Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(171)

For a sweet eternity they hung suspended. Then Griffin brought them down to the floor in a slow, controlled collapse with Justine sprawled on top of him, gasping and trying to catch her breath.

“You were right,” Griffin finally managed. “The bed would have been more comfortable. But I wouldn’t have missed that for the world.”

She breathed out an utterly replete sigh of satisfaction. “It was entirely naughty, but I suppose I should expect nothing less from the notorious Mr. Steele.”

With impressive, easy strength he lifted and turned her until she was cradled on top of him. He kissed her on the tip of her nose. “True, but from now on I will only be notorious with Mrs. Steele.”

She propped her arms on his chest, looking into his handsome face and then letting her gaze drift down to the mythical creature inked on his chest that was so much like him—fierce, protective, and magnificently independent.

A quizzical smile tilted up the corners of his mouth. “Justine?”

“I love you, Griffin Steele,” she said. “I know it’s not what you wanted, but I truly hope you don’t mind.”

She ducked her head, feeling suddenly shy. The last thing she ever wanted was to make him less than what he was—what he had fought so hard to be. She couldn’t bear the notion that marriage would be a trap or something that diminished him.

“Justine, look at me,” he said as he smoothed his hands along her spine.

She made herself look up.

“You,” he said. His dark gaze gleamed with intent. “You are all I want. Nothing else, now and forever.”

Tears stung her eyes again, and she had to blink. “Dear me, I’m turning into quite the watering pot today,” she whispered.

His lips parted in a dazzling grin much like the one his mother had given him a short time ago. Somehow, it seemed to signal a new beginning for all of them. “I love you, Justine Brightmore Steele. That will never change.”

She let out a sigh, knowing she’d be happy to bask forever in the warmth of his smile.

But then he winced, shifting beneath her on the floor. “I don’t mean to complain, my love,” he said. “But about that comfortable bed . . .”





Epilogue



Justine set aside her needlework when her husband strolled into the drawing room. She rose and crossed to the whatnot to retrieve a decanter and pour a splash of brandy into a delicate, facet-cut glass.

“How did you know?” he said, accepting the drink.

“You were locked up with Dominic for an hour and you just escorted your mother out to her carriage. Surely at least one of those events discomposed you.”

He sighed dramatically as he tugged her down next to him on the settee. “You know me too well, love. Between Dominic’s constant lectures and my mother’s endless apologies, I feel myself teetering on the verge of hysteria.”

“How very upsetting for you,” Justine replied, trying not to laugh at his dramatic exaggeration. “I take it that your visit with Dominic was not entirely enjoyable.”

“Oh, we quite enjoyed discussing Count Marzano’s precipitous removal from England. He will no longer pose a threat to the baby or anyone else in this family.”

“Thank goodness. I know Chloe was still worried about that.”

Griffin flashed a half smile. “But you were not?”

“Oh, no. Between Dominic and Aden, I was sure the Prince Regent would come round to our way of thinking. After all, how could he possibly resist their joint efforts?”