Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(56)

She shook her head, punching her hook through the innocent piece of fabric. She mumbled something about men under her breath, and then went right back to ignoring Griffin.

He rubbed the knotted muscles across the back of his neck. Actually, it had been more than an hour since he’d sent Phelps out with the note. That had been the first order of business after he’d announced to Justine that their marriage was essentially a fait accompli. After that, he’d taken pity on the girl, knowing she needed to escape his presence for at least a few minutes. He’d sent her upstairs to check on the baby and hopefully take the opportunity to compose herself. Aside from everything else, she’d clearly dashed to the rescue this morning with hardly a care to her appearance. She’d been wearing a simple morning gown, with her dark red hair in a careless knot that had mostly come down around her shoulders. No wonder that bastard Mulborne thought she was his light o’ love. With her tumbled tresses, heavy, sleep-deprived eyes and simple gown, she’d looked lush and sleepy, like a woman who’d just risen from her lover’s bed.

A rap on the door stopped Griffin in his tracks. He strode to the window and glanced down in time to see Dominic entering the house.

“Your time of trial is over, my dear,” he said. “Uncle Dominic has come to the rescue.”

“Thank God,” Justine muttered, setting her work aside.

She looked so worried, miserable, and exhausted—all three conditions attributable to him in one way or another—that Griffin was hard-pressed not to pick her up and plop down into a chair with her on his lap. That, however, would no doubt send her shrieking from the room.

Despite what he’d just said, of course, the reality was that her trial was just beginning.

A quick tread out in the hallway signaled Dominic’s arrival, along with his raspy voice telling Phelps that he would see himself in. When the door opened, Justine launched herself from her chair.

“Oh, Uncle Dominic,” she exclaimed in a choked voice as she threw herself into his arms.

Dominic’s head jerked back in surprise, but then he gathered her into a consoling embrace. “There now, child,” he said, patting her back. “Whatever is the cause of so much upset?”

Griffin had to clamp down hard on the impulse to stalk across the room, pull Justine out of Dominic’s arms, and plant a facer on the older man’s aristocratic features. That impulse shocked him so much that he stood rooted to the spot, trying to analyze the wild swings in his emotions. If he didn’t know any better, he would think he was . . . jealous.

He mentally shrugged that off with a scowl. Griffin did know better, and if there was one emotion he didn’t feel, it was jealousy, especially over a woman.

By the time he’d wrestled himself back under control, Justine had pulled out of Dominic’s arms, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands and attempting an embarrassed smile.

“Good Lord, I haven’t done anything like that in years,” she said. She looked at Griffin and grimaced. “I apologize, sir. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

“I’m thinking that you’ve had a difficult morning,” he replied more abruptly than he intended.

Justine looked momentarily startled by his tone, but she quickly recovered, taking a deep breath and smoothing her skirts with a practiced hand. She returned to her chair, her expression settling into tense but calm lines. Griffin felt a reluctant admiration stir inside. He was beginning to think that what he’d first taken for a disapproving, spinsterish manner was, in fact, an iron self-discipline born of hard necessity. And that was something he could understand.