Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(24)

Rose clutched the baby to her breast. “Sorry to be so late, dearie,” she said to Griffin. “Between this little one and my own Sammy, I’ve been at sixes and sevens since I woke up.” She let out a hearty laugh. “I’m feeling a bit like a bleedin’ heifer, and that’s the truth.”

Normally, the ringing tones of Rose’s voice would have had Griffin wincing. Instead, he couldn’t help relishing the stunned expression on Miss Brightmore’s refined features as she took in the glory that was Rose Crenshaw. He was perfectly willing to admit it was petty of him, but he’d never pretended to be a saint.

Rose was a tall young woman with luxurious chestnut hair and a flawlessly proportioned body built along generous lines. That body was currently encased in a bright yellow, low-bodiced day dress that left little to the imagination. Although not as beautiful as some of the other girls at The Golden Tie, Rose had an open face and an engaging smile that signaled a genuine enjoyment of life. And, unlike most other girls who toiled in brothels out of necessity, Rose genuinely enjoyed her work. Griffin had done what he could to ameliorate the more unpleasant aspects of the job, but he’d rarely met a whore who wouldn’t prefer another line of work or, better yet, a kind man with a decent job willing to marry her. But Rose was the happy exception to the rule. She had a man who loved her despite her profession—he worked in one of the gaming houses Griffin had just sold—and she liked the ready blunt she earned on her back.

She also radiated a heady sexuality evident to any man without one foot in a grave. That, combined with her cheerful nature, accounted for her popularity at The Golden Tie. Absent for some months after the birth of her son, Rose was now chafing to get back to work. And Griffin’s clients were certainly chafing for her return. But if she were forced to play wet nurse to the baby, that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.

He waved the young woman forward. “Join us, Rose. We’ve been waiting for you.”

As he turned back, he caught Dominic’s gaze. Griffin had to suppress a grin when the older man rolled his eyes at him.

“Miss Brightmore,” Griffin said, sardonically polite, “may I present Miss Rose Crenshaw, who has been acting as wet nurse for the infant. Rose, this is Miss Brightmore, who will serve as nanny for little Stephen.”

But Miss Prim and Proper surprised him again when she rose to her feet with a kind and welcoming smile on her lips. “Miss Crenshaw, it is my pleasure. I do hope the baby has not taxed you too greatly.”

Rose deftly transferred the blessedly sleeping baby to one arm and flapped her hand at Miss Brightmore. “Lord, dearie, you can call me Rose. Nobody calls me Miss Crenshaw, not even the silliest Johnny Raws who come to me for their first time. Although I suppose it might be fun if I had all the men call me that from now on, especially those high and mighty gents and lords.”

When she let out another peal of laughter, this time Griffin did wince, more from a healthy fear that she would wake the baby. After last night, he’d decided there was little else in life more terrifying than a colicky baby.

Fortunately, Dominic again stepped into the breach. “Rose, how nice to see you,” he said. “You’re looking exceedingly well, as always.”

“As are you, Sir Dominic,” she said, giving him a suggestive wink. “As always.”

Miss Brightmore made a slight, choking sound as she stared at Dominic with a look of fascinated horror. Griffin couldn’t blame her. Although he knew for a fact that Dominic didn’t consort with lightskirts, his godchild obviously had no way of knowing that. Griffin felt certain that today was proving to be quite an education for her. And if she still intended to take on the task of caring for the baby, this was only the beginning.