said, as if she barged into his bedchamber every day. “May I offer you a seat?” He took two steps toward the fireplace, leading with his stick, and pulled forward one of the armchairs.
Phoebe sat, since it would be impolite not to. “I came to inform you that my son will never go to sea, and it is reprehensible and irresponsible of Mr. Sharkton to discuss the possibility with him.”
Griffin leaned against the back of the chair opposite her and raised an eyebrow. “Mothers make rules, but children don’t always agree.”
“Colin may be entranced by the idea of piracy now—and I regret to say that your arrival will only exacerbate that—but in time he will outgrow it.”
“What would you like him to do with his life?”
“Something safe,” she flashed. “Something in England, perhaps in Bath.”
“So you see him as a merchant?”
Of course she saw Colin as a member of her own class, rather than one of the gentry or above, whom she privately considered to be ne’er-do-wells. “Yes,” she said, keeping her gaze steady. “I would much prefer that Colin earn an honest wage, whether he owns a business or works in one.”
To her surprise, Griffin nodded. He must have seen a flicker of disbelief on her face, because he added, quite reasonably, “You may not like the way I have earned a living, Phoebe, but I assure you that I worked very hard for it. I know the value of money.”
She didn’t want to think of him in a positive light. “We must discuss how we will dissolve this marriage,” she said, setting aside the topic of childrearing for the larger one. “I think it will be a relatively simple matter, since it was never consummated. I know there are provisions for that sort of thing.”
His eyes darkened, and Phoebe instinctively straightened. Griffin’s blue eyes were like a summer sky: they told her a storm was coming. “You truly want to dissolve our marriage?” Not a trace of anger colored his voice, and his expression hadn’t changed. But . . .
“You needn’t be angry about it,” she said, meeting his eyes squarely.
“I am not angry.”
“You are lying to me, and I most dislike falsehoods. I would judge you furious, and without merit, I might add. I am not the one who absented myself from the country for years.”
“I apologize. You are correct. I do not wish to dissolve our marriage, and I find the idea . . . annoying.”
If that look in his eye was annoyance, she’d hate to be in the vicinity if he lost his temper.
Griffin was also thinking that he might have understated his reaction to her suggestion. “We could not dissolve the marriage on the grounds of non-consummation,” he said, keeping his voice even only with effort.
“Why not?”
“Because it would label the children as bastards.” Really, he felt he was behaving in a remarkably enlightened fashion. It was all very well for Shark to talk about a woman’s right to dally with other men, but Griffin himself was finding the whole concept quite difficult to come to terms with.
“Further, annulling the marriage would mean that I swore to being impotent,” he added. “And I’ve been impotent only once in my life.”
The moment Phoebe had lifted her veil in the church and he had seen her for the first time, panic struck. At twenty years old, she had been wildly sensual and far beyond a boy’s ken. Her hair was golden and her lips were rose, and she looked like the princess every man dreamed about. Worse, she was older than he. Unquestionably older.
He had felt a paralyzing wave of embarrassment. Naturally, that had been the beginning of the end.
“You’re even more beautiful than when we married,” he said abruptly.
She frowned. “What has that to do with anything? We are in an untenable situation. Mr. Sharkton just promised to take Colin to sea. I would rather die than see my children follow in the footsteps of a bloodthirsty pirate.”
He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. She was adorable. Formidable, but adorable.
“Why are you smiling?” she asked in a threatening tone. “Do you find the idea of injury to my children amusing?”
“No!” he said quickly. “Not at all. Never.”
“Right.” She paused, but he was happy to let her carry the conversation. “Why haven’t you seated yourself, Sir Griffin?”
“You called me Griffin earlier.” With a silent groan, he dropped himself into a chair. He missed the young body he’d had when they last saw each