Page 1 of The Devil's Pawn

Chapter One

IMOGEN

Oakleigh Hall looms before me, vast and imposing in its sheer scale. Most people would probably find it an impressive-looking building, but all I see is a prison, a life sentence hanging over my head, with no early release for good behavior.

Ominous gray clouds hang low in the sky, swollen with rain yet to fall. Despite it being June, a crisp wind rolls across my shoulders. Perhaps it’s because, according to Mom, we’re only about ten miles from the English Channel. Already, I miss the warmth of the California sun. I turn my face up to the sky, as I would if I were at home. The first fat droplet of rain hits my cheek. I wipe it away, returning my gaze to the gloomy mansion before me.

The residence of the powerful De Vil family will never be home to me.

Never.

Except, once I step through those heavy wooden doors, there is no going back.

Then again, there was no going back long before I setfoot on English soil for the first time in my twenty-one years. My father sold me to the De Vil family before I was born, signing a contract that would open up supply chains for his business dealings to Europe and beyond. Refusing to marry the eldest son and breaking that agreement isn’t in the cards.

The stakes for my family are too high a price to pay.

You see, the De Vils are one of the most powerful families in the world, with influence beyond most people’s comprehension. If I refuse to go through with this marriage, my dad told me the De Vils will cut him off from his business contacts, and he’ll lose everything. It doesn’t matter how wealthy my father and his family are. They’re small fry compared to the De Vils. It’s a risk I can’t, and won’t, take.

From as far back as I can remember, my parents were upfront about the part I’m expected to play in this trade off they engineered. That didn’t stop me from having dreams of my own, and as time passed and the eldest son of the De Vils didn’t come for me, I began to hope he never would.

How wrong I was. Doesn’t the Devil always collect his prize?

Last Friday, I graduated from college clutching my precious architectural studies degree. It’s usually a four-year course, but my parents paid for extra tuition to ensure I finished it in three. The grades I got were enough to accept a job with one of the top companies in America—a firm I’d spent a couple of internship placements with during my college years. My intention was to train as an accredited architect while gaining valuable on-the-job experience. Except that night, my parents told me something they never had before.

The contract they’d signed included an agreement that the wedding would take place immediately after I graduated.

I’m still not over the shock or the speed of it all. It’shappening so fast that Emma, my best friend, can’t be here to support me as my maid of honor. Nor can any of my other college friends make it. They’re already diving headfirst into their new lives off college campus, either taking a year off to travel, or starting their careers. Mom’s excuse was that she wanted me to enjoy my time at college like any other girl my age, without having the expectation of marriage hanging over my head. It’s a noble reason, but it doesn’t make me any less infuriated that my parents kept such an important detail from me.

My stomach somersaults at the thought of how different my life will now be from that of my friends. How envious I am of them. How that envy curdles in my gut and leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I’m not one to wallow in self-pity, but all that’s run through my mind since Friday night has been a single thought of… why me?

I glance at my father. He catches me looking and pats my hand, as if that will make everything better. It won’t. It doesn’t. But right now, my wants are non-existent. I smile anyway. To him, this marriage is a good thing. A union between Alexander De Vil and me will open even more doors for my father, as well as providing me with a life of privilege and luxury. In return, I’m expected to produce an heir and a spare to continue the De Vil legacy.

That’s their plan.

It isn’t mine.

I may not have a choice other than to go through with the wedding, but I refuse to accept that this is it. That this is my life until the day I die. My brain has been in overdrive for the last five days, trying to find a way out, to prove that I’m not as powerless as I fear I might be.

My father determined my future before I’d taken a singlebreath, but futures change.Minewill change. It has to. Zenith, the company I intended to work for, has given me three months to accept the job, or they’ll have to offer it to someone else.

There’s only one way for me to get out of this marriage: Alexander De Vil must end it.

And he will.

I’ll make certain of it.

Somehow.

The problem is, I don’t know how to make that happen, and if I can’t come up with a solution soon, I’ll lose everything that matters to me. A chance to make an independent life for myself in a career that means something. That makes a difference in this world.

A man wearing a smart, dark gray suit, white shirt, and green tie opens the imposing front door when we’re still several feet away. He’s balding, but he wears it well. A far younger man scurries past him, beelining for our car. He has the luggage out of the trunk in a flash. I’ve traveled lightly. Most of my stuff is coming next week. The instructions Alexander left with my parents were clear: the De Vils have organized everything for this coming Saturday, including my wedding dress.

“Mr. and Mrs. Salinger.” The elder man bows his head and steps back. “Miss Imogen, please, do come in. Mr. De Vil has instructed I take you straight through to the living room.”

I feel as though someone has dropped me right in the middle ofDownton Abbey.Will everyone be this stuffy, or is it just this guy? A shiver runs through me. I’ll be an outsider, a stranger. Will the staff be cold and standoffish? Or will they welcome me with open arms?

Panic rises within me, flattening my lungs. I break out in a cold sweat, the kind that appears right before you’re about to throw up. It’s happening. That thing which has always hovered in the background like an unspeakable secret.

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