whose very nature dictated protecting those he considered his own.

Which, apparently, included her.

“Where do you intend to travel?” she asked, trying to be practical about the discussion.

His eyebrows ticked up at the question. “Italy and Greece, and probably Egypt. I’d also like to visit Constantinople and possibly farther east, as well. But I haven’t made any final decisions.”

Justine had to admit she quite liked the idea of visiting Italy and Greece. But Egypt and the Byzantine Empire seemed much too exotic to her. If she were honest with herself, Griffin was much too exotic for her, too.

“Might not some of those places be dangerous?”

He lifted his broad shoulders in one of his insouciant shrugs. “Not for me and, by extension, not for you. You must know that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

She did trust him to do his best, but even Griffin couldn’t keep her safe from shipwrecks or marauding bandits. “And how long do you think you would be away? What are your plans for returning to England?”

His dark gaze bore into her. “I have none, at least not for the immediate future.”

She couldn’t think of any coherent reply, couldn’t do anything but stare at his impassive, handsome face. He was proposing the overthrow of the only life she’d ever known. She couldn’t decide which was the greater risk—to remain in England and possibly be a target for his enemies, or to toss away every shred of caution she’d ever possessed and follow her husband on a madcap journey into foreign lands.

Griffin surprised her by coming swiftly around the table and going down on one knee beside her. Gently, he took her hand and silently urged her to face him.

“Come run away with me, my sweet Justine,” he said in a husky and surprisingly emotional voice.

He stroked her cheek, and she had to resist the fierce impulse to nuzzle into his hand. Whenever he touched her with such tenderness, her resistance melted away like a snowcap on a warm spring day.

“We wouldn’t have to answer to anyone but ourselves, or think of anyone but ourselves,” he said, making it sound like a forbidden, tantalizing gift.

He leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss on her mouth. Justine clutched at his shoulders, dizzy with nerves and a strange sort of excitement.

“Think of all the adventures we could have, just the two of us,” he whispered against her lips.