Griffin’s dark eyes flickered with a dangerous light, giving lie to her previous comment. “Justine, that is a—”
When the baby interrupted him by startling in her arms, Justine glared at her husband. “Shush,” she hissed. “Just let me get him to sleep, and then we can talk.”
He subsided with a mutter, clearly both unhappy and not intending to leave. Justine sighed, forcing herself to ignore the irate, glowering male who radiated waves of aggrieved, frustrated power while she concentrated on rocking the baby to sleep.
During the interlude, a fragile peace settled over the room. Griffin leaned against the wall, silent and still, watching Justine and the baby with a thoughtful expression on his handsome features. In that moment, she could almost believe they were a family, bound together by true bonds of affection and not reluctant expediency. But that would never be the case, and this would probably be one of the last times she ever rocked Stephen to sleep in her arms, her husband close by to offer both protection and security.
She must have let her emotions show on her face because Griffin suddenly pushed away from the wall.
“Justine, my love,” he started.
She shook her head. “He’s asleep. Let me put him in his cradle.”
With her heart cracking in two, she lowered Stephen into his cradle and gently tucked the soft woolen blanket around him. Tears filled her eyes, blurring the sight of his adorable round face.
Griffin’s hands settled on her shoulders. “Come, sweetheart,” he murmured. “We can talk in your bedroom.”
She was too exhausted and disheartened to resist as he steered her into the other room. But when he turned to close the door behind them, she broke away and went to stand by her dressing table, determined to put space between them.
Griffin’s eyebrows arched with a hint of disapproval but he didn’t follow. “Justine, I know you’re disappointed.”
She couldn’t hold back a soft hoot of mocking laughter. “Disappointed? I’m furious, and terrified at what’s going to happen to that innocent child. Do you really believe that man, the count, has his best interests at heart? Are you going to tell me you believed that canard about him having nothing to do with breaking into your house? Truly, Griffin, I would never have taken you for a fool, but it would appear I was wrong.”
The banked emotion in his eyes blazed into anger even as his features turned as unrelenting as stone. Justine swallowed, acknowledging that she might have pushed things a little too far. But Griffin remained where he was, even though she suspected he wanted to give her a sound shaking.
“Forgive me for not pulling out a pistol and shooting the man in the head, my wife,” he said in a grating voice. “I realize you have no such inhibitions, but despite my reputation I still have a healthy respect for the law. More so than you, obviously.”
Then his frustration broke through and he swiped his hands back through his hair, pulling most of it free from its leather band. “Christ, Justine. Of course I think the man’s a liar, and I like the situation as little as you do. Nor do I enjoy feeling powerless under my own roof. But if Dominic says there’s nothing we can do about it, at least for now, then there isn’t. And you know that, too.”
Despair threatening to pull her under, Justine sank onto the chair in front of her dressing table. “I’ve never seen Uncle Dominic give up so easily. It’s simply bewildering.”
Griffin slowly crossed the room and stood before her, his hands behind his back as he stared at the carpet. “I don’t think he gave up easily. I suspect he had no choice, and that goes very much against the grain for him.”
“It didn’t seem like it to me,” she retorted, still too hurt to concede.
“He would not wish to reveal the depth of his frustration before a member of a foreign government. Dominic has his pride too, you know.”
“Pride should have nothing to do with it, for him or for you.”
That brought his gaze up. “What are you talking about?”
She had to force the words past the pain in her throat. “I know you didn’t ask for any of this, but I thought we were getting to . . . to reach some sort of accommodation.”
“We were. We are,” he said with a puzzled frown.
“Yet you made no effort to support my offer to keep Stephen. To take him into our household. Why not?”
He pressed his lips into a grim line, as if he didn’t want to answer. What little hope Justine had been cherishing in her breast died in that moment, along with her childish dream that she might have a real life with Griffin.
“Never mind,” she said, turning from him to stare blankly into the mirror. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter,” he said.
His hands gripped her shoulders and he gently but inexorably forced her to turn in her seat and face him. He crouched down before her, placing his hands on the low arms of her chair, caging her in. Her jumbled emotions seemed to drive against her heart, making it thump painfully against her breastbone.
“Justine, I understand how attached you’ve become to Stephen, and I honor that attachment,” he said. “But he has a father who apparently wishes to take responsibility for him. No matter what reservations we might harbor about the duke’s prior actions and his bungling of the situation, who are we to deny the man the opportunity to do right by his son?”
She stared at him, taking in the gravity of his expression and the utter sincerity of his gaze. That Griffin harbored misgivings she had no doubt, but she now understood why he hadn’t put up a fight. His parents had callously betrayed him under similar circumstances, so she could no longer wonder why he would be sympathetic to the duke’s plea.
If she believed that plea to be sincere, she would be sympathetic, too. But her instincts were screaming at her that something was terribly wrong. If there was one thing she’d learned over the years, thanks to her father’s tutelage, it was to never ignore one’s instincts. Even in the most dangerous situations, they could save one’s life.
Or a child’s life.
Justine reached out a hand to skim Griffin’s cheek. He nuzzled into it, his bristled chin brushing against the tender skin of her wrist. It made her shiver.
“I understand why you feel that way,” she said. “And I would agree if I truly believed the duke and Count Marzano were sincere. But they’re not. I’m sure of it. And . . .” She hesitated, not wanting to offend him, but it had to be said. “And I think your own experiences and emotions are preventing you from seeing that clearly.”
He pulled back from her hand. “This has nothing to do with me, Justine,” he said in a hard voice. “I would feel the same if Stephen’s parents were coal miners instead of royalty. The father has the right and the responsibility to take care of his son.”
“But—”
He came to his feet in a swift, graceful movement. “No, Justine, there’s no point in arguing about this anymore. Dominic has made it clear we don’t have a choice, and we just have to accept that.”
She jumped up, glaring at him. “Well, I don’t accept it and I don’t believe you do, either. There’s something wrong with this situation and you know it.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “And Dominic has promised to do whatever he can to resolve any questions we might have. I’m sure he’ll check on the child as best he can and make sure he’s safe.”
“Don’t you see?” she exclaimed, barely able to keep from shaking him. “It might be too late by then. They’ll be leaving England by the end of the week, and then what could Dominic possibly do? Anything could happen to Stephen!”
She had to turn away. A thousand horrible possibilities swarmed through her brain, overwhelming her, breaking her down.
“Sweetheart, please don’t do this,” Griffin said with a sigh, coming up behind her. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”
When he tried to grasp her waist, she whirled around, pushing him away.
“It won’t be fine,” she snapped. “Nothing will ever be fine
again.” And before he could say another word, she fled to the baby’s room.
Her husband didn’t follow.
In Green Park, Justine strode along the path, shivering inside her heavy wool pelisse. It was a blustery February morning, too cold and too early for any but the hardiest of souls to be doing anything more than cutting through the park on the way to somewhere else. That was a bit of good luck, since she’d already paced this same path three times. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention.
She had to resist the impulse to again check the pocket watch she’d stowed in her reticule. It was lacking a few minutes until ten o’clock and still her mysterious correspondent hadn’t appeared. The instructions in the letter she’d received by the Twopenny Post this morning had been explicit—be on this particular path by nine forty-five. The brief missive had warned that Stephen’s life was in danger, and that the correspondent was a friend who wished to help. Justine was certain the friend had to be the veiled woman who’d left the baby on Griffin’s doorstep.
Her steps slowed as her husband’s image intruded on her thoughts. She hadn’t seen him since yesterday when she’d left him standing in her bedroom after their argument. Although on some logical level Justine could understand Griffin’s position, she knew his instincts regarding the baby’s danger matched hers. But he was determined to ignore those instincts, just as Dominic ignored his. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t hold back a profound sense of betrayal. The two men she trusted most had refused to listen to her, and had placed an innocent child at risk.
Griffin’s actions cut even deeper than Dominic’s. Not only had he rejected her plea to help Stephen, he’d rejected her, too. He hadn’t sought her out to apologize, either last night or this morning. She could almost forgive that, putting it down to his stubborn male pride, but she couldn’t forgive that he refused to listen to her when it came to the baby’s welfare. His decision had left her numb, and wondering what it said about their future together.
She was very much afraid they no longer had one.
Justine stopped and took a deep, steadying breath. For now, nothing mattered but the baby, and she could only pray that her mysterious correspondent could give her the help she needed.
She was about to check her watch again when a slender woman, dressed simply but elegantly in a dark green pelisse, turned into the path and hurried toward her. Her gaze fastened directly on Justine and never wavered.
Justine stood quietly, carefully observing the woman as she came up to her. Topping Justine by several inches, she had a slender, elegant figure and a graceful stride. She moved with purpose and economy. Her clothes were well made but lacking in embellishment and her auburn hair was pulled back in a simple coiffure and covered by a neat, rather than fashionable, hat. She would draw little notice in a crowd, Justine had thought, until the woman stood before her.
She was beautiful in a gentle, almost melancholic way, her pale, fine-boned features perhaps a trifle too thin, but blessed with a smooth, perfect complexion. But it was her extraordinary eyes that drew one’s attention—large, thickly lashed, and the color of fine sherry. Those eyes seemed to look right through Justine to her very soul, as if the woman had seen terrible sorrows and had survived by willpower alone. There was an impression of strength, but one so subtle that most would fail to notice it. Justine suspected the woman preferred it that way.
She appeared to be in her midthirties or perhaps slightly older.
“Mrs. Steele, thank you for meeting me,” she said. “Please forgive me for making you wait.”
Justine blinked at the extraordinarily rich and slightly husky tone to her voice. If she were a man, she would have immediately fallen under the woman’s spell for no other reason than her voice. It was both beautiful and weary, as if there was nothing she didn’t know about the world.
When Justine remained silent, the woman tilted her head and inspected her with a quietly amused glint in her gaze. There was something so familiar about the look that Justine felt prickles rise on the nape of her neck.
“Shall we walk, Mrs. Steele?” She cast a furtive glance around. “It wouldn’t be wise to be remarked upon.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Do forgive me. Which way shall we walk, do you think?” She winced at her babble, but the woman was too polite to notice.
“Away from Piccadilly.” She turned, heading in the direction she’d come, and Justine hurried to catch up with her. After a few strides, the woman glanced over and slowed her pace.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I’m told I’m always in a bustle. It makes me a less than ideal walking companion.”
“You are quite a bit taller than most women, so that probably explains it.”
The woman flashed a smile, and again Justine had an eerie sense of familiarity.
“True, but since neither of us is here for a leisurely stroll in the park, I suggest we discuss the real reason. That would be the baby’s safety.”
Justine nodded. “You’re the woman who left him on our doorstep, aren’t you?”
“Yes. The child’s life was in danger and I could no longer keep him safe. It was necessary that I leave him where he would be protected, someplace where Marzano wouldn’t think to look.” She let out a disgusted little snort. “Obviously, I wasn’t careful enough, but I was under a great deal of pressure at the time. My preparations were unfortunately rushed.”
Justine eyed her clothes. They were plain but expensive and well-made. “Did the count hire you to look after the baby?”
“Is that what he told you? That I was a nurse who made off with the baby?”
“Essentially, yes.”
The woman let out a brief, humorous laugh. “And did he say what would be my purpose in doing so?”
“Possibly blackmail, but more likely that you were not in your right mind.”
She glanced at Justine, her fine eyebrows lifting. “Do you believe that?”
Justine slowed to a halt, forcing the other woman to do the same. When Justine peered into her face, a slight smile curved up the woman’s lips. But she remained quiet and still, letting Justine look her fill.
“No, I don’t,” Justine finally said. “I think you want to protect Stephen.”
The woman gave her an approving smile. “I do.”
“So, you never worked for the count or the duke.”
“Certainly not,” the woman replied as she began walking. “I knew the child’s mother. I took her in when her parents abandoned her.”
“Then the duke never had any intention of taking care of the mother or child?”
She hesitated. “He did his best, but the circumstances were difficult. Eventually he and Sophia were able to live together.”
Justine frowned. “I thought he’d grown tired of her. You mean he set up an establishment with her?”
“I mean they were married,” the woman said.
Justine stumbled to a halt. “What?”
The woman paced ahead several steps before she noticed. She came back, took Justine’s arm, and hurried her along. “Yes, I was certain Count Marzano left out that pertinent fact.”
Justine shook her head, bewildered. “I don’t understand. Why would the duke abandon his own son? It makes no sense.”
“I believe he truly didn’t want to, but he was talked into it. Marco is a mild-mannered, retiring young man with an abhorrence of conflict, especially with his mother, the duchess. That was unfortunate, in this particular situation.”
“But the count said the duchess didn’t know about the baby.”
“She knew,” the woman said grimly. “And she was determined to eliminate any evidence of either the marriage or Stephen.”
“But why—”
The woman cut her off with an impatient chop of her gloved hand. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have time for this. I’ll explain everything later, but it’s imperative that we get Stephen out of London first.” She stopped and cast a quick glance around. “I understand you have no reason
to trust me, but I must ask you to do just that. Obviously, you harbor suspicions about Count Marzano’s motives, or else you wouldn’t have met me like this, alone as I asked you to.”
Justine had hated that part, slipping out of the house without telling anyone but Rose. Even then she’d lied about why, but it was necessary. “Yes, I’m deeply suspicious and I believe Stephen is still in danger.”
“Good. Now, when does the count intend to fetch the baby?”
“Tomorrow morning.” Just saying the words made Justine’s stomach cramp.
The woman let out a tight, relieved sigh. “Then we still have time.”
“What are your plans?” Justine was beginning to feel frustrated by her deliberate lack of information.
“For you to get Stephen out of the city by tonight at the latest. I will give you money and instructions on where to go, and then I will meet you as soon as I can.”
Justine shook her head. “How can I hope to do that? And do you even have proof of this marriage between Sophia and the duke?”
“Yes, I do. Irrefutable proof.”
A great weight seemed to lift from Justine’s shoulders. “If that’s the case, then we can tell my husband. He’ll help us. So will Uncle Dominic. He’s the—”
She broke off when a spasm of pain crossed the woman’s features. She’d gone so pale that Justine feared she might faint. She braced a hand under the woman’s elbow. “What’s wrong?”
“We cannot do that. Or, at least you can’t. I will do it, once you’ve taken the baby out of harm’s way. I’ll explain everything to Dominic then.”
Everything inside Justine went still. “You know him.”
A muscle twitched in the woman’s cheek. She nodded.
“Then you know he’ll help, especially if we give him proof,” Justine exclaimed. “We can go together right now.”
“That wouldn’t be wise, my dear.” The woman’s voice trembled just a bit. “My presence will be . . . a complication. The child’s safety might be compromised in the resulting confusion.”
Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom Page 32