Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(130)

Finally, he nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, tell me about the baby. What worries you?”

Justine breathed a mental sigh of relief at the change in topic, since she felt like she’d been caught in a thicket of brambles. She had much to worry about, particularly the man sitting across from her, but for now the baby’s needs must come first. Anything else at this point would be self-indulgent.

“Stephen is worse than he was this morning,” she said. “Rose thinks it’s only a nasty head cold, but these sorts of fevers in babies can turn bad very quickly.”

Griffin looked genuinely concerned. “Would you like me to send for a doctor?”

“Is that possible? Is there someone who can be trusted, given our need to keep the baby hidden?”

Griffin glanced at Phelps, who had soft-footed his way back into the room with a platter of ham and boiled potatoes.

“Well, Phelps, what about it? Is there anyone who can be trusted?”

“Aye,” the factotum replied, putting the platter down in front of his master. “Happens I already asked about that. Mrs. Moore—”

He paused to roll his eyes at Griffin’s bemused expression. “She’s Sir Dominic’s cook and fairly well runs the house, as you would know if you troubled yourself to ask.” When Griffin simply grinned at him, Phelps carried on in a long-suffering manner. “Mrs. Moore says there’s a good surgeon in Horsham that’s to be relied upon. Sir Dominic has used him in the past.”

“Thank heavens,” Justine said, starting to rise. “I’d better speak to Rose and see what she thinks. I know I’d feel better if we had someone look at the poor darling.”

“Please sit down and finish your dinner,” Griffin said. “Phelps can discuss the situation with Rose.”

“But—”

“Sit down, Justine,” he said in a voice that brooked no opposition. “It is entirely unnecessary for you to run around like one of the servants. You need to eat and you need proper rest, otherwise you’ll fall ill yourself.”

Before she could utter a word of protest, Griffin flicked a glance at Phelps, who nodded and scuttled out of the room.

“I am entirely capable of dealing with the situation,” Justine said indignantly. “There is absolutely no need for you to order me around.”

“Apparently there is,” he said as he served her a slice of ham.

When she put her fork down and crossed her arms over her chest, Griffin sighed. “Justine, it’s time you stopped acting like a nursemaid. You’re my wife, and you must learn to conduct yourself as such.”

To her mind, that instruction raised a number of questions. It also brought her anxiety about their changed relationship roaring back full force.

“But I don’t even know what that means,” she blurted. “Or how to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Be your wife.”

It took only a moment for the wicked gleam to appear in his dark eyes. “You made a very good start of it this afternoon.”

“I’m serious, Griffin,” she said. “I don’t have the faintest idea what we’re doing, or how we’re to go on. I asked you this afternoon what would happen now, and you couldn’t answer me.”

He picked up one of his knives and started to fiddle with it, an uncharacteristic sign of hesitation. “I couldn’t answer you because I didn’t know the answer.”

She shook her head. “I’m not comfortable with that kind of uncertainty.”