“My dear, I’m a bit confused by the order of events,” Dominic said. “When did you speak to the duke about all of this—before or after Sophia’s death?”
“After. Before he was able to return to England, Sophia took a bad fall. That brought on an early labor.” Chloe shook her head. “She never recovered her strength from the ordeal. A month after the baby was born, she succumbed to a fever and died.”
Griffin couldn’t fail to notice the tight line of his mother’s determined jaw as she struggled to contain her emotions. “Naturally, the child remained with me. I wrote to the duke in Vienna and he returned as quickly as he could. He was grief-stricken, of course, as were we all. Sophia was an innocent young woman who deserved better from life.”
The old sorrow rustled in Griffin’s chest, but with a crystalline intensity born of the presence of the woman who’d suffered the same kind of pain and humiliation by bringing him into the world. His mother had obviously devoted her life to providing a safe harbor for those who’d experienced a similar fate.
And struggle against it though he might, he couldn’t help resenting that she’d never sought to tow him into that safe harbor, too.
When Chloe pulled away a hand to wipe tears from her eyes, Dominic extracted a handkerchief from inside his coat and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, dabbing at her eyes. Within moments, she had regained her composure.
“What happened when the duke returned to London?” Dominic asked.
“He was distraught, of course, and quite unable to take responsibility for a baby. He was also frightened at the prospect of how his mother would react to the news of a child born of a legitimate union, although one fraught with legal complications, to be sure. You must understand that he hadn’t yet informed his mother of Sophia’s pregnancy, and he certainly had no desire to say anything after her death.”
“He sounds like an idiot,” Griffin said. “Why the hell didn’t he just stand up to her?”
“Not everyone has your strength of character, Griffin,” his mother replied. “Marco has an extremely gentle, even shy nature. He’s quite a fine scholar, but apparently rather a failure as a duke.”
“From what I know,” Dominic interjected, “his mother is the power behind the throne. She’s worked tirelessly to restore her family’s rightful place in San Agosto after the fall of Bonaparte. It was only a few months ago that the court moved back to Italy.”
Chloe nodded. “That’s correct. The duke left London almost immediately then to return to San Agosto, after making permanent arrangements for his son to remain with me.”
“I still don’t understand all the ridiculous cloak and dagger,” Griffin said. “Why not just bring his son home and sort out the legalities of the situation later?”
“Because San Agosto, like many Italian states, is still in flux after the war,” Dominic explained. “There’s a great deal of radical ferment and movements to consolidate Italy under one republic. There are many who abhor the restoration of the old kingdoms and duchies like San Agosto, and who actively fight against it.”
“Yes,” Chloe said. “The duke has just been restored to his throne. If it were known that he’d married an Englishwoman from a Protestant background—and a shopkeeper’s daughter, no less—and that he’d sired a potential heir, the scandal would be enormous. It would certainly strengthen the hands of the radicals if the royal family was mired in scandal and legal complications.”
Griffin shook his head. “So, his bloody highness the duke decided it was better to forget he ever had a son?”
Chloe nodded. “He was genuinely frightened of what his mother might do to the baby, especially if he brought Stephen to Italy.”
“So, the duchess is a modern-day Lucrezia Borgia,” Griffin said with disgust. “I was right—this entire situation is demented.”
“But all too real,” Dominic said. “It’s not entirely clear to me what the duchess would do if she got her hands on the child, but it would be wise not to find out.”
Chloe peered at him with anxious hope. “Then you believe me?”
A strange smile twisted the edges of Dominic’s mouth. “Haven’t I always, my dear friend?”
She ducked her head, obviously struggling to hold back tears. Griffin shifted, uncomfortable with her distress. In fact, he was so damned uncomfortable with all the blasted emotions that he could barely think.
He tried to take refuge in the facts. “So, we all agree the duchess is a threat. But if the duke was so determined to hide Stephen from her, how did she discover his existence?”
Chloe spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “I suspect that at some point she intercepted Sophia’s letters to the duke while he was in Vienna. Or mine, possibly. All I can tell you is that Count Marzano, who is the duchess’ most trusted advisor, did not appear on my doorstep until after Marco left for Italy. In light of what I already knew and the duke’s instructions to me, Marzano’s insistence that I turn over the child made me extremely suspicious.”
“So, naturally, you refused,” said Dominic.
“I did, and the next thing I knew my house was broken into and my staff and charges were handled quite roughly. Fortunately, I was out that day and had the baby with me.”
Griffin’s gut pulled tight as he thought of Justine, alone and possibly in danger at this very moment. “So, you thought it better to dump the problem on my doorstep.”
His mother let out a weary sigh. “I felt it the safest place to leave him. After all, who would look for the child of royalty in a brothel?” she said, sounding quietly bitter. “Then I went into hiding. It was the only way I could think of to protect the baby.”
“God, Chloe,” Dominic said. “You could have come to me.”
“I . . . I didn’t think that would be wise,” she stuttered. “Not given—”
Griffin chopped down his hand. “Enough. You two can play out your dreary little drama without me. Right now, I only want one thing—Justine’s location.”
Chloe winced. “As long as Dominic can promise to keep the baby from falling into the wrong hands.”
“Leave that to me,” Dominic said in a grim voice. “I’m sure I can talk sense into Marzano, once the situation is properly explained to him.”
Chloe let out a quavering sigh of relief as Griffin came to his feet.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her sensitive features alight with gratitude as she gazed at Dominic. Then she shifted her focus to Griffin. “Justine and the baby will be at the Hedgerow Inn, just east of Peckham. She will be known there by the name of Mrs. Piper.”
Griffin frowned. “That was your mother’s maiden name.”
“And has been my name for many years,” she replied quietly.
Dominic covered his eyes. “I never thought of that. What an idiot I am.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you for years,” Griffin said. “Now, do whatever it is you have to do to deal with Marzano. I’m going to fetch my wife.”
His mother rose in a swift, graceful movement, laying a hand on his arm. “Let me come with you. I can help.”
Her touch was light, but it jolted him nonetheless. Anger, bewilderment, and a stern sort of joy flashed through him. He didn’t have time for this. He didn’t have time for her. Only Justine and the baby mattered. Until they were safe, he couldn’t think of anything else.
He removed her hand from his sleeve. “Mother, the only thing I want from you right now is to stay out of my way.”
Forcing himself to ignore the pain in her eyes, he turned on his heel and strode from the room.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Will there be anything else for you or the baby, Mrs. Piper?” inquired the innkeeper’s wife as she smiled at Stephen, who was nestled comfortably in the borrowed cradle.
“No, but thank you,” Justine replied after a moment’s hesitation. “I believe we have everything we need.”
She wasn’t even familiar with her true married name, much l
ess that of the fictitious Mrs. Piper, a widow from Bath traveling to visit her in-laws. Justine had clearly failed to inherit her father’s more exotic talents, because all this skulking about with assumed names and identities had frayed her nerves.
Still, she was beginning to think she could match her father for reckless behavior. Kidnapping a baby and running away from one’s husband would certainly seem to qualify.
“If you need anything else,” said the pleasant-faced Mrs. Parks, “you just give a holler down the stairs. One of us will come up in a twinkle.”
Justine thanked her again, although she would not be hollering down the stairs or anywhere else. Chloe Steele had made it abundantly clear that secrecy could well mean the difference between life and death for little Stephen. Justine could only hope that the quiet little inn near Peckham was as safe and out of the way as it seemed.
She eased down on the hard, straight-backed chair next to the cradle. Her head was spinning with the events of the day—starting with the rise of her mother-in-law from the proverbial dead. Justine hadn’t been able to muster a coherent thought for a good two minutes after that particular revelation. And when she finally recovered her ability to speak, she’d stumbled into a morass of questions followed by the wild desire to drag Griffin’s mother back to the house on Jermyn Street. Chloe, however, had decisively taken control. She’d promised to answer all Justine’s questions, but only after the baby was safely hidden outside London.
Initially, Justine had been dead-set against the plan, and had insisted they should go immediately to Dominic for help. But Chloe’s intensely delivered arguments to the contrary had finally, if reluctantly, led Justine to agree with her. She certainly hadn’t needed any convincing that Stephen was in danger. The only question at that point had been how to kidnap a baby out from under the noses of vigilant servants and a husband with an uncanny sense of perception.
Well, there had been another question, too, one that loomed over everything—how could she leave Griffin, the man she’d fallen in love with? The man she would likely never see again.
And even if she did, would Griffin want anything to do with her? Justine couldn’t decide whether he would be furious that she’d run away or relieved that he’d rid himself of two unwelcome responsibilities. Whatever the answer, she suspected he’d want nothing more to do with her. Her marriage was over, and the sooner she learned to accept that, the better.
Eventually, once the baby was safe and she settled on where she wished to live, Justine’s life would return to normal. Everything would be fine again, she supposed, although she no longer had any idea what fine would look like without Griffin Steele in her life.
Fighting the impulse to succumb to overwrought tears, she focused on the drowsing baby by gently rocking his cradle. Stephen was all that mattered now. She’d made a promise to Chloe—and herself—that she would allow no harm to come to him. Whatever she had to do to accomplish that goal, she was prepared to do it.
Letting out a weary sigh, she let her gaze wander around the small but cozy room tucked up under the eaves of the small inn, finally coming to rest on the bed. Not that she’d likely have any use for the comfortable-looking, four-poster with its homespun, fluffy quilts. Chloe had promised to join her shortly before nightfall. Then they would be on their way again, traveling north in a hired chaise to put as much distance between themselves and Count Marzano as they could. It was nerve-wracking to be sure, but so far all had gone according to plan.
Justine still couldn’t believe the relative ease with which she’d escaped, especially while toting a squirming baby and an overstuffed carpetbag. Chloe had assured her that a private chaise would be waiting around the corner from the house on Jermyn Street, ready to carry her and Stephen out of the city. All she had to do was return home, fetch the baby, and sneak out of the house.
Her heart in her throat, Justine had done just that. She’d simply waited for Rose to go out and for the rest of the servants to be absorbed in their duties at the back of the house. Her greatest fear had been that she would stumble into Griffin. Justine had never been a good liar, and she knew she had no chance of fooling her husband. Especially since part of her—a very big part—wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and beg for his help.
But after everything that had occurred over the last few days, she knew how dangerous it would be to give in to her weakness for him. She could no longer trust either Griffin or Dominic. That left her feeling more alone than at any other time in her life, even after the dark days following her father’s death.
So, instead of asking for help from the husband who’d shown her nothing but respect and kindness, she’d stuffed necessities and some clothing into the carpetbag, wrapped the baby in a warm blanket, and snuck out of the house. And in doing so, she had once again altered her life in a way she could never have imagined. There was little doubt in her mind that marriage to Griffin Steele had changed her, and perhaps not for the better. She barely recognized herself for the calm, careful woman she used to be.
When the clock in the nearby church tower struck the hour, she glanced toward the window, frowning at the fading light. If Chloe didn’t arrive soon, it might be too late to start out. That thought sent anxiety crawling along her nerves.
She was trying to decide whether to order a light meal—she hadn’t eaten all day—when she heard the rumble of a carriage. Jumping up, she hurried to the window. Unfortunately, her room was at the side of the building, affording only a sliver of a view of the carriage yard in front of the main entrance. Although she could hear the stamping of horses and gruff male voices, she couldn’t see a thing.
Justine turned from the window, straining to hear. Her instincts prodded her, but she heard only the quiet murmur of voices drifting up from the taproom downstairs. She stood silently for a minute or two, finally concluding that the new arrivals must be regular wayfarers seeking food or shelter.
Grimacing at the lamentable state of her nerves, she started toward the cradle when a loud thump and then a raised voice from downstairs—cut off in midcry—brought her up short. Those alarming noises were followed by the even more alarming ones of footsteps pounding up the stairs toward her room.
She dashed to the bed and flung open the carpetbag, rummaging through the tumble of clothing and baby things for her pistol. A shattering knock pounded against her door as she frantically dug down. Her fingertips finally hit the cold metal and she hauled the weapon out. At the sound of another heavy bang against the door, Stephen woke with a startled wail.
Justine spun around as the door crashed open, half-battered off its hinges. She started toward the cradle with the pistol tangled up in her skirts, but jerked to a halt when a hulking brute in rough clothing charged into the room. On his heels was Count Marzano, dressed for travel in boots, breeches, and a heavy greatcoat.
Instinctively, she held her position, keeping the pistol hidden in her skirts. “How dare you break into my room!” she yelled over the baby’s cries. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”
Marzano casually swung a silver-tipped ebony cane as he gazed at her with a supercilious smile. “You dare to kidnap the son of the Duke of San Agosto, Mrs. Steele? Such an action constitutes a serious crime, since your government supports the duke’s claim to the boy.”
Justine flicked a glance at the thug standing off to the side. The man was huge, with massive shoulders, beefy fists, and a prizefighter’s face. Even worse, his muddy brown eyes were cold and flat, almost bored. And from the cruel sneer that curled his lips, Justine suspected he would have no qualms performing any command his master might give him, no matter how ugly.
“What have you done with the innkeeper and his wife?” she asked slowly, trying to buy time. Chloe should be arriving any minute, and hopefully not alone.
“My men have them contained in the taproom,” Marzano said. His gaze narrowed on her with sinister intent. “They will not be harmed and neither will you—if you have the
good sense to stay out of my way.”
Justine sidled over to the cradle and glanced down. Stephen’s wails had subsided to hiccupping whimpers, but his tear-streaked, red face made her heart turn over in her chest. Though she longed to take him in her arms she needed to keep her hands free.
“I will not let you take this baby,” she said defiantly. “Your secret is out, sir. I have spoken with the child’s guardian and it’s clear you’ve been lying from the beginning. It is the duke’s desire that the child remain in England, in Mrs. Piper’s care.”
“Ah, but no longer. The duke has changed his mind, you see,” replied Marzano. “He wishes the boy to come to Italy, to be with his family.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment,” she retorted. “You come at the command of the duchess, and I know that she aims to eliminate the scandal of the child’s birth. In fact, I am sure Stephen will never even reach Italy if you get your hands on him.”
She’d thrown that last bit out as a taunt. The startled expression that flashed across Marzano’s face told her everything she needed to know about his plans for Stephen.
“My God,” she breathed, almost choking on the horror of it. “You do plan to kill him, don’t you?”
He let out a contemptuous snort. “You are a very foolish woman to even think such nonsense. To accuse the duchess of wanting to murder—”
“You may deny it all you want,” she said fiercely as she took a step back and to the side of the cradle. “But I will not let you touch this child.”
The count’s distinguished features pulled down in a snarl. “You are indeed a fool, Mrs. Steele.”
With a deft twist of the wrist, he pulled a slim, lethal-looking blade from his walking stick. Justine stifled a gasp. Sweat gathered under her stays and at the base of her spine.
Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom Page 34