Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(28)

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she told Rose. “Don’t hesitate to come get me if the baby starts to fuss or Sammy wakes up from his nap.”

She hurried out to the staircase. As always, she was struck by the rich appointments of Mr. Steele’s house, even in an upper hallway. The walls were painted in deep shades of red, and a plush pink and gold carpet runner cushioned her footfalls. Three narrow tables lined the hall, each with a lamp or branch of candles. No stinting on candles or oil for Griffin Steele. He liked his house brightly lit, and luxurious to the point of decadence. Justine was not averse to creature comforts by any means, but these struck her as excessive, particularly since her host was a disciplined man who, according to the hints dropped by the servants, had fewer vices than the average man of the ton.

Justine glanced at the door to his bedroom as she walked by. Her first night under his roof had found her unnerved by the fact that he slept mere feet away from her. She’d never been alone with any unmarried man—not without a relative or proper chaperone somewhere in the immediate vicinity. Such was not the case in Steele’s town house. Only three adults slept on this floor—Steele, Justine, and Rose. And by no stretch of the imagination could Rose be thought of as a chaperone.

But after a restless first night when she’d jerked awake at every random sound or footfall, her nerves had finally given way to rational thought. There was no earthly reason Steele would have any interest in her, not with a brothel full of willing women next door. And that they were willing was beyond doubt, since Rose had explained in graphic terms just how attractive the women found him.

Besides, she’d hardly seen the man since moving in. He generally locked himself away in his office or worked next door, not returning home until the early hours of the morning and well past the time Justine retired to her bed. As for the infrequent times their paths did cross, he either muttered a distracted greeting or seemed to regard her with amused disdain. She much preferred the former, since the latter never failed to bring a resentful flush to her cheeks.

She descended the stairs and paused outside the drawing room, checking her cap one last time. Then, taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped into the room.

Steele and Dominic glanced up from their discussion and rose as one from their armchairs by the fire. Justine’s godfather, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a penetrating gaze, commanded respect just by his very presence. A man like Steele, some inches shorter and lean rather than bulky, should have faded in his company.

But the opposite was true. Steele came to his feet with a lithe, masculine grace that spoke of quietly controlled power. That sense of power, combined with his darkly ruthless gaze, would signal to even the most careless or insouciant observer that she ignored Griffin Steele at her peril. Since Justine was neither careless nor insouciant, she would never ignore him, but would do her best to keep him at a healthy distance.

“Ah, Justine, how nice to see you,” Dominic said with a warm smile. “How are you faring with your new charge?” He cast a meaningful glance in Steele’s direction. “I trust everyone is treating you well.”

She bobbed a slight curtsy before sitting down on the elegant Etruscan daybed across from their chairs. The two men resumed their seats, Steele lounging in his with a languid sprawl of long, muscular legs. Justine’s gaze unconsciously lingered on those legs just a few seconds before she jerked herself back to attention.

“Yes,” she assured him. “Mr. Steele and his staff have seen to all of my needs. I have no complaints.” She hesitated, then gave a slight grimace. “Well, I must admit to feeling rather cooped up. I’m not used to being housebound for any stretch of time, though I do understand the need for it.”