Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(65)

She waited until he’d taken a hasty swallow of brandy. “May I continue?” she asked, primly folding her hands in her lap.

He let out a dramatic sigh. “You might as well outline all the horrors that await me as a married man.”

“Indeed. As to your social life, I have already mentioned that I don’t know what it entails.”

When a sly grin erased the morose cast of his features, Justine raised a restraining hand. “Nor do I wish to know. I only ask that you not require me to host or attend any parties that would involve participation by members of the demi-monde, for lack of a better term, or social occasions that might be looked upon as less than respectable.”

When he remained silent, she felt the need to explain. “It’s not that I disapprove, per se,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “I like Rose a great deal, and the girls next door that I’ve met have been nothing but kind. But if the purpose of this enterprise is to restore my reputation, then it hardly makes sense to drag me into situations which will have the opposite effect.”

“I would never do that to you, Justine,” Griffin said quietly. “Surely you must know that by now.”

His dark gaze fastened on her with an intensity she didn’t quite understand, but which made a hot flush crawl up her neck.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Anything else?”

She took a deep breath. This was the last, most difficult hurdle to jump. She thought she knew what his answer would be, but she couldn’t be entirely sure. Not with a man of his reputation.


“I would assume that we both agree that our marriage will not proceed in the normal manner,” she said, hoping he would understand her vague reference.

Unfortunately, he looked puzzled. “I don’t follow you.”

“Well, that our marriage will be one of convenience. There will be no need to engage in . . . marital activities.”

Something hot and disturbing flared in his eyes. “You mean sex.”

“Yes, not to put too fine a point upon it,” she replied, trying to look like an experienced woman of the world, not someone who actually wanted to crawl into the nearest cupboard and hide.

He leaned forward, bracing his sinewy forearms on his thighs. “So, to be perfectly clear, you do not want to consummate our marriage.”

She nodded, striving to remain as dispassionate as he appeared to be.

Except, she realized a moment later, he wasn’t. Irritation flared in his eyes and he seemed quite put out. It was a mystifying reaction. Surely to God he had never expected that of her, had he?

“May I ask why?” he asked in an icy tone.

“I should think it was obvious,” she hedged.

“Humor me.”

“Well, for one, we barely know each other,” she said.

He gave a casual shrug and leaned back in his chair, taking a leisurely sip of his brandy before answering. But Justine couldn’t shake the feeling that he watched her carefully, and that behind his bland expression a great deal of mental activity was taking place.

“Many husbands and wives barely know each other before finding themselves in the marriage bed.”

“Yes, but they haven’t been forced into marriage,” she said, trying to sound as reasonable as she could. “That makes all the difference.”

“Justine, many a man and woman have been reluctantly marched to the altar, sometimes at the point of a pistol.”

She grimaced. “I suppose that’s true.”

He extended a hand toward her, palm up. “Come now, Justine. Tell me the real reason you want to avoid my bed, when I think we could find some very fine sport between the sheets.”