Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(8)

He slipped the ring into a pocket and then extracted the small note from the waistband of his breeches. The paper was heavy, obviously of good quality. Slipping his finger under the wax, he gently peeled open the note. The handwriting was clear and feminine, and the message contained only a few lines.




The child’s name is Stephen. His life is in grave danger. I beg you, Mr. Steele, to keep him safe until I contact you again. May God bless you!





A friend




Naturally, the note lacked any other identifying marks. That would have been far too easy.

“What does it say?” asked Tom with a curiosity he rarely displayed.

“That the baby’s name is Stephen and that we are to keep him safe until further notice,” Griffin said, repressing the impulse to curse.

“Well, that’s a right proper mystery, ain’t it, Mr. Griffin?” said Phelps in a voice of wonder. Clearly a mystery that Griffin’s employees found quite enjoyable. He didn’t share the feeling.

“It is,” he replied in a grim voice. “Phelps, I want you to find Sir Dominic Hunter. I don’t care if you have to drag him out of his damn office in Whitehall or from the deepest pits of hell, but do not come back here without him.”





CHAPTER Two



With a grateful sigh, Griffin shoved aside the ledger as the knock from the front door sounded through to his office. He’d sent Phelps out to search for Dominic over two hours ago, then before stalking back to his office had ordered Madeline to find someone to take care of the baby. What those orders entailed in the short term, he hadn’t a clue. In the long term, he prayed to God that Dominic could take the infant off his hands. Griffin had enough to worry about without adding a blasted and inconvenient mystery on top of everything else.

Naturally, Dominic had taken his sweet time answering Griffin’s urgent summons. Phelps had finally run him to ground, but had been sent back with a curt message that Dominic would come as soon as he could, after he had completed his business. Repressing an oath, Griffin had sent Phelps to check on Madeline and the baby while he tried to plow through the mountain of work on his desk. He hadn’t been very successful, too caught up in his irritation and curiosity—irritation that the entire affair might turn into a complication that would delay his departure from London, and curiosity over both the infant and the annoyingly elusive veiled woman.

He had, he was forced to admit, a reluctant compassion for the little mite. Griffin knew all about abandonment. It twisted the soul into unnatural shapes that changed one forever. As much as he wanted to divest himself of this unwanted responsibility, he knew he couldn’t until the child was safely accounted for.

Phelps popped his head around the office door. “Sir Dominic’s in the morning room, guv.”

Griffin nodded as he rose from his desk. “Fetch Madeline and have her bring the baby down.”

Taking his time, he locked the ledger in the cabinet behind him, slipping the key into his waistcoat pocket, where it clinked against the signet ring in its little velvet pouch. Then he slowly made his way up to the morning room, having every intention of making Dominic wait that extra minute or two.

The ridiculous game that Griffin played with his erstwhile and usually unwanted mentor was less about trying to annoy Dominic than asserting some control over their relationship. Dominic had been trying for years to bend Griffin to his will, in his best interests, or so Dominic calmly asserted. But Griffin didn’t like any man—or woman—exerting control over him. For too many years he’d been subject to the whims and sometimes the fists of others, and he’d worked too hard to gain full mastery over his life. He had no intention of allowing Dominic to chip away at that, no matter how well-intentioned the man might be.