Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(151)

“He would not wish to reveal the depth of his frustration before a member of a foreign government. Dominic has his pride too, you know.”

“Pride should have nothing to do with it, for him or for you.”

That brought his gaze up. “What are you talking about?”

She had to force the words past the pain in her throat. “I know you didn’t ask for any of this, but I thought we were getting to . . . to reach some sort of accommodation.”

“We were. We are,” he said with a puzzled frown.

“Yet you made no effort to support my offer to keep Stephen. To take him into our household. Why not?”

He pressed his lips into a grim line, as if he didn’t want to answer. What little hope Justine had been cherishing in her breast died in that moment, along with her childish dream that she might have a real life with Griffin.

“Never mind,” she said, turning from him to stare blankly into the mirror. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” he said.

His hands gripped her shoulders and he gently but inexorably forced her to turn in her seat and face him. He crouched down before her, placing his hands on the low arms of her chair, caging her in. Her jumbled emotions seemed to drive against her heart, making it thump painfully against her breastbone.

“Justine, I understand how attached you’ve become to Stephen, and I honor that attachment,” he said. “But he has a father who apparently wishes to take responsibility for him. No matter what reservations we might harbor about the duke’s prior actions and his bungling of the situation, who are we to deny the man the opportunity to do right by his son?”

She stared at him, taking in the gravity of his expression and the utter sincerity of his gaze. That Griffin harbored misgivings she had no doubt, but she now understood why he hadn’t put up a fight. His parents had callously betrayed him under similar circumstances, so she could no longer wonder why he would be sympathetic to the duke’s plea.

If she believed that plea to be sincere, she would be sympathetic, too. But her instincts were screaming at her that something was terribly wrong. If there was one thing she’d learned over the years, thanks to her father’s tutelage, it was to never ignore one’s instincts. Even in the most dangerous situations, they could save one’s life.

Or a child’s life.

Justine reached out a hand to skim Griffin’s cheek. He nuzzled into it, his bristled chin brushing against the tender skin of her wrist. It made her shiver.

“I understand why you feel that way,” she said. “And I would agree if I truly believed the duke and Count Marzano were sincere. But they’re not. I’m sure of it. And . . .” She hesitated, not wanting to offend him, but it had to be said. “And I think your own experiences and emotions are preventing you from seeing that clearly.”


He pulled back from her hand. “This has nothing to do with me, Justine,” he said in a hard voice. “I would feel the same if Stephen’s parents were coal miners instead of royalty. The father has the right and the responsibility to take care of his son.”

“But—”

He came to his feet in a swift, graceful movement. “No, Justine, there’s no point in arguing about this anymore. Dominic has made it clear we don’t have a choice, and we just have to accept that.”

She jumped up, glaring at him. “Well, I don’t accept it and I don’t believe you do, either. There’s something wrong with this situation and you know it.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “And Dominic has promised to do whatever he can to resolve any questions we might have. I’m sure he’ll check on the child as best he can and make sure he’s safe.”