Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(54)

She let out a relieved sigh and subsided. “Thank God. That man—Count Marzano—I don’t know what he was doing there.” She cast him a troubled glance. “I don’t trust him. He didn’t seem to fit in with the others, and not just because he was a foreigner.”

“Very perceptive of you, my dear. I suspect that Marzano is not all that he seems. The question is what he was doing with Mulborne and his cadre of idiots? Hanging about with members of foreign legations is hardly their style.”

Justine frowned. “If you’re suspicious, too, then why were you so eager to invite him back to The Golden Tie? Surely you’re not lacking for business.”

He raised his eyebrows at her tone, which sounded a touch shrill, even to her. Then he settled back into his chair, assuming an elegantly careless demeanor. He stretched out his legs, the muscles clearly delineated by the clinging fabric of his breeches, until his boots all but brushed against Justine’s skirts.

“You must learn to trust me, my love,” he said. “I will take care of the count, I assure you.”

Despite her best efforts not to react, Justine’s cheeks grew hot. “That is the second time you have used that ridiculous endearment, and I do not appreciate it in the least, sir. Which brings us back to our original point—what is to be done about your outrageous assertion that we are married?”

He leaned his head against the high back of the leather chair, studying her under half-closed eyelids. He looked almost ready to fall asleep. “What else did you expect me to do? Deny that you were my mistress and proclaim the sanctity of your spinster state to the world at large?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what you should have done.”

His cynical smile faded until he was inspecting her with as sympathetic an expression on his face as she had ever seen. For some reason, it made her want to burst into tears.

“Justine, it wouldn’t have mattered a damn what we denied. The very fact that you set foot in my house, much less The Golden Tie, doomed you from the minute you were identified. The only rational thing to be done was to proclaim you my wife.”

Her throat seemed to close. “But then what?” she managed. “We cannot possibly keep up with such a charade for long. It’s demented.”

He sighed as he allowed his shoulders to slump a bit. Suddenly, he appeared both frustrated and tired. “No. I’m afraid that for both our sakes, the charade must soon become a reality.”

Aghast, Justine stared at him. “You cannot be serious.”

“No?” His laugh seemed to come from deep within his chest, harsh and unforgiving. “I think you’ll find we have every need to be serious.”

Justine stared into his raven-black eyes, seeing not a shred of humor or irony. Nothing that would indicate he was playing a monstrous joke on her.

“You couldn’t possibly want to marry me,” she whispered, even as something overpowering, something more real than anything she had ever felt in her life, stretched up and loomed over her, blotting out the light from the lamps and the roaring fire in the grate. She could see nothing but Griffin.

To her astonishment, a gleam of amusement sparked to life in his gaze.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said in a musing tone. “Any woman who, by her own admission, is capable of shooting a man in cold blood is likely the perfect wife for me.”





CHAPTER Nine



Justine hadn’t said a word or even looked at Griffin for the last half hour. Instead, she perched on the edge of her armchair, grimly stitching away on a piece of tambour as they waited for Dominic to arrive.