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Nothing was said between them from the car all the way to her quarters. Every step though, increased the rate of her heart.
All evening she’d been worrying about the news she’d have to share with him, so much so that Amadeo had felt the need to tell her to make conversation with Giuseppe because her head had been too full of worry to engage with him. Poor Giuseppe. And he was such a nice man too. She hoped she’d made up for her initial rudeness.
Her two evening maids appeared moments after they entered her quarters.
‘The princess won’t be needing your assistance this evening.’ Amadeo’s smoothly delivered words made her stomach plunge. ‘Feel free to return to your rooms—she will call if she needs you.’
Instead of obeying, they both looked at Elsbeth. To her horror, she realised they were waiting for her to giveherassent.
Locking eyes with Amadeo, she caught what could only be described as annoyance as his look quite clearly said,Go on then, dismiss them.
‘I’ll call you if I need anything,’ she said with a smile which hurt her cheeks.
They both nodded. ‘Goodnight, Your Highness.’
‘Goodnight.’
She couldn’t help closing her eyes when the door closed and, for the first time in a week, she was alone with her husband.
Panic clutched at her chest.
Why had he dismissed the maids? Was he angry with her about something? She thought quickly, frantically, wondering what faux pas she could have made that evening. The only thing she could think of was his having to tell her to make conversation with Giuseppe. Would something that innocuous be enough to aggravate him? She wished she knew. Two weeks into their marriage and her husband was still a stranger to her.
‘Would you like a drink?’ he surprised her by asking.
She took a deep breath to stem the panic and get a grip of herself. The following conversation was not going to be easy and working herself into a lather about an unknown quantity would not help. That she had to admit to failure in their quest for conception was enough to worry about. She’d take whatever else he wanted to throw at her as it came. ‘Yes, please.’
Amadeo rifled through her bar. Not knowing what Elsbeth liked to drink, he’d ordered it to be stocked with every kind of alcoholic and soft drink. It didn’t surprise him to find not a single bottle had been touched.
Helping himself to a fifteen-year-old scotch, he poured a liberal amount, took a gulp of it then turned back to her and raised the bottle in a question.
She shook her head. Her smile didn’t seem as wide as she usually fixed it, he noted.
‘What would you prefer? Wine? Champagne? Something stronger?’
‘Is there any port?’
Anyone would think it was his bar and not hers. ‘There is everything.’
‘Then I would like a glass of port. Please.’
He found the bottle easily enough, poured her a hefty measure, then topped up his scotch. From the corner of his eye he noticed her press a hand low into her abdomen and her shoulders rise as if she were sucking in a breath.
Carrying the glasses over to her, he held her port out.
‘Sit down, Elsbeth,’ he said as she took her drink from him with quiet thanks.
Just as he knew she would, she obeyed, sitting primly on an armchair with dusky pink upholstery.
Choosing the Chesterfield for himself, he took another sip of his scotch before saying, ‘You don’t look well. What’s wrong with you?’
She closed her eyes and breathed in as if bracing herself, then whispered, ‘Menstrual pains.’
‘Have you been in pain all evening?’
Her gaze fixed on floor, she nodded.
‘I thought something was wrong when Giuseppe commented that you looked unwell. Why didn’t you tell me before we left?’
