Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(84)

But then his gaze had narrowed and the odd look of triumph had faded from his eyes. He’d been very careful with her after that, treating her with kindness and solicitude for the rest of the day. Yes, he had teased her, calling her my love when Lady Thornbury raised the issue of her dinner party. Justine had wanted to scold him for that. But she also appreciated that he had tried to support her wishes, and had done what he could to convince the others that the worst course of action would be to go about in public in an effort to portray that their marriage was genuine.

She pressed her palms to her eyes. Why in God’s name was Dominic so insistent about all of this? She understood he was trying to protect her reputation, but part of her still believed that retreating to the country was her best option. If she lived in seclusion, surely the furor over her marriage to Griffin would pass, allowing her to get an annulment at some point. That did seem the most sensible course of action since it appeared her husband intended to leave England as soon as little Stephen’s situation was resolved. And if that was the case, Justine had no desire to spend the rest of her life in some kind of limbo—neither free nor truly married, tied to a man who had little interest in her but as a temporary companion to warm his bed as long as his interest lasted.

All in all, a depressing thought, although she couldn’t deduce if it was the idea of him leaving her a virtual widow while he flitted around the world that bothered her, or the very idea of him leaving at all. She had a sneaking suspicion it was the latter, and that was simply unacceptable.

Justine gave her eyes a quick rub and then opened them. Pulling her spine straight, she picked up her beautiful new brush and began stroking it through her hair. It didn’t matter how she felt, since Dominic and the others had all but taken that choice out of her hands, at least for now. When they pointed out how the scandal and gossip would hurt her family, Justine had realized they were right. The only way forward was for her and Griffin to put on a good front.

That her new husband was furious about the blatant attempts to make him respectable was clear and to be expected. But what she hadn’t expected was his eventual capitulation to Dominic’s plans. That had surprised her. Griffin Steele did not strike her as the type of man to sacrifice his own needs and desires for anyone else, but it would appear that he had done just that for her.

A quick knock on the door pulled her out of her reverie. But before she could answer, the door opened and Griffin, clad only in trousers and the dressing gown he’d worn the other night, strolled into the room. Justine’s brush hand froze in midair as her gaze helplessly traveled over him, finally coming to a halt on his bare feet. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a man not properly shod in boots or shoes. Somehow, seeing Griffin’s naked, masculine feet seemed even more shocking than seeing him without a shirt.

She jerked her eyes up to meet his amused gaze. His dark eyes were warm with humor, and with something she was finally starting to recognize. In defiance of her assurances to Rose, it seemed that Griffin had come to claim his marital privileges. A silly, feminine part of her was thrilled, but another, much larger part, was horrified.

And not simply because she felt so physically unprepared. Justine couldn’t imagine there was a woman more emotionally ill-equipped to deal with a man like Griffin Steele than she.

“I thought you were Clara,” she said weakly.

“I know,” he said. “I told Clara I would be helping you tonight, and sent her off to bed.”

Justine glowered at him. “That was rather forward of you, don’t you think? And I most certainly do not need your help, sir.” She waved her hand, still tightly clenching the brush as if trying to shoo him away. “I do hope you don’t think something is going to happen between us tonight, because it’s not. I thought I was quite clear about that.”