Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom

by Vanessa Kelly

  She stared into the woman’s pale face, taking in the deep well of sorrow in her extraordinary eyes. Yet again a whisper of familiarity tugged at Justine’s senses.

  A sense of impending doom winched a tight band around her chest. “Who are you?” she whispered.

  For a moment, dread seemed to shimmer in the woman’s gaze. Then she spoke in a calm voice. “I’m Chloe Steele. Your husband’s mother.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  An unholy combination of fury and fear hazed Griffin’s vision as he pounded on Dominic’s front door. Justine and the baby were gone, but she’d left him a brief note written in a shaky hand. The final sentence had torn through him like buckshot.

  I do not know if we will ever meet again, but know that you will always have my gratitude and my fondest hopes that you will find all the happiness you so truly deserve.

  She’d signed it Justine Steele.

  Well, Mrs. Steele was about to discover that her foolhardy attempt to escape him was doomed to failure.

  His fist was in mid-pound when the door pulled open to reveal Dominic’s butler.

  “Is he in?” Griffin snapped as he pushed past Smithwell into the entrance hall.

  “He’s in his study, but he’s with someone. You should wait,” the butler said in an odd voice.

  Griffin cast him an impatient glance, vaguely noting that the normally impassive Smithwell looked as sallow as curdled milk.

  “This can’t wait.” He strode to the stairs.

  “But, sir,” Smithwell cried as he followed him, “you mustn’t barge in! Let me inform Sir Dominic you’re here.”

  Griffin took the stairs three at a time. Smithwell bleated in his wake, but Griffin had no intention of waiting for him or anyone else. As furious as he was with Justine, what drove him now was fear for her safety, and the child’s. Griffin had little doubt that Count Marzano and his henchmen were even now closing in on them.

  He pushed open the door to the study and strode in. Dominic was standing behind his desk, peering at the tall, slender woman in front of him.

  “Forgive the interruption,” Griffin said, not feeling the least bit sorry, “but this can’t wait.”

  Dominic slowly transferred his attention to Griffin. His austere features were curiously blank, and his gaze was unfocused. But what struck Griffin more than anything was how pale Dominic appeared under his normal tan, and how his forehead was sheened with a haze of perspiration. In fact, he looked on the verge of casting up his accounts.

  Griffin frowned but then mentally shrugged it off. Whatever was troubling the other man could wait. “We have a problem, Dominic. A big one.”

  Dominic let out a laugh that sounded like wheels crunching on gravel. “You have no idea.”

  The woman standing before the desk went stiff as a board, swallowing a choked exclamation as she turned around. Frowning, Griffin took a good look at her. In return, she gazed at him with a fierce intensity that almost pushed him back a step.

  She was tall—almost as tall as he was—but very slender, with handsome, elegant features. He guessed her to be in her late thirties, with thick, simply styled auburn hair that set off her pale complexion and an extraordinary pair of fawn-colored eyes.

  Those eyes were staring at him as if her life depended on it.

  A chill of premonition slithered down Griffin’s spine. “What’s going on?” he asked Dominic. “Who is this woman?”

  Dominic started to speak, but then had to stop and clear his throat. He tried again. “Griffin, she’s your mother.”

  For several long seconds, the words lacked meaning. Time and even his breathing seemed suspended as his brain struggled to comprehend.

  “Chloe Steele,” Dominic added, as if he couldn’t believe it himself.

  The sound of her name slammed through Griffin, driving hot rushes of blood through his veins. His stomach seemed to crawl up into his throat and he had to swallow several times before he could speak. “My mother is dead.”

  “No, my son,” the woman said. “I’m right here, with you.”

  Griffin closed his eyes against the words and the heartfelt emotion in her warm voice. He had no defenses against it—against this unthinkable meeting—and he stumbled back a few steps simply to put some distance between them.

  “Griffin, I realize that this is certainly a shock,” Dominic said, sounding rather alarmed. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

  The older man’s voice acted like a tonic. Griffin’s eyes snapped open and he glared at the woman who should—who did—mean nothing to him, at least not now. Until Justine was safe, nothing else mattered.

  “I don’t need to sit down,” he growled. “Nor do I have time for melodramatic family reunions. My wife, blast her, has run off and I need to find her.”

  “Yes, I know,” Dominic said. “That’s why Chloe is here.”

  Griffin felt his mouth drop open as surprise slammed through him again. His gaze snapped to his mother. “How are you involved with this? What do you know about Justine?”

  “I helped her and the baby escape,” she replied.

  It took a moment for him to absorb that. “You did what?” He took a step forward.

  “Griffin, do not lay your hands on her,” Dominic snapped in a warning voice.

  Taken aback, Griffin shot him a puzzled look. Dominic’s gaze fell pointedly to Griffin’s hands, unconsciously curled into fists.

  “For Christ’s sake, I would never hurt a woman and you know it,” Griffin said. Still, he could feel more heat creeping into his face.

  “I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Chloe said. Despite her deathly pale complexion, she faced him with calm dignity. “I have earned it.”

  Griffin pinched the space between his eyebrows. “I was wrong. This isn’t melodrama, it’s farce.”

  His mother shrugged, but one corner of her mouth quirked up with a hint of amusement.

  “Not that I don’t enjoy a good farce,” Griffin continued, “but we must find my wife. She’s in danger, so if you know where she is, you must tell me right now.”

  Chloe shook her head. “I have her safely hidden, I assure you. And I cannot tell anyone where she is as long as you insist on turning Stephen over to Count Marzano.”

  Griffin stared at her with dawning horror. “Good God, you’re the mysterious veiled woman.”

  She winced at the description. “Guilty as charged.”

  “How did you even know where to find me?” he asked, incredulous.

  She gave him a tremulous smile. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you for several years, Griffin.” When her voice caught, it sounded as if it held a lifetime of sorrow.

  His sluggish brain seemed unable to comprehend her answers. “And where have you been living all this time while you’ve been keeping an eye on me?”

  “I have a manor house just outside the City, in Camberwell. My business occasionally brought me into London. It’s never been difficult to make discreet inquiries as to your well-being.”

  Chloe kept her gaze steady but her eyes seemed to plead with him for something. Forgiveness? Could she really expect that of him after abandoning him all these years?

  “Good God,” Dominic muttered in self-disgust. “Right under my blasted nose.”

  Her attention darted to Dominic, her pale cheeks flushing pink. “I’m sorry, but it seemed the right thing to do.”

  “To let us think you were probably dead?” Griffin asked, incredulous. “How could that possibly be right?”

  When she opened her mouth to answer, he waved an impatient hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to hear it. What I do want to know is why you’ve chosen to spirit my wife away to a location you refuse to reveal.”

  “Of course,” she said. “But it’s not a simple story to tell.”

  “Imagine my surprise to hear that,” Griffin replied, torn between sarcasm and frustration.

  Dominic came around the desk to gently grasp Chloe’s arm. Griffin couldn’t help but notice how she jer
ked when he touched her, her cheeks flushing an even brighter pink.

  “Come, sit down,” Dominic said gently as he steered her to one of the wing chairs before the fireplace. “Let me ring for some—”

  “Dominic, if you ring for tea I swear I’ll kill you,” Griffin threatened. “We don’t have time for that.”

  When Dominic shot him an irate glare, Chloe held up her hand. “I don’t need any tea, and I agree that time is of the essence.”

  “Very well,” Dominic muttered. “Griffin, do stop glaring at your mother and sit down. Your rude behavior is simply wasting time.”

  His mother gave him a tentative but remarkably sweet smile. “Yes, please sit across from me, dear.”

  They calmly waited for Griffin to make a decision, as if they were simply sitting down for a cozy chat. As if his mother hadn’t just come back from the dead and completely changed his life in a heartbeat.

  “Fine,” he snapped, stalking over to the chair. “But you’re obviously both insane.”

  Dominic shook his head in disapproval and leaned against his desk, once more completely in control of the situation. Griffin hadn’t a clue how he managed it because he knew how long Dominic had been looking for Chloe. Since it had been a sacred mission for him, how he could be so calm now was a complete bloody mystery.

  “All right, Mother,” he said. “Please tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Instead of starching up at his sarcasm, she gave him possibly the most beatific smile he’d ever seen. Suddenly, he had to swallow a lump in his throat the size of a boulder.

  “Of course, my son.” She paused for a moment, as if ordering her thoughts.

  “As I mentioned, I have an establishment in Camberwell,” she started. “It’s a home of sorts for unmarried girls who have fallen pregnant and have nowhere else to go. Not a school, precisely, nor a public charity. Most girls who find their way to me have a great desire to keep their situations secret, if at all possible. Many are able to return to their former lives once I’ve found good homes for their babies. A few, of course, wish to keep them, and I try to help in those cases, too.”

  Griffin couldn’t believe it. “How unfortunate that you weren’t able to do the same for your own son.” He felt like he might choke to death on the irony of it.

  Chloe peered at him earnestly. “Griffin, you must never believe that I didn’t want to stay with you. I did, with all my heart. But Uncle Bartholomew wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Was it his idea to tell me that you died at that bloody school he sent you to?” he snapped.

  Her eyes were a great well of sadness that threatened to pull him in. “Yes. He thought that was best for you, and I couldn’t disagree with him. There was nothing I could offer you but my shame. I’m sorry if I made the wrong choice, Griffin.”

  He thought of all the years he’d felt abandoned and alone. Those months he’d spent freezing and half-starved on the streets of London, when his mother lived only a few miles away.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, locking a stranglehold on his wayward emotions. “Nothing matters but finding Justine.”

  She nodded with bleak acceptance.

  “Chloe,” Dominic gently interrupted, “how did you find the funds to establish this refuge and support yourself all these years?”

  She blinked at the change in subject. “Oh, it was thanks to Mrs. Lamotte, the woman I served as companion to in Leeds. I was sent there directly from school when I was seventeen, and we became very close over the years. As she had no family of her own, she left her fortune to me on the stipulation that it be used for the benefit of young women who suffered a fate similar to mine.”

  “So, you’re rich on top of everything else,” Griffin said with disbelief. “I was starving on the streets of London while you were flush with blunt.”

  His mother’s posture unconsciously mirrored his, her hands clenching into tight fists on her thighs. “Griffin, it took me over a year to find you after Uncle Bartholomew died. By the time I did, you were already safe and Dominic had his eye on you.” She looked down at her hands, opening them and smoothing her fingers down over her knees. “I had no way of knowing if you would even want me in your life.”

  “So you kept yourself hidden away from me, and from Dominic, too. How could you possibly think that was the right thing to do?” He had to wage a fierce internal struggle to keep his anger from erupting full force.

  She grimaced. “That’s a very complicated question, my son.”

  Dominic held up a hand to hold back Griffin’s retort. “There is a great deal for you two to discuss, but now we must return to the topic at hand. Before Count Marzano comes looking for the baby and decides to cause an international incident.”

  “Of course,” Chloe said with an apologetic smile. “Although I doubt he’ll do that, as I think you’ll see once I’ve explained everything.”

  As she drew in a deep breath, composure seemed to fall over her like an enveloping cloak. Griffin had to admire her impressive self-discipline.

  “Sophia Bennett came to me through the help of a mutual friend,” she said. “She was five months pregnant. Her father drove her from his house when she could no longer disguise that she was breeding, and since Marco had gone to Vienna the month before, she was quite alone. The duke was expected to return to London but was detained on the Continent.”

  “Conveniently detained,” Griffin said. “I expect the duke didn’t want to have anything to do with the girl once he discovered she was with child.”

  “Not in this case,” Chloe replied. “You see, Marco and Sophia were married. He had every intention of returning to England and claiming his bride—after convincing his mother to accept her.”

  Startled, Griffin glanced over at Dominic.

  Dominic’s dark brows lifted. “Married? Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I spoke to the minister who performed the ceremony. It was by special license, of course. For obvious reasons, they kept their marriage fully secret.”

  “Because she was a commoner?” Griffin asked. “But why would that matter? He’s the ruler of his blasted little duchy. Who’s to stop him if he wants to marry a shopkeeper’s daughter?”

  Dominic shook his head. “That’s a fairly substantial impediment, but not the true complication, I imagine. Was it a Catholic or Anglican ceremony?”

  “Anglican.”

  Dominic’s brow cleared. “Ah, then the marriage would be null and void after all, at least in the Duchy of San Agosto, since Sophia was not a Catholic. In that case, strictly speaking, little Stephen would be considered illegitimate.”

  “And not heir to the duchy,” Griffin said. “We already know that. I don’t like Marzano any more than you do but, strictly speaking, the man wasn’t lying.”

  “I must confess,” Dominic said to Chloe, “that I don’t understand the need for all this skulking about. It’s true that the count has been less than forthcoming, but Griffin is correct. The child, while perhaps an embarrassment, is no threat to the stability of the duchy’s royal family. The scandal of his birth will surely fade over time.” He directed a rather stern look at Griffin. “As it always does.”

  While Griffin was debating whether to tell Dominic to sod off, Chloe shook her head.

  “Not in this case,” she said. “Shortly after their marriage, Sophia converted to the Church of Rome. Their marriage still needed to be solemnized by a Catholic priest, but I’m sure you’ll agree her conversion complicates the situation.” Her lips parted in a wistful smile. “Sophia was a very beautiful and very sweet girl, and there’s no doubt the duke loved her. He traveled to Vienna to inform his mother of the marriage, and of his intentions to bring Sophia home to Italy, eventually.”

  Dominic snorted. “I’m sure that news was greeted with tremendous enthusiasm.”

  “Hardly,” Chloe said drily. “The duchess was in the middle of negotiating a marriage for her son to the daughter of an extremely wealthy Spanish grandee. From what Ma
rco told me, his mother was adamant in demanding that he break off all contact with Sophia. She was quite forceful, to the point of issuing rather disturbing threats.”

  Griffin frowned. “What kind of threats?”

  Chloe shook her head. “The duke wouldn’t give specifics, but it was clear he was rattled by them.”

  “And you put my wife in the middle of all this?” Griffin asked, exasperated. “Thank you very much for that.”

  Chloe rushed to placate him. “No, I’ve made sure they were safe. The count won’t be able to find them.”

  He leaned forward and glared at her. “The count has someone watching my house. No doubt the bastard already has someone hot on Justine’s trail.”

  Dominic’s gaze went flinty. “Marzano had someone watching Jermyn Street? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because it didn’t seem to matter,” Griffin retorted. “I had no idea that my wife and my blasted mother would be involved in a plot to sneak the baby out of London under my very nose. Christ, what an unholy mess.”

  Chloe made a small sound of distress. “I didn’t realize that.”

  A sense of urgency drove Griffin to his feet. He loomed over his mother. “I need you to tell me where Justine is. No more stalling.”

  Chloe gazed up at him, her expression turbulent. “I cannot unless you agree to help. The duchess and her men cannot be allowed anywhere near Stephen, and that’s on the advice of her own son.”

  When Griffin cursed in frustration, Dominic snapped at him. “Sit down and try to contain your temper while I get to the bottom of this. Presumably, Justine left the city.”

  Dominic threw a questioning glance at Chloe, who nodded. “Good. Then I’m sure it will take time for Marzano’s man to get back to London in order to alert his master, assuming he was even able to follow Justine in the first place.”

  Griffin wanted to throttle him, but Dominic was right. His mother had to give up the information before they could do anything to help Justine. Clenching his teeth, he subsided into his chair.

  Dominic leaned over and took Chloe’s hands in a sustaining grip, his stern features warmed by a smile so tender that Griffin’s mouth almost dropped open. His mother clutched at Dominic’s fingers as she gazed into his face, her soft eyes shining with so much emotion that Griffin had to resist the impulse to look away. What had Chloe and Dominic once meant to each other?