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It’s because you love him, you nitwit.
That simple revelation made her vulnerable, which was not a feeling she much enjoyed.
Taking a deep breath for courage, she knocked on her husband’s door.
Chapter Eighteen
The door swung open to reveal the castle’s stable master. Brody’s sharply arched eyebrows always gave him a vaguely astonished appearance, and now they twitched even higher. He cast a wary look over his shoulder in response to Ainsley’s intrusion into the male sanctum.
“Who is it, Brody?” came her husband’s gruff voice from inside the room.
“It’s yer lady, sir. Do ye wish to see her?”
“Of course he wishes to see me.” Ainsley ignored Royal’s low-pitched curse as she pushed by Brody and marched in. “I am Mr. Royal’s beloved wife, after all.”
Sighing, the stable master closed the door and followed her.
She stopped several feet from the bed to dart a quick glance around. Since this was the first time she’d ever been in her husband’s bedroom—a marital oversight of epic proportions—she felt curious and slightly awkward.
The wing housing the family bedrooms, built during the Restoration, displayed that era’s taste for ornate decoration. The paneled walls were beautifully carved, and there was a truly gorgeous mantel topping the old stone fireplace. What furniture there was—Royal seemed to prefer a more austere style—came from a later period. Joining the sturdy oak chest and a battered press cupboard were a plain leather armchair with a matching footstool and small bedside table with a lamp. It was spare and to the point, like the man himself.
The only exception was the enormous, old-fashioned bed in the French style. Its four posts were beautifully scrolled and polished to a high gleam. They reached almost to the ceiling, supporting a massive wooden canopy that featured elaborate carvings of crowns and stags. From the beautiful old wood hung gold and burgundy drapes that matched the coverlet on a mattress wide enough to house half of Marie Antoinette’s court.
It was ridiculously grand, and not at all the sort of bed one would imagine for a brusque, scowling ex-soldier with not the least bit of patience for frills and furbelows, much less lounging about. Somehow, though, Royal’s dark, masculine good looks and his hard-edged arrogance seemed perfectly suited to a setting that harkened back to the dramatic glories of days gone by. There was a sense about her husband that he belonged in a time mistily shrouded in tales of romance and adventure, a time when a man fought to defend his lady and his land, and to uphold the honor of his clan.
“I’m not really in the mood for visitors, Ainsley,” he said. “In fact, I’m not in the mood to see anyone for a good long time.”
Ainsley pointed to the simple gold band on her ring finger. “This says otherwise. I’m not a visitor, I’m your better half.”
Apologizing again would only prompt another display of temper and surely lead to her losing her temper as well. She needed to prove that, all evidence to the contrary, she was a mature woman, perfectly capable of taking care of her husband, her daughter, and his annoying old grandfather if necessary.
“That’s debatable,” Royal muttered.
Ainsley cupped a hand to her ear. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I said you shouldn’t be in here. I’m not properly dressed.”
She pressed a dramatic hand to her bosom. “Yes, and I’m not sure my delicate sensibilities can withstand the shock of seeing you attired in your nightshirt. Brody, would you toddle off next door and ask my maid to fetch my smelling salts? If I faint, Mr. Royal is in no condition to catch me. As he so delicately pointed out this afternoon, I’mrathera big girl.”
“I did not say that,” Royal indignantly replied.
“Still, it’s best to be prepared, don’t you think?” She heaved a gusty sigh. “Run along now, Brody. I don’t know how much longer I can hang on.”
“Ah . . . mayhap ye best sit down?” Brody said, looking alarmed.
“Good God, man. She’s pulling your leg,” Royal scoffed.
The stable master mustered a weak smile. “Sorry, my lady.”
“No apology necessary, I assure you. People often mistake my intention.” She gave Royal her sweetest smile. “My dear husband suffers from the same unfortunate inability to understand me. It’s quite tragic, although a common affliction of the married state, I’m told.”
The dear husband rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s because you don’t make your intentions clear.”
She pretended to consider that, and then shook her head. “No, it’s certainly you.”
“Brody, I feel in need of liquid courage,” Royal said. “Please fetch me a glass and the bottle from my dresser, and then you can go. Apparently, mydear wifehas come to nurse me.”
“I’m happy to do whatever I can, of course,” she said. “Although I hear that Brody has done a bang-up job.”
