Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(21)

Steele let out a disbelieving snort and rose from his chair. “Lunatics, the both of you. Well, don’t blame me if everything blows up in your faces.”

He crossed to the bell pull, giving it an impatient tug as he glanced back at Justine. “I assume you’re ready to meet your charge?”

“Yes, that would be splendid,” she said, affecting a confident voice.

But even though she firmly told herself that everything would be fine, Justine had a dreadful feeling that she might be hurtling toward her own doom.






CHAPTER Four



Griffin lounged in his chair, stretching his legs in front of him. To the casual observer, he must surely have looked relaxed to the point of falling asleep. If only that were true. Frustration jabbed at his nerves and buzzed in his brain, and it took all his willpower to refrain from stalking about the room and growling his frustration at Dominic for refusing to help in any meaningful way.

Like taking the blasted baby off his hands.

He had to admit that some of his bad temper resulted from a restless night. Not that Griffin needed much sleep, but when he did, he tended to sleep hard and well. Not so with a colicky baby in the house who wailed his poor little head off for hours. Add in Rose clomping back and forth between the kitchen and her bedroom and no one in the house had slept more than a wink. Griffin would happily stay awake all night if a beautiful, naked woman and a good bottle of cognac kept him company, but such had not been the case.

Beneath the fatigue and frustration ran another note, one that had more to do with the prim little tabby sitting across from him, sipping her tea with genteel grace. A heightened awareness of her every move thrummed through his veins in defiance of all rational understanding. Griffin did not have a spinster fetish, nor did he care for innocent and virginal maidens. Justine Brightmore was both, and that unfortunate combination was exacerbated by the fact that she clearly disapproved of him as thoroughly as he did her.

Not that he could blame her. After all, she was a gently bred girl who had no business coming anywhere near him or The Golden Tie. Despite his snarling denial a few minutes ago, Griffin had no desire to see the girl come to harm. Why Dominic had selected her for the job—and why Miss Brightmore had agreed—defied understanding. And yet the two of them sat calmly drinking their tea like two old ladies watching a sedate waltz at Almack’s.

They were clearly both mad, especially Dominic for bringing his goddaughter into a situation fraught with so many perils to her reputation and safety, if Dominic’s fears about the baby were accurate.

That tweaked every one of Griffin’s suspicious instincts. Dominic had always been careful not to expose innocents to danger or gossip, and Miss Brightmore was clearly an innocent. Dominic obviously had an endgame, but what it was had yet to reveal itself, although Griffin would bet half his fortune that it included Miss Brightmore.

Letting his eyes narrow to half slits, he focused his attention on the girl. Despite her gruesomely ugly pelisse and even uglier bonnet, she was a fetchingly plump and wholesome little morsel, if one went in for that sort of thing. She might be all of four and twenty, but Griffin had spent years in the world of the demi-monde. He knew experience when he saw it, and he knew the lack of it, too. Miss Brightmore could protest all she liked that she was a mature woman of the world, but he knew better. True, she was Ned Brightmore’s daughter—and that had been a shock—but she was as sheltered and untried as any modestly bred girl of the ton. He’d stake the other half of his fortune on that.

But despite that, a man would have to be blind not to notice her figure, as lush and beautifully shaped as any of the women who worked next door. It set up a strange contrast—everything about her manner and attitude screamed innocence, and yet she had the body of a young courtesan.