Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(20)

Her host waved away an offer of tea, but Dominic allowed her to prepare him a cup. After she’d poured her own and Phelps retreated, Steele started back in on her godparent.

“Since she’s Brightmore’s daughter, I understand why you trust her, but that is hardly the point.” Steele turned his gaze back on her, all traces of sympathy vanished like smoke. “It’s damned inappropriate to have a girl of her ilk staying here, and you know it.”

This time, Justine made no effort to contain her irritation. She set down her teacup on the rosewood table with a decided click. “And what precisely do you mean by a ‘girl of her ilk’ sir? I assure you I am capable of caring for the infant with as much discretion and competence as is required.”

Steele stared at her, then scoffed. “You’re as batty as Dominic. In case it’s slipped your notice, you’re a lady. That makes you entirely unsuitable for service in my household.”

He said the word lady with the kind of loathing one reserved for rats and stinging insects.

“Only a few days ago, you were complaining about prostitutes caring for the child,” Dominic interjected. “Now you balk at the thought of a lady? There’s simply no pleasing you.”

Again, Justine thought Dominic found the situation more amusing than anything else.

Not Steele, whose jaw flexed as if he was grinding his teeth. “If someone were to see her—someone respectable—can you truly pretend that her reputation wouldn’t be ruined?” His scowl transformed into a thunderous frown. “Why the devil is Brightmore’s daughter reduced to playing nursemaid, anyway? The man died for his bloody country, Dominic. Can’t you do better than putting her into service?”

That little rant seemed to catch Dominic by surprise, as it did Justine. Steele did not seem the sort of man to bother about someone like her.

Dominic glanced her way, clearly letting her decide how to answer.

“Mr. Steele, I appreciate your concern,” she said, smiling at him. “But it is hardly necessary. It is my choice to help Uncle Dominic and, I repeat, I am well able to take care of an infant.”

“Miss Brightmore, understand me,” Steele said in a quietly lethal tone that made her shiver. “I truly don’t give a damn about your position in life or your reputation. But if you are exposed, I will not take responsibility for the consequences.”

Justine blinked, taken aback. The man’s moods changed so swiftly that she couldn’t seem to keep up with him. “Oh, well, I wouldn’t blame you. And I will be very careful not to be seen.”

It was just beginning to dawn on her how onerous this task was shaping up to be. It hadn’t fully occurred to her that she wouldn’t be able to step foot out the door until the situation with the unfortunate infant was resolved. Justine had no illusions that she would ever get married, not at her age. But that didn’t mean she relished the idea of destroying her reputation. And her real uncle, the excessively proper Viscount Curtis, would be appalled to find out what she was doing. Under no circumstances could he or anyone else discover where she was.

“And you will have no qualms about residing in a whorehouse?” Steele asked with mock politeness.

“Ah, well, I won’t really be residing in the brothel, will I?” she asked, trying not to sound horrified.

“You’ll be staying here, in Griffin’s house,” Dominic said firmly. “Do stop trying to frighten Miss Brightmore, Griffin. I assure you, it won’t work.”

Justine gave her godparent a weak smile. In truth, Steele was doing a rather bang-up job of scaring her witless. It took all her discipline not to flee the house and return to the quiet obscurity of her safe, blessedly boring life in Cambridge.