Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(59)

Dominic uncrossed one of his long legs, as if preparing to stand. “That is surely worth looking into. Leave it with me.”

As he started to rise, Griffin held up a restraining hand. “You do realize we need to address the situation with Justine, don’t you? After this morning, her situation is untenable.”

“I’m sure you exaggerate, Mr. Steele,” she said in a prim little voice. “If we just ignore what happened and I stay out of sight, the problem will fade away in a few weeks.”

Both men stared at her—Griffin in amazement and Dominic with an expression that could only be described as pity.

“You do know the only solution, don’t you?” Griffin asked Dominic.

“It should be obvious to all of us,” Dominic replied, “which was why I didn’t believe it necessary to spell it out.” His green eyes narrowed to flinty chips. “I don’t, do I?”

Again, Griffin resisted the impulse to level the man. “No, you don’t, but I would appreciate your help with a few of the details. Matters need to progress even more quickly than you might think.”


“For heaven’s sake,” Justine broke in. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that I told Mulborne and his troupe of merry men that you were my wife,” Griffin replied, exasperated.

“Did you?” Dominic looked vaguely impressed. “That was quick thinking on your part, Griffin. Well done.”

Justine shot to her feet, her gaze wild and verging on desperation. “It wasn’t well done at all. It was insane. The question now is how to get out of it.” She took a step toward Dominic, her fists clenched anxiously into her skirts. “You have to help us think of a way to do that, Uncle Dominic. Surely you can, can’t you?”

Her voice caught on a pathetic little break that Griffin both resented and understood. He knew how bad a bargain he was for a woman like Justine, but he had enough self-conceit to wish she didn’t act like her world was ending in a flaming ball of hellfire.

Dominic came to his feet. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and silently encouraged her to retake her seat. Once she did, she stared up at her godparent with an expression of dread pulling her pretty features into a tight mask.

“Justine,” Dominic started in a kind voice, “I have always spoken the truth to you, have I not?”

She gave a sad little nod.

“Then I must speak the truth to you now. Regardless of what either of you desires in this situation, the die has been cast. You have no choice but to marry Griffin, and as soon as possible.”

She went from miserable to appalled. “You must be joking, sir.”

“Indeed not. It is the only way to preserve your reputation. Surely, you see that.”

She waved a dramatic, impatient hand. “Oh, hang my reputation. I have no desire to get married and I never did. And I’m sure Lady Belgrave won’t care. She never does when it comes to ton gossip and scandal. I’ll just go back to Cambridge and eventually everything will be fine.”

“I think you’ll find she cares a great deal about this,” Dominic said. A faint note of exasperation began to creep into his voice. “There is also your family to consider—your uncle, Viscount Curtis, and your brother.”

She visibly winced, but just as visibly wasn’t yet ready to give up. “I’ll explain it to them.” She cast a glance in Griffin’s direction. “They couldn’t possibly wish me to marry a . . . a . . .”

“Whoremaster? I believe that’s the term you’re looking for,” Griffin said. “I’m sorry if that disconcerts you, Justine, but there’s nothing I can do to change it.”