Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(142)

He looked momentarily blank. “The scar? I fell out of a tree when I was eight. The edge of a branch caught me on the way down and sliced my face.” He strode down the hall, holding her securely against his chest. “Hell of a mess it was, too, although my uncle told me it served me right for climbing trees instead of doing my lessons.”

Justine stared at him, then burst into laughter. All this time she’d been imagining the worst of reasons for his scar, and yet it was nothing more than a simple boyhood accident. It was an ironic counterpoint to the harsh tale he’d just told, and endearing in its normality.

“You wouldn’t have laughed if it had happened to you,” he said with a wry smile.

“I’m sure you’re right,” she said, stretching up to kiss him. His arms tightened around her.

“Griffin, where are we going?” she said as he turned into the other wing of the house.

“My bedroom.” He’d lengthened his stride. “I suspect it’s the only place in the house where we won’t be interrupted. Besides the stable, that is.”

She snuggled against him. “That sounds nice.”

More than nice. It sounded like heaven, especially after the tensions of the last few days. It might only be a temporary respite from the troubles confronting them, but at least for a little while Justine could find refuge in her husband’s strong arms.

But when she heard a quick step behind them she mentally sighed.

“Mr. Griffin, wait.”

Cursing under his breath, Griffin turned to glower at Phelps, who hurried toward them.

“What is it?” he snapped.

“A message from Sir Dominic,” Phelps said. “The wee one’s family has been found.”





CHAPTER Twenty-Two



Griffin watched his wife pace the drawing room like a nervous cat. “Justine, please sit down. I swear all this pacing will ruin my nerves.”

She shot him a resentful look. “Nothing affects your nerves.”

While true in most cases, seeing Justine so close to panic was ratcheting Griffin’s frustration until he felt ready to crawl out of his skin, too. Unfortunately, until Dominic arrived and provided them with information about the baby, there was little he could do to calm her down.

She stopped by the window yet again, flicking aside the drapes to peer out at Jermyn Street. “Why is Uncle Dominic so late? We’ve been back in town for hours.”

Griffin sighed and rose from his seat. “It’s not yet five o’clock, which is when Dominic and Count Marzano are expected to arrive.”

She cast him a disgruntled look, still unhappy that he’d dragged her and the baby back to London. Justine had told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t trust the sudden reappearance of little Stephen’s relatives—not in light of everything that had gone before, including the assault on his house. Griffin was inclined to agree with her, but he’d learned to trust Dominic’s judgment, no matter how much it stuck in his craw to admit it.

Dominic’s messenger had been perfectly clear. Stephen’s family had been found, and they were insisting the baby be returned to them immediately. Justine had balked, saying that Stephen was not yet ready to travel, and Griffin had acceded to her wishes for one day. But the tone of Dominic’s missive had left Griffin in no doubt that further delay would complicate the situation, and even cause problems on a political level.

Justine stopped in the middle of the floor, her hands clenched tight against her stomach. “I really don’t understand why we had to rush back, especially since Stephen has barely recovered from his illness. What could Uncle Dominic be thinking?”