Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(31)

“Perhaps we can agree that appearances can be deceiving,” Justine said, trying not to clench her teeth.

Steele’s gaze dropped to her chest and lingered there for a long moment. “Yes, I think we can agree on that,” he said.

An odd warmth curled low in Justine’s belly. She found herself trapped in his dark gaze, one that had transformed from amusement to a heavy-lidded sensuality. She’d seen men with that expression on their faces before, but it had never been directed at her.


“What else can you tell us about the ring, Uncle Dominic?” she asked, a shade too loudly.

Fortunately, her godparent seemed not to notice anything strange. She didn’t dare look at Steele, since she just knew he’d be laughing at her. What he found in her that was so amusing, she didn’t know. She was the most boring woman alive, and her lack of suitors proved it.

During her first Season, Justine had tried to become adept at the kind of light gossip and conversation that seemed to amuse young men, but she’d never mastered the art. Her aunt Elizabeth, who moved in artistic and radical circles rather than the upper reaches of the ton, would attempt to console Justine by saying that she had greater depths than the average young man at Almack’s, and that she should never be ashamed of her education or her serious turn of mind. Indeed, Aunt Elizabeth cherished her own reputation as a bluestocking, and encouraged Justine to do the same.

That was all very well and good until she found herself trying to make awkward conversation with a man she actually liked, only to see his eyes glaze with an all too familiar look of boredom.

She forced her attention back to her godparent.

“Some aspects of the signet suggest that it is Lombardic,” Dominic said, “from one of the cadet branches of the Hapsburgs, as I originally suspected. As to which one, that will require further research. Since the Italian states remain in some degree of turmoil after the fall of Napoleon, further investigation will be required before I can determine its provenance. But suffice it to say, I believe the ring suggests that our little guest has some Italian heritage, and is very likely from a noble family.”

Justine frowned. “Then what is he doing here?”

“That is the mystery,” Dominic replied. “One possibility is that either his father or mother—or both—was from a noble Italian family that came here in exile after Napoleon seized their lands. The ring suggests the child is legitimate, although we can’t be entirely sure of that.”

Justine grimaced, feeling a sharp pang of sympathy for the sleeping baby upstairs. “But if he’s legitimate, it makes no sense that he would be abandoned in so cavalier a fashion.”

Dominic sighed, seeming to slump a bit in his chair. For the first time, Justine noticed how weary he looked, with dark circles under his eyes. Her godparent had always seemed indomitable to her, but today he looked much older than his two and forty years.

Steele leaned forward in his chair, bracing his hands on his knees. He, too, was studying Dominic, with an intensity that surprised Justine.

“What of the note?” Steele asked. “Have you uncovered any additional information on that?”

“Nothing of any value,” Dominic replied. “You needn’t concern yourself with that.”

“I think I do,” the younger man fired back. “I saw how you reacted when you first read it. What aren’t you telling me?”

Dominic’s eyes glittered like polished emeralds. And he no longer looked like the tired man of a few seconds ago. Instead, in one breath to the next, he had transformed into the powerful—and deadly—spymaster Justine knew him to be.