Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(9)

Unfortunately, Dominic had a knack for putting him in his place with an uncanny ability to predict Griffin’s reactions and even his emotions. There was a reason the man sat near the pinnacle of England’s Intelligence Service—indeed, near the Crown itself—quietly exercising influence over anyone who crossed his path. Dominic seemed to know everyone’s business better than they knew it themselves, from the Prince Regent down to the most downtrodden whore in the stews, and they all owed him favors. It made him one of the most powerful men in England, and a royal pain in Griffin’s arse.

Because for some demented reason, Dominic had made it his mission to reform Griffin, as he called it. It seemed to matter not one whit to the man that Griffin had no desire to reform. But once Dominic set his mind to something, there was no convincing him otherwise.

When Griffin opened the door to the morning room, Dominic looked up from making notes in his small pocket book and graced him with a faintly sardonic smile. “For someone who was so eager to see me, you certainly aren’t in a hurry.”


Griffin affected surprise. “Have you been waiting long? Do forgive me. I hope Phelps offered you something to drink. A cup of tea, perhaps?”

Dominic’s barely there smile slid into a rare grin. “For some odd reason, I seem to make Phelps nervous. The poor man couldn’t wait to get out of the room. Fortunately, I availed myself of your excellent cognac while awaiting your arrival. I may even be able to convince myself that you acquired it by legal means.”

“I expect Phelps is afraid you’ll have him arrested. Perhaps for free-trading, if nothing else comes to mind. You must understand that it makes my servants a tad unsettled when you insist on treating my business ventures as little better than criminal enterprises.”

“Not that it ever stopped you,” Dominic commented with a hint of acid.

Griffin strolled over to the four-tiered whatnot tucked between two windows, plucked up a crystal decanter, and poured himself a few fingers of cognac. “No, but as you are wont to point out, I am sadly lacking in nerves. You must admit that it’s a useful quality for a man who makes his living the way I do.”

“The way you used to make a living. Now that you’ve sold all your gaming clubs at a spectacular profit, I understand you’re about to complete an agreement to turn over the brothel to Madeline Reeves and a few of your other girls.”

Griffin eyed Dominic with disapproval. Of course, he would know about the impending deal, even though Griffin and his staff had a strict policy of keeping all business within house. The air of mystery that surrounded Griffin and his dealings both enhanced his reputation and prompted others to treat him, if not with respect, then with healthy caution. In some quarters, he was looked upon as little better than a crime lord. Griffin had always found it to his advantage to foster that perception, especially when it came to persuading others to see his point of view on business and financial affairs.

The fact that he was also willing to exact appropriate retribution against anyone who was fool enough to betray him also helped. Reputation meant little without the will and the means to support it with an iron fist. His hardscrabble years on the streets of London had taught him that long ago.

“I’m not going to ask how you found out about that,” he said as he settled into one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace.

“Best not to,” Dominic replied in a sympathetic tone totally at odds with his somber, craggy features. “Besides, I doubt you’d want to know.”

Griffin didn’t bother rising to the bait, instead enjoying the truly excellent cognac—which had, of course, come from free traders—and letting the velvet burn slide down his throat.