Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(96)

Griffin was reluctantly fascinated. Having grown up an only child, his sole relative a dour and stern great-uncle, he couldn’t begin to imagine life in a large and obviously lively family.

“And your grandfather, I take it, was not fooled by Serena’s girlish charms.”

“Not in the least. She hated that she couldn’t manipulate him.”

“And she obviously took that out on you,” he said, beginning to regret he’d ever exchanged a word with the woman. “What form did her retribution take?”

“You mean besides pulling on my hair and calling me bran-faced?” she asked in a flat voice.

“Yes.” As painful as the memories might be, he needed to know everything he could about his wife.

She let out a quiet sigh. “She used to slap and pinch me when no one was looking. Never anywhere that left a mark, mind you. Serena was too clever for that. She also knew I would never tattle on her.”

Griffin’s curse brought Justine’s gaze to his face.

“Bitch,” he said in a harsh voice. “I have a mind to have a chat with Cousin Serena.”

Justine let out a shaky laugh. “I appreciate the sentiment, but retribution isn’t necessary since I eventually learned to defend myself. When I was thirteen, I pushed her off the terrace into a rose bush. The results were quite gratifying, especially since Serena was wearing her favorite gown.”

His fury eased up a bit and he managed a smile. “I can imagine. But didn’t the bad-tempered little fool go running to her father?”

Justine gave him a self-satisfied grin. “She did, and to my grandfather, too. But neither of them would believe her. They thought me too quiet and well-mannered to engage in that sort of behavior. Grandpapa insisted that Serena be sent to bed without supper, both for telling a lie and shredding her new gown.”

This time Griffin laughed. “Good. Still, I can’t imagine that someone like your cousin would give up her tormenting ways so easily. Why didn’t you ever tell your father or grandfather how she treated you?”

Justine picked at the tips of her gloved fingers until Griffin placed his hands on top of them, stilling her. “Justine?”

“Oh, very well,” she grumbled. “It’s just that it makes it sound rather mawkish and pathetic, which it wasn’t. But I thought if I’d told anyone, Papa would have raised a huge row on my behalf. I was afraid he wouldn’t let me return to visit them every summer, and I did so love it there. Except for Serena, of course.”

“Of course,” he said gravely. An unfamiliar sense of empathy rustled around in his armored heart. He could well imagine Justine as a child—a redheaded and freckled dab of a thing, desperate for a sense of normality in her life. Griffin would have wanted the same, if he’d even been able to imagine it as a child.

She turned fully around to face him, twisting her velvet cloak into a mass of crumpled folds but not seeming to notice.

“You mustn’t feel sorry for me,” she said. “I was very lucky to have the family I did—that I do. I wasn’t unhappy with my life, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He took her gloved hands and raised them to his lips, gently pressing a kiss on the soft kid. “But I think you were unhappy, at least sometimes, and perhaps a little lonely?”

When her breath quickened, his heartbeat accelerated to match. His emotions, growing surprisingly strong as she’d revealed herself to him, coalesced around one urgent desire—to have her under him, naked and yielding to both their needs.

“Yes, perhaps a little,” she said in a pretty, breathless voice. “On occasion.”