Page 63 of Princess of Pride
HE’S ABOUT TO SHOVE ME TO MY DEATH
A massive rectangular room with two fireplaces—one at each end—and a wall of windows overlooking the ocean spreads before me. The color scheme is bronze and gold with deep blue accents. Despite the rugs, wallpaper, leather furniture, and thick drapery, something about the luxurious room feels impersonal. Only three items hang on the wall. An artful painting of the castle and cliffs is positioned above the massive black wood carved bed. Over each of the fireplaces hangs tapestries with what I assume is the family crest—a castle with a sword, belt, and crown. Each has the same words that are tattooed on Lachlan’s torso.Fortis Et Fidus.
The room is impeccably clean and tidy as if no one lives in it. Nothing personal decorates the space other than a picture frame of a man and woman and a young Lachlan. The eyes are a dead giveaway. They match the older man’s—his father? If so, then this woman is his mother. She looks graceful and beautiful with Lachlan’s same dark chocolate hair. Her eyes are green like Rory’s and seem to carry the weight of the world.
My gaze goes back to Lachlan in his school uniform. I’dguess he was fifteen or sixteen andwow. No girl would have been safe around him. He stood with the confidence of someone who knew he could get whoever he wanted. He also looked at ease and happy. I don’t think the man he is now knows those two things anymore. Now, his eyes carry the same hardship shown in his mother’s image.
The door opens, drawing my gaze. I flinch and watch as Lachlan walks in. At first, he doesn’t see me. His focus is on the desk near the seating area by one of the fireplaces. He drops an envelope on it and removes his suit jacket. Next, he starts unbuttoning his shirt.
I should clear my throat or do something to make myself known. Instead, I stand there frozen as he strips. With his back to me, he removes his shirt then sniffs the air.
He freezes abruptly, then slowly turns to face me, his gaze dark. “How’d you get in here?”
Yep. As suspected, Lachlan doesn’t like people in his personal space. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want him in my bedroom back at the estate, but he brought me here.
“I’m your wife,” I remind him. “Where else would I be?”
He stalks toward me, tugging his shirt on and buttoning it haphazardly. “You’d be in your room.”
“Well, you didn’t show me where that is.” I plant my hands on my hips. Two can play the pissy attitude game.
He stops a foot away from me and stares down, taking me in from head to toe. His jaw muscle ticks as if the sight of me makes him angrier.
I’m starting to think his attraction to me is what enrages him. It also makes me want to attract him more—purely to mess with him.
He glances behind me at the bed then at me and at the bed again.
If he thinks I’m going to melt under his touch like I did before, he’s wrong.
When his gaze connects with mine as if he’s still debating whether to throw me onto the mattress, I raise my brows. “My bedroom.”
His jaw muscle flexes more, then he turns and walks to the far side, past the way he came in. He stops at a door and glances at me. “Are you coming?”
“Where to?”
“To your room,” he says with agitation.
I fold my arms. “Ask me nicely, and I will.”
He inhales a deep breath, his gaze on the ceiling or heaven as if he’s begging the Lord for patience. “Would you like to see your room?”
Not exactly what I meant, but his tone has less bite.
I walk over with my shoulders back and chin held high, just as my mother taught me, and join him at the door.
“After you.” He gestures to it.
For a brief moment, I imagine the door leads to open air and he’s about to shove me to my death.
Slowly, I turn the knob and push open the door. My jaw drops. I blink and blink, certain my eyes are playing a trick on me.
The room is spacious, done in shades of silver and light blue that are fit for a snow queen. The damask wallpaper shimmers like it’s covered in snowflakes. The ivory wood four-poster bed has plush bedding in white and light blue. Windows, with a view of the wild ocean, flank a huge marble fireplace. The cool colors are warmed by the glow of a golden chandelier that hangs above a regency style sitting area anchored by a cream furry rug. If I were a dog, I’d be all over that rug. It begs to be laid on. I might snuggle on it myself—when Lachlan isn’t watching, of course.
The room is exquisite, but I school my features, not wanting Lachlan to know I’m impressed despite my initial jaw drop. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me as I peruse the room, absorbing the fresh flower bouquets and gilded trinkets throughout.
A gold framed painting of the castle hangs above the bed. It looms in the distance beyond a garden filled with white flowers and artfully sculpted topiaries.
“Whose room was this?” Do I want to know? It’s luxury and one hundred percent feminine. A lady’s room.
