Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(44)

Her face went blank, but something flashed in her eyes—something wounded and vulnerable. An answering guilt rustled within him, as if he’d damaged a fragile piece of beautiful crystal.

Ruthlessly, he quashed the feeling. He’d enjoyed their conversation, and had enjoyed teasing her even more. But that was enough. No good could come of a friendship between them, and since he couldn’t take her to bed, there was no point in encouraging any further interest on her part.

Finally, she gave a curt nod and rose from her chair, skillfully hefting the dead weight of the baby onto her shoulder. Griffin resisted the instinct to stand, instead crossing his arms over his chest and letting a sardonic smile curve his lips.

“Of course, Mr. Steele,” she replied. “Thank you for the cup of tea. I will bid you good night.”

A sharp pang echoed through his chest at her formal address, but he forced himself to ignore it.

“Good night, Justine,” he called after her as she quickly made her way from the room.





CHAPTER Seven



Despite the fatigue that weighed her down, Justine dragged herself from bed before the clock struck nine. She’d managed a few hours of sleep after she snuck the baby back into Rose’s room, but only after much tossing and turning. Another London day had gradually dawned, the inky dark fading to a gloomy gray before she’d finally fallen into a restless sleep. And even then she’d dreamed of dark-haired buccaneers with cold, hollow gazes, and a dragon wheeling overhead in a soot-colored sky, breathing fire and terrifying her with his shimmering eyes as he swooped down at her.

When she’d jerked awake, torn between fear and irritation at the silly nightmares, she’d been more than ready to escape from her bed. At least when she had Stephen to look after she could distract herself from the man who haunted her dreams.

After winding her hair in a simple knot, Justine grimaced at her reflection in the dressing table glass. She looked dreadful, to the point where she couldn’t bring herself to put on her cap. Not that it mattered that she looked like a dowdy old maid. Besides the servants and Rose, there was no one to see her looking well or ill, and no one would care about her appearance, regardless. Certainly, not Griffin Steele, as he’d made clear last night.

Except she thought he had cared, as least for a little while. He’d shown her an unexpected degree of interest and consideration, and she couldn’t deny the pleasure she’d taken in it. She even thought he’d flirted with her, and although she’d found that highly disconcerting, she’d been flattered, too. More than she cared to admit.

Despite herself, she’d responded to his interest. Something inside her had softened and unfurled, like a rosebud opening under the heat of the summer sun. And when she’d seen that astounding tattoo on his tanned, muscled chest, the breath had seized in her throat. She’d never seen one before, or imagined that something so strange could be so beautiful. The creature was superbly drawn—a fierce but noble beast inked in shades of black and gray by a touch both delicate and sure. The tail curling high, it marched across Griffin’s chest, presumably up over his shoulder. Justine had struggled with an almost irresistible desire to touch it, tracing each line with her fingertips.

To touch him.

But when he’d asked if she wanted to see it, reaching to open his dressing gown, she’d almost fainted with shock, more at herself than at him. She knew how outrageous he was, after all. But what had stunned her was how much she’d wanted to do it. To watch him slide the heavy silk robe off his shoulders and expose his masculine chest and shoulders. Justine had never thought of herself as someone much interested in the physical form, but Griffin was making her think and feel in entirely unfamiliar ways.