Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(36)

She bit back a groan, although there was nothing she could do to prevent the hot blush crawling up her cheeks. If there was one thing Justine knew for sure, it was that blushes and red hair did not sit well together.

Ridiculously agitated, she clutched Stephen a bit too tightly, prompting a startled wail from the bundle in her arms. The kettle, unfortunately, chose that exact moment to blow its high-pitched screech, and that prodded the baby into a full-throated cry. Sighing, Justine hitched him up on her shoulder and tried to reach for the kettle to pull it off the hob.

“Christ, you daft woman! Let me do that,” Steele exclaimed, striding around the table. “You’ll burn yourself.”

Justine scowled at him. “I’m perfectly capable of taking a kettle off the hob, thank you, and without burning myself.”

Nonetheless, she stepped aside to let him go by. As he brushed past her, his scent teased her nostrils, something smoky and satisfying, with a hint of leather and brandy. She stood there like an idiot, breathing it all in and not quite sure what to do with herself.

“Miss Brightmore, go sit down while I prepare your tea,” he ordered as he lifted the kettle from the hob.

She blinked in surprise, but then gave him a hesitant smile before moving back to her chair. The answering gleam in his eyes, dark and knowing, made her stomach jump, and she had to resist the urge to scurry from the room. Which was silly since this was far from the first time she’d had to deal with strange men in the middle of the night. When Papa was alive, he’d frequently had late-night visits from informers or other agents, and she’d often been the one to serve them coffee or bring them food. But none had been like Griffin Steele, and none had made her feel so wretchedly unsure of herself.

“I take it little Stephen is the reason for this sojourn in the dead of night?” he asked while he deftly prepared her tea.

Justine would not have thought him the domestic sort, but he seemed just as comfortable in the homey kitchen as he did in his elegant drawing room. “Yes, Mr. Steele. He was keeping Rose up, so I hoped if I brought him down here and rocked him a bit, he might fall off to sleep.”

He moved closer, and her breath caught in her throat. But he simply reached out a hand and cradled the baby’s head for a second. The gentle, affectionate touch from so hard a man triggered a swift stab of emotion that felt almost like melancholy.

“How shocking,” he said. “This little fellow keeping the entire house up at night? One could hardly believe it.”

“Hardly the entire house, Mr. Steele,” she replied. “Besides, I heard you return home just a short time ago.”

His dark brows lifted in an elegant arch. “You really are Dominic’s godchild, aren’t you?” His eyes held a wicked glint. “I hope you’re not writing up a report for him. I suspect I would fare badly in your estimate.”

Justine couldn’t help bristling—again. It was starting to be tiresome how easily he could ruffle her temper.

“Nothing of the sort,” she said stiffly. She probably should take the baby and go back upstairs, but she didn’t want him to think he’d chased her out. “I think you know how ridiculous a notion that is, sir.”

“Not when you look at me in so disapproving a fashion, or call me sir or Mr. Steele in that particular tone.”

Unexpectedly, he unleashed a smile so dazzling that Justine only just managed to keep her jaw from sagging open. She knew from Rose that women found him handsome, and even she could admit he was attractive in a rakish sort of way. But when he smiled like that . . . well, she could begin to understand why the girls at The Golden Tie vied so competitively for his attention.