Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom Page 6

  “And how is your son?” Dominic said in a valiant effort to turn the conversation into more sedate channels.

  Rose’s eyes gleamed with pride. “Sammy’s growing into a right big boy, sir, and that’s a fact. My man, Bill, as you’ll remember, is as proud as anything, too.”

  At Griffin’s urging, Rose took a seat next to Miss Brightmore, who kindly prepared a cup of tea for Rose while they all chatted for a few minutes about babies in general and Sammy in particular. It was a surprisingly domestic if bizarre scene and Griffin had to give Miss Brightmore credit for treating Rose as an equal rather than as an object of contempt. But since domestic scenes bored him, he quickly turned the discussion to the matter at hand.

  “Rose, it would appear that the baby will be staying here for a little while longer. I realize that you wish to return to work now that your son is close to being weaned, but this baby might still require your attention. Is that correct?”

  The woman grimaced. “Right you are, Mr. Griffin. By my reckoning, he’s a little under five months old, although he’s a mite small, poor wee fellow. He’s ready to take some pap from a spoon or a pap boat, and that’ll help, but I’m thinking he won’t be ready for weaning for another month.”

  Miss Brightmore, who had carefully pulled back the blanket to gaze at the baby’s face, glanced up at Rose with a concerned expression. “You believe he’s small for his age? Is he ill, do you think?”

  Rose gave her a reassuring smile. “No, love. He latched on to me like a regular trooper the first time out, and he’s got a good appetite for sure. Now, I won’t say he’s not got a touch of the colick—”

  “Don’t remind me,” Griffin muttered.

  “—but he’ll grow out of that soon enough,” Rose said. “Some babies are just on the small side, and I fancy he’s one of them.”

  “We’re most grateful for your help, Rose,” Dominic said in a serious voice. “You’ll be amply compensated, of course.”

  Rose threw him a cheeky grin. “I never doubted it for a minute, love.”

  When she waggled her eyebrows at Dominic, Griffin barely managed to stifle a groan. Even Dominic was starting to look a little strained around the eyes. Rose was a good-hearted woman and could be trusted to keep a weather eye on the baby, but she could try a man’s patience.

  “Yes, well,” said Griffin, “we would be grateful if you could remain in the house for as long as necessary, Rose. Sammy can stay with you, or course, and Miss Brightmore will be responsible for the infant other than feeding him. She can stay in the bedroom next to yours so she can help you during the night. The rest of the staff will assist as needed, but the baby’s well-being will primarily fall on Miss Brightmore. Perhaps she can see to the rest of the necessary arrangements, whatever they might be.”

  He fastened a sardonic gaze on Miss Prim and Proper, expecting her to bristle at his imperious tone. She, however, seemed to be completely taken with the baby, letting her hand rest lightly on his bundled form as she gazed into the little mite’s face.

  “Miss Brightmore,” Griffin said in a pointed voice, “did you hear me? Are these arrangements acceptable to you?”

  “What?” she asked in a distracted voice. She threw him a quick glance, barely seeming to register his presence.

  That rather annoyed Griffin. He didn’t much like being upstaged by an infant, as ridiculous as it was to even think that way. “I asked if the arrangements I just outlined were acceptable to you.”

  “Oh, yes. Whatever you say.” She transferred her attention back to the baby. “Would you mind if I held him?” she asked Rose in a shy voice.

  “Not at all, dearie,” Rose replied. “He’s a sweet one, and that’s a fact, but I won’t deny that I could use a bit of a rest. Two babies at a time is wearing me down a lot more than a night on my back at The Golden Tie. At least there I can get the gents to do some of the work, if you take my meaning,” she finished with a wink.

  “Oh, quite,” Miss Brightmore managed in response to that bon mot. She took a deep breath and carefully accepted the swaddled bundle from Rose.

  “There you go,” Rose said with approval. “Looks like you’re bang-up to the mark.”

  Miss Brightmore gave the other woman a lovely and open smile, one that made Griffin wish he was on the receiving end of it.

  “Thank you, Rose,” she said. “I’ve always liked babies. When I was a girl, my aunt would allow me to help with my younger cousins when they were still in the nursery.”

  Her soft, wistful tone tugged at something in the center of Griffin’s chest. Her pretty features had gone soft, too, and her blue eyes shimmered like a clear pond on a summer’s day.

  Griffin had to resist the impulse to rub the tight place over his heart where his tattoo had been inked into his skin. Looking at the fetching Miss Brightmore rocking the baby, crooning sweet nothings to him under her breath, made Griffin yearn for things he’d never had—things he thought he’d long ago given up wishing for. It was a muddle of inconvenient emotions and sensations he didn’t appreciate one damn bit.

  He stood abruptly, inadvertently knocking his chair back a few inches. “Excuse me, but I have pressing business. Miss Brightmore, Rose will get you settled in your room and introduce you to the rest of my staff. I’ll instruct Phelps to supply whatever you need to take care of the infant.”

  Ignoring Dominic’s scowl and the startled expressions on the faces of the women, he strode from the room.

  Chapter Five

  After a quick knock on the connecting doors, Rose stuck her head into Justine’s bedroom. “Mr. Griffin wants you in the drawing room, love. He said to give me the baby and come down as soon as you can.”

  Ignoring the little jolt to her stomach at the very mention of her host’s name, Justine looked up from the letter she was writing to her brother, Matthew. “Did he say why?”

  In the three days since she’d moved into Griffin Steele’s house, she’d done everything she could to avoid him. For some reason that defied analysis, the man made her unaccountably nervous. Any rational person would surmise it was because he made his living off the wages of sin, but Justine didn’t think that was entirely the case. One could not have a spy for a father without encountering those who led unsavory lives. It was a hazard of the profession.

  She would be lying, however, if she claimed it didn’t bother her that he owned a brothel. How could it not? Prostitution was a horrible profession by any measure, and she hated that any woman had to earn a living by peddling her body. But Rose was sweet if rather outrageous, and Mrs. Reeves and the other girls Justine had met had been nothing but kind. They didn’t seem the least bit downtrodden, either. Still, the activities next door made her shudder, so she did her best not to think about them at all.

  Fortunately, adorable little Stephen fully occupied her attention.

  Rose wandered over to check on the baby, sleeping in the middle of Justine’s large bed. “He just said to hurry down and that I was to stay with the baby.” She gave an exaggerated roll of the eyes. “Best not keep him waiting, love. Never a good thing to get on Mr. Griffin’s bad side.”

  Justine was folding up her unfinished letter, but at Rose’s words she shot her a quick glance. “Does he have a violent temper?” A horrible thought congealed inside her like a lump of ice. “He’s never hit you or any of the other girls, has he?” Though she had not thought it of him, why should she make that assumption? She knew nothing of the man.

  Rose snorted as she eased down on the bed next to the baby. “Not him, love. The only time I’ve ever seen him take fists to anyone is when someone tried to hurt one of the girls. Mr. Griffin’s thrashed more than one cove for treating us badly. He’s not as big as the footmen at The Golden Tie, but he’s strong and quick as lightning. He’d rather kill a man than see any of us hurt,” she finished in a proud voice.

  “Oh, that’s good,” Justine replied, not quite sure how she felt about that. It heartened her to hear that he cared so greatly about his
employees, but she couldn’t feel comfortable with such violent tendencies.

  “Mr. Griffin’s not the sort to fly off the handle. That’s not his style,” Rose said, clearly enjoying a little gossip.

  “Then what did you mean by not getting on his bad side?” Justine asked as she smoothed down her skirts and checked to make sure her cap was straight.

  “If he’s mad, he gets all cold like. He never yells, but his voice goes all hard and the look in his eyes . . .” Rose gave a dramatic shiver, as if she were reciting a thrilling ghost story. “Well, let’s just say it’s like to freeze a body right to her bones. And if you really gets him mad, then bad things can happen. Things you don’t want to hear about.”

  Justine almost shivered, too. “What sort of things?” she whispered, unable to keep from asking.

  Rose scrunched up her face in a comical grimace. Justine would have been tempted to laugh if the subject wasn’t so unsettling.

  “Lord, miss. I don’t rightly know. Mr. Griffin takes care of his people, so I can’t say as I’ve ever seen anything particularly horrible. But I’ve heard rumors.” She solemnly tapped her nose.

  Justine conducted a short debate with herself, trying to decide if she actually wanted details of those rumors.

  Fortunately, Rose abruptly switched the topic. “Miss Justine, it’s beyond me why you wear those fusty old caps, and you with that beautiful hair. I’ll wager you’re not three and twenty, so there’s no cause to look like an old tabby.”

  Justine fetched the wool shawl draped at the foot of her bed, wrapping it around her shoulders. “I’m almost twenty-five, Rose, and quite firmly in the spinster category. Besides, my hair isn’t beautiful. It’s red.”

  She couldn’t keep distaste from creeping into her voice. Her hair, although thankfully a bit darker now, had been the bane of her youth, prompting merciless rounds of teasing from her cousins and even her brother. Aunt Elizabeth, the woman who had raised her and Matthew after Mamma’s death, had always insisted that Justine’s tresses reminded her of the Celtic princesses of old, and that she should consider them her crowning glory. Though Justine loved her dearly, her aunt had always been prone to flights of fancy, like imagining her niece as a descendant of ancient royalty.

  “There’s many a man that has a fancy for hair like yours,” Rose said. “It makes them curious about other things, if you take my meaning.”

  Justine didn’t, but that wasn’t surprising. She didn’t understand half the things Rose said, which showed how boring and sedate her life had been for the last few years.

  Thank God.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she told Rose. “Don’t hesitate to come get me if the baby starts to fuss or Sammy wakes up from his nap.”

  She hurried out to the staircase. As always, she was struck by the rich appointments of Mr. Steele’s house, even in an upper hallway. The walls were painted in deep shades of red, and a plush pink and gold carpet runner cushioned her footfalls. Three narrow tables lined the hall, each with a lamp or branch of candles. No stinting on candles or oil for Griffin Steele. He liked his house brightly lit, and luxurious to the point of decadence. Justine was not averse to creature comforts by any means, but these struck her as excessive, particularly since her host was a disciplined man who, according to the hints dropped by the servants, had fewer vices than the average man of the ton.

  Justine glanced at the door to his bedroom as she walked by. Her first night under his roof had found her unnerved by the fact that he slept mere feet away from her. She’d never been alone with any unmarried man—not without a relative or proper chaperone somewhere in the immediate vicinity. Such was not the case in Steele’s town house. Only three adults slept on this floor—Steele, Justine, and Rose. And by no stretch of the imagination could Rose be thought of as a chaperone.

  But after a restless first night when she’d jerked awake at every random sound or footfall, her nerves had finally given way to rational thought. There was no earthly reason Steele would have any interest in her, not with a brothel full of willing women next door. And that they were willing was beyond doubt, since Rose had explained in graphic terms just how attractive the women found him.

  Besides, she’d hardly seen the man since moving in. He generally locked himself away in his office or worked next door, not returning home until the early hours of the morning and well past the time Justine retired to her bed. As for the infrequent times their paths did cross, he either muttered a distracted greeting or seemed to regard her with amused disdain. She much preferred the former, since the latter never failed to bring a resentful flush to her cheeks.

  She descended the stairs and paused outside the drawing room, checking her cap one last time. Then, taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped into the room.

  Steele and Dominic glanced up from their discussion and rose as one from their armchairs by the fire. Justine’s godfather, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a penetrating gaze, commanded respect just by his very presence. A man like Steele, some inches shorter and lean rather than bulky, should have faded in his company.

  But the opposite was true. Steele came to his feet with a lithe, masculine grace that spoke of quietly controlled power. That sense of power, combined with his darkly ruthless gaze, would signal to even the most careless or insouciant observer that she ignored Griffin Steele at her peril. Since Justine was neither careless nor insouciant, she would never ignore him, but would do her best to keep him at a healthy distance.

  “Ah, Justine, how nice to see you,” Dominic said with a warm smile. “How are you faring with your new charge?” He cast a meaningful glance in Steele’s direction. “I trust everyone is treating you well.”

  She bobbed a slight curtsy before sitting down on the elegant Etruscan daybed across from their chairs. The two men resumed their seats, Steele lounging in his with a languid sprawl of long, muscular legs. Justine’s gaze unconsciously lingered on those legs just a few seconds before she jerked herself back to attention.

  “Yes,” she assured him. “Mr. Steele and his staff have seen to all of my needs. I have no complaints.” She hesitated, then gave a slight grimace. “Well, I must admit to feeling rather cooped up. I’m not used to being housebound for any stretch of time, though I do understand the need for it.”

  Steele narrowed his eyes on her. “A good thing, too. You wouldn’t want anyone to see you wearing that ugly thing on your head.”

  Justine blinked at his rude response. Now that she thought about it, on the occasions she’d run into him, he’d sometimes inspected her with a perplexed, almost disapproving stare.

  “You dislike caps, Mr. Steele? Do they, perhaps, strike you as inappropriate attire for your household?” she asked, hoping to embarrass him.

  “I dislike ugly ones,” he replied. “Especially on young women who have no business wearing them. It makes you look like an ape leader.”

  She bit back the impulse to snap. “Since I am an ape leader, I have every business wearing one. Not that it’s any of your business,” she finished, giving in to temptation.

  “My dear, you are nothing of the sort,” Dominic interjected. “Come to think of it, I don’t remember you wearing a cap the last time I saw you. I must say I agree with Griffin on this. You’re much too young to be wearing so dowdy a fashion.”

  Justine felt her face flush, which she knew from experience clashed abominably with her hair.

  “I hardly think you asked to see me to critique my wardrobe, Uncle Dominic—”

  “Thank God for that,” murmured Steele.

  Justine ignored the desire to pull off the offending cap and whack her host across his arrogant nose with it. “What did you wish to see me about, Uncle Dominic?”

  Her godparent leaned over and patted her hands. Only then did Justine realize she was clenching them in her lap.

  “I do wish to discuss a few things with you,” he replied. “But first tell me how you and the baby go on.”

  Justine smil
ed. “I must admit that he’s a complete love. He’s a sweet boy, and gives me very little trouble.”

  “Really? Is that why he’s been keeping us awake at night with his caterwauling?” Steele asked.

  “I’m not sure how you would even know that, since it’s almost morning by the time you come upstairs,” Justine retorted. “I’m quite sure the baby doesn’t keep you awake at all.”

  His dark brows lifted with amusement. “And how do you know what time I come to bed, Miss Brightmore? Have you been keeping track of my movements? I confess I’m intrigued by your curiosity.”

  Justine gasped at his outrageous implication, but before she could respond, Steele cut a sardonic glance in Dominic’s direction. “I suppose you have her spying on me, don’t you? You never could keep your nose out of my business.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Dominic said before returning his attention to Justine. “Is the baby proving difficult, my dear? Do you need more help? I will look about for a nurse who can be trusted, if that’s the case.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Justine said, unaccountably annoyed. She rarely lost her temper and never with her godparent, but Steele had a knack for putting her on edge. She hated to think what she’d be like if she had to spend any appreciable amount of time with him.

  She took a deep, restorative breath, and smiled. “I will admit that Mr. Steele is not entirely wrong. Stephen has been colicky, but I’ve been bathing him with lavender water and giving him small doses of chamomile tea. As a result, he was much better last night. Rose has been very helpful, too. I assure you, sir, we have everything under control.”

  “I knew I could depend on you,” Dominic said. “I hope you realize how grateful I am for your assistance.”

  His praise warmed her. Papa had once commented that nothing seemed to make her happier than being useful, and Justine supposed it was true. After all, if one couldn’t be of use to the people one loved, what was the point of life?