Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom Read online

  This time, Justine made no effort to contain her irritation. She set down her teacup on the rosewood table with a decided click. “And what precisely do you mean by a ‘girl of her ilk’ sir? I assure you I am capable of caring for the infant with as much discretion and competence as is required.”

  Steele stared at her, then scoffed. “You’re as batty as Dominic. In case it’s slipped your notice, you’re a lady. That makes you entirely unsuitable for service in my household.”

  He said the word lady with the kind of loathing one reserved for rats and stinging insects.

  “Only a few days ago, you were complaining about prostitutes caring for the child,” Dominic interjected. “Now you balk at the thought of a lady? There’s simply no pleasing you.”

  Again, Justine thought Dominic found the situation more amusing than anything else.

  Not Steele, whose jaw flexed as if he was grinding his teeth. “If someone were to see her—someone respectable—can you truly pretend that her reputation wouldn’t be ruined?” His scowl transformed into a thunderous frown. “Why the devil is Brightmore’s daughter reduced to playing nursemaid, anyway? The man died for his bloody country, Dominic. Can’t you do better than putting her into service?”

  That little rant seemed to catch Dominic by surprise, as it did Justine. Steele did not seem the sort of man to bother about someone like her.

  Dominic glanced her way, clearly letting her decide how to answer.

  “Mr. Steele, I appreciate your concern,” she said, smiling at him. “But it is hardly necessary. It is my choice to help Uncle Dominic and, I repeat, I am well able to take care of an infant.”

  “Miss Brightmore, understand me,” Steele said in a quietly lethal tone that made her shiver. “I truly don’t give a damn about your position in life or your reputation. But if you are exposed, I will not take responsibility for the consequences.”

  Justine blinked, taken aback. The man’s moods changed so swiftly that she couldn’t seem to keep up with him. “Oh, well, I wouldn’t blame you. And I will be very careful not to be seen.”

  It was just beginning to dawn on her how onerous this task was shaping up to be. It hadn’t fully occurred to her that she wouldn’t be able to step foot out the door until the situation with the unfortunate infant was resolved. Justine had no illusions that she would ever get married, not at her age. But that didn’t mean she relished the idea of destroying her reputation. And her real uncle, the excessively proper Viscount Curtis, would be appalled to find out what she was doing. Under no circumstances could he or anyone else discover where she was.

  “And you will have no qualms about residing in a whorehouse?” Steele asked with mock politeness.

  “Ah, well, I won’t really be residing in the brothel, will I?” she asked, trying not to sound horrified.

  “You’ll be staying here, in Griffin’s house,” Dominic said firmly. “Do stop trying to frighten Miss Brightmore, Griffin. I assure you, it won’t work.”

  Justine gave her godparent a weak smile. In truth, Steele was doing a rather bang-up job of scaring her witless. It took all her discipline not to flee the house and return to the quiet obscurity of her safe, blessedly boring life in Cambridge.

  Steele let out a disbelieving snort and rose from his chair. “Lunatics, the both of you. Well, don’t blame me if everything blows up in your faces.”

  He crossed to the bell pull, giving it an impatient tug as he glanced back at Justine. “I assume you’re ready to meet your charge?”

  “Yes, that would be splendid,” she said, affecting a confident voice.

  But even though she firmly told herself that everything would be fine, Justine had a dreadful feeling that she might be hurtling toward her own doom.

  Chapter Four

  Griffin lounged in his chair, stretching his legs in front of him. To the casual observer, he must surely have looked relaxed to the point of falling asleep. If only that were true. Frustration jabbed at his nerves and buzzed in his brain, and it took all his willpower to refrain from stalking about the room and growling his frustration at Dominic for refusing to help in any meaningful way.

  Like taking the blasted baby off his hands.

  He had to admit that some of his bad temper resulted from a restless night. Not that Griffin needed much sleep, but when he did, he tended to sleep hard and well. Not so with a colicky baby in the house who wailed his poor little head off for hours. Add in Rose clomping back and forth between the kitchen and her bedroom and no one in the house had slept more than a wink. Griffin would happily stay awake all night if a beautiful, naked woman and a good bottle of cognac kept him company, but such had not been the case.

  Beneath the fatigue and frustration ran another note, one that had more to do with the prim little tabby sitting across from him, sipping her tea with genteel grace. A heightened awareness of her every move thrummed through his veins in defiance of all rational understanding. Griffin did not have a spinster fetish, nor did he care for innocent and virginal maidens. Justine Brightmore was both, and that unfortunate combination was exacerbated by the fact that she clearly disapproved of him as thoroughly as he did her.

  Not that he could blame her. After all, she was a gently bred girl who had no business coming anywhere near him or The Golden Tie. Despite his snarling denial a few minutes ago, Griffin had no desire to see the girl come to harm. Why Dominic had selected her for the job—and why Miss Brightmore had agreed—defied understanding. And yet the two of them sat calmly drinking their tea like two old ladies watching a sedate waltz at Almack’s.

  They were clearly both mad, especially Dominic for bringing his goddaughter into a situation fraught with so many perils to her reputation and safety, if Dominic’s fears about the baby were accurate.

  That tweaked every one of Griffin’s suspicious instincts. Dominic had always been careful not to expose innocents to danger or gossip, and Miss Brightmore was clearly an innocent. Dominic obviously had an endgame, but what it was had yet to reveal itself, although Griffin would bet half his fortune that it included Miss Brightmore.

  Letting his eyes narrow to half slits, he focused his attention on the girl. Despite her gruesomely ugly pelisse and even uglier bonnet, she was a fetchingly plump and wholesome little morsel, if one went in for that sort of thing. She might be all of four and twenty, but Griffin had spent years in the world of the demi-monde. He knew experience when he saw it, and he knew the lack of it, too. Miss Brightmore could protest all she liked that she was a mature woman of the world, but he knew better. True, she was Ned Brightmore’s daughter—and that had been a shock—but she was as sheltered and untried as any modestly bred girl of the ton. He’d stake the other half of his fortune on that.

  But despite that, a man would have to be blind not to notice her figure, as lush and beautifully shaped as any of the women who worked next door. It set up a strange contrast—everything about her manner and attitude screamed innocence, and yet she had the body of a young courtesan.

  If one liked one’s courtesans short, which Griffin did not. Still, it rather worked in her favor, enhancing her generous curves. Combined with what he could see of her titian-hued locks, her cornflower blue eyes, and creamy complexion with its sprinkling of freckles. Miss Brightmore had the appearance of a Dresden figurine from the previous century. The kind that looked amenable to seduction behind the nearest sheltering hedge, he couldn’t help noting. She enticed him a great deal more than she should, especially since she would be residing in his house.

  But tempting or not, Miss Brightmore was the last sort of woman he could have anything to do with. Griffin had no desire to marry or engage in a romantic relationship of any kind, especially now with his long-sought plan to leave England so close to fruition.

  Fortunately, whatever temptation Miss Brightmore’s face and body might pose was offset by the fact that she regarded him with suspicion. In fact, he suspected she’d taken an active dislike to him, and she certainly didn’t trust him. The tens
e set of her shoulders and the way she perched on the edge of her seat—like she was ready to bolt—told him that. But she was safe enough with him, and Dominic clearly knew that. Griffin protected all those under his care, and Miss Brightmore was now, unfortunately for both of them, under his protection.

  She set down her cup and fixed her gaze on him, her blue eyes guarded and wary. Still, she tried for a polite smile. “Mr. Steele, are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of tea? It would seem that it’s taking rather a long time to fetch the baby.”

  He studied her earnest expression, and then gave in to the temptation to ruffle her. “That’s because Phelps had to fetch Rose from next door. Who knows if she’s even dressed at this time of the day?”

  Rose had, in fact, slept in, and he couldn’t blame her for that. She’d only risen a short time ago and had gone over to the brothel to fetch some of her things, leaving the sleepy baby under the watchful eye of one of the other girls.

  Miss Brightmore pursed her lips into an enticing little pucker. Until that moment, Griffin hadn’t noticed how pink and lush they actually were.

  “Who is Rose?” she asked.

  “Oh, she’s one of the whores,” Griffin replied with a careless wave of the hand. “She’s been nursing the baby until other arrangements can be made.”

  Dominic muttered something unflattering under his breath, but held his fire. Griffin glanced over to see him regarding Miss Brightmore with an expression of calm expectancy.

  Miss Brightmore’s face went blank. “The baby is at the brothel. With one of the women.”

  Griffin slowly sat up and leaned forward to catch her gaze. “Who else would be taking care of him? Rose is in the process of weaning her own child, and graciously offered to play wet nurse to our unexpected guest.” He let a note of sarcasm enter his voice. “Surely you realize that whores do fall pregnant, despite the best precautions.”

  Miss Brightmore’s cheeks flushed almost as pink as her mouth. It made her look even younger and rather more enchanting than Griffin expected, since blushing maidens usually bored him out of his skull.

  But then he caught the expression in her eyes, blazing with a cold blue flame that would have chilled him were they not so clearly full of heat.

  “I know prostitutes fall pregnant, Mr. Steele. Despite what you might think, I am not an idiot.”

  “Then you object to the fact that one of my girls is nursing him? Do you think her milk will contaminate the baby with moral decay?”

  The question, meant to be teasing, came out more harshly than he intended. But something about the conversation struck a distant chord in his memory, one that carried the tone of his uncle’s harsh recriminations against Griffin’s mother. Ruthlessly, he squashed it down, as he so often did with those echoes from his past.

  Miss Brightmore stared at him, then shook her head as she closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them, they conveyed the clear message she found him deficient in both intellect and character. “Of course I don’t object to one of your women nursing the child. It was most kind of her to take on the burden on such short notice, particularly since she is in the process of weaning her own child.”

  Griffin scowled at her. “Then what is your objection, Miss Brightmore?”

  “I understood that this child is in danger. Surely you should be keeping him here, close to you,” she said, sounding indignant. “Not next door, where any sort of person can come and go without notice.”

  Griffin’s irritation spiked. Of course he’d kept the baby close at hand, but he could hardly defend himself against her charge since he’d just suggested otherwise. He’d wanted to get a rise out of Miss Prim and Proper, poke through her starched-up façade. Well, he’d done it, but not in the way he’d expected.

  “I’m sure the baby is safe,” Dominic said. “There’s no need to worry, is there, Griffin? And I rather suspect the baby spent the night in this very house, and not next door.” He finished with a bland smile that wouldn’t fool anyone.

  “I don’t need you defending me,” Griffin snapped. “And I can assure you, Miss Brightmore, nothing goes on in any of my establishments without my full awareness. Once the child crossed my threshold, he ceased to be in any danger.”

  She crossed her arms under her breasts, plumping them up. If Griffin hadn’t been so bloody annoyed, he would have taken a few moments to enjoy the sight of them straining against her bodice. As it was, he was too busy feeding his anger at her thinly veiled accusation that he didn’t know his own business, or how to keep his people safe.

  “You must permit me to have my doubts, Mr. Steele,” she said in a haughty voice that made him itch to pull her across his knee and paddle her round bottom. Unfortunately, once that image planted itself in his brain, he had to admit that subjecting Miss Brightmore to a little discipline might be an exceedingly pleasurable experience for the both of them.

  She carried on with her disapproving lecture, completely unaware of the salacious turn of his thoughts. “A brothel hardly seems the appropriate place to hide a child at risk of discovery.” She pointed her index finger straight up in the air like some bloody schoolmaster. “And you surely put your girls in danger, too. I’m surprised, Mr. Steele. Uncle Dominic led me to believe that, despite all appearances, you are a most careful man, but I have yet to see evidence of that.”

  Fury warred with disbelief, pulling Griffin to his feet. Almost without thinking, he let the contours of his face slide into his deadliest glare, the one that had caused more than one man to piss himself. Miss Brightmore, however, simply curled her full upper lip, staring up at him with disdain.

  Despite his outrage, something deep inside him registered a reluctant admiration at her fearless attitude. Although it was likely that Miss Brightmore did not realize what he was truly capable of, she knew enough. Yet she still had the courage to stand up to him.

  “Now, children,” Dominic said in a dry voice, “there’s no need to fight. Justine, I’m sure everything is under control. Griffin, I take it you’ve made all the necessary precautions?”

  “Christ,” Griffin replied in disbelieving tones. “Do you really need to ask?”

  “Mr. Steele, I’ll thank you to watch your language in my presence,” Miss Brightmore said with offended dignity.

  She rendered him speechless. Fortunately, he was spared the need of a reply—which she would surely dislike—by the hurried entrance of Rose with the baby. The fact that he was happy to see them illustrated how far Miss Brightmore had pushed him.

  Rose clutched the baby to her breast. “Sorry to be so late, dearie,” she said to Griffin. “Between this little one and my own Sammy, I’ve been at sixes and sevens since I woke up.” She let out a hearty laugh. “I’m feeling a bit like a bleedin’ heifer, and that’s the truth.”

  Normally, the ringing tones of Rose’s voice would have had Griffin wincing. Instead, he couldn’t help relishing the stunned expression on Miss Brightmore’s refined features as she took in the glory that was Rose Crenshaw. He was perfectly willing to admit it was petty of him, but he’d never pretended to be a saint.

  Rose was a tall young woman with luxurious chestnut hair and a flawlessly proportioned body built along generous lines. That body was currently encased in a bright yellow, low-bodiced day dress that left little to the imagination. Although not as beautiful as some of the other girls at The Golden Tie, Rose had an open face and an engaging smile that signaled a genuine enjoyment of life. And, unlike most other girls who toiled in brothels out of necessity, Rose genuinely enjoyed her work. Griffin had done what he could to ameliorate the more unpleasant aspects of the job, but he’d rarely met a whore who wouldn’t prefer another line of work or, better yet, a kind man with a decent job willing to marry her. But Rose was the happy exception to the rule. She had a man who loved her despite her profession—he worked in one of the gaming houses Griffin had just sold—and she liked the ready blunt she earned on her back.

  She also radiated a heady sexuality ev
ident to any man without one foot in a grave. That, combined with her cheerful nature, accounted for her popularity at The Golden Tie. Absent for some months after the birth of her son, Rose was now chafing to get back to work. And Griffin’s clients were certainly chafing for her return. But if she were forced to play wet nurse to the baby, that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.

  He waved the young woman forward. “Join us, Rose. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  As he turned back, he caught Dominic’s gaze. Griffin had to suppress a grin when the older man rolled his eyes at him.

  “Miss Brightmore,” Griffin said, sardonically polite, “may I present Miss Rose Crenshaw, who has been acting as wet nurse for the infant. Rose, this is Miss Brightmore, who will serve as nanny for little Stephen.”

  But Miss Prim and Proper surprised him again when she rose to her feet with a kind and welcoming smile on her lips. “Miss Crenshaw, it is my pleasure. I do hope the baby has not taxed you too greatly.”

  Rose deftly transferred the blessedly sleeping baby to one arm and flapped her hand at Miss Brightmore. “Lord, dearie, you can call me Rose. Nobody calls me Miss Crenshaw, not even the silliest Johnny Raws who come to me for their first time. Although I suppose it might be fun if I had all the men call me that from now on, especially those high and mighty gents and lords.”

  When she let out another peal of laughter, this time Griffin did wince, more from a healthy fear that she would wake the baby. After last night, he’d decided there was little else in life more terrifying than a colicky baby.

  Fortunately, Dominic again stepped into the breach. “Rose, how nice to see you,” he said. “You’re looking exceedingly well, as always.”

  “As are you, Sir Dominic,” she said, giving him a suggestive wink. “As always.”

  Miss Brightmore made a slight, choking sound as she stared at Dominic with a look of fascinated horror. Griffin couldn’t blame her. Although he knew for a fact that Dominic didn’t consort with lightskirts, his godchild obviously had no way of knowing that. Griffin felt certain that today was proving to be quite an education for her. And if she still intended to take on the task of caring for the baby, this was only the beginning.