Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(72)

“I doubt he thinks himself very lucky,” Justine said with a sigh. “Nor do I feel particularly like a bride. But I do appreciate the effort you’ve made to make me more presentable.”

Such preparations, though, made her even more nervous, as if she were about to enter into a real relationship and not some hastily arranged marriage of convenience.

“That’s the spirit,” said Patience in an encouraging voice. “After all, you don’t want to be disappointing Mr. Griffin, now, do you, miss? He’ll be wanting a pretty young lady coming to his bed tonight, not a spinsterish old tabby.”

At that unfortunate choice of words, Rose rounded on Patience and began to berate her.

“No, really, it’s fine,” Justine said, coming to her feet. She flapped her hands, cutting Rose off in midscold. “Everything is fine. You’re correct, Patience. I am a spinster, but I think you’ve both misunderstood the situation. My marriage to Mr. Steele is more in the nature of a . . . business arrangement, for lack of a better word. Nothing more.”

At the startled glance the two women exchanged, Justine clamped her lips together, feeling her cheeks heat up with a flush. Logically, she knew she didn’t have to explain the nature of her relationship with Griffin, but she couldn’t bear the idea of anyone misunderstanding.

“Really?” Patience asked doubtfully. “That don’t sound like Mr. Griffin. He’s always been one for the ladies, and the ladies for him.”

Justine’s blood congealed in an odd combination of jealousy and disappointment. “Are you saying,” she said carefully, “that Mr. Steele is, ah, intimate with his girls?”

She hadn’t thought so, and Griffin had never given any indication that he availed himself of the services of his own bawdy house. But perhaps she was being na?ve.

And stupid to care about it, one way or the other.

Rose scowled at Patience before giving Justine a reassuring smile. “Oh, no, not a bit, miss. Mr. Griffin would never do something so havey-cavey. He has more respect for us than that.”

“You’re right, but you must admit he has quite the reputation,” Patience mused. “Not that he’s anywhere near as bad as his father or any of his uncles.” She rolled her eyes. “Lord, that lot will populate half of London with their bastards before they’re under the dirt.”

“That’s true,” Rose said judiciously. “Whatever his reputation might be—and I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve some of it—Mr. Griffin doesn’t have a patch on his uncles, so no need to worry on that score.”

Puzzled, Justine sank down on the dressing table chair, staring up at the two women. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. I know nothing about Mr. Steele’s uncles or his father. What does their behavior have to do with anything?”

With an internal jolt, Justine realized how little she knew about the man she was about to marry. Aside from the few facts Dominic had revealed on the day of her arrival, she knew nothing about Griffin’s family or his personal history.

Patience’s bright blue eyes went round as marbles. “Lord, you mean you don’t know? Well, you’re in for a shock, miss, and that’s the truth.”

Rose jabbed Patience in the ribs. “If Mr. Griffin didn’t feel fit to tell her, then she don’t need to know, do she? And you can just take yourself off now, since Miss Justine is ready. There’s no need to be standing around telling silly stories about things that don’t concern you.” She hurried over to the bed and started to fold up Justine’s night rail and wrapper, clearly wanting to end the discussion.