Page 28 of The Devil's Pawn

She closes the door behind me and ventures farther into the room. “The first Friday of each month, Mr. De Vil Senior hosts a dinner, and the entire family must attend. There aren’t any exceptions. Mr. Alexander sent me to tell you.”

Of course, he did.

My skin prickles. Why couldn’t Alexander tell me about this dinner himself? He had plenty of time to let me know of this tradition during our trip back from Scotland. Then again, this is typical of him. Probably thinks such tedious details are beneath him, so it’s left for Maisie to do his dirty work.

I take it all back. His kindness to Douglas was only a blip. He’s still an asshole.

“It starts at seven-thirty. I can help you dress if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary, Maisie. Thank you. Please tellMr. Alexanderthat I am otherwise engaged, and if he wishes to discuss our social calendar with me, he can come and talk to me about it himself.”

Her mouth opens and closes as I sweep by her andcareen down the stairs to the first floor. The front door is too heavy to slam, more’s the pity, so I leave it wide open. I haven’t a clue where I’m going, but if I don’t work off some of this rage, I’m liable to use my mothballed kickboxing skills and crush my beloved husband’s balls with a well-aimed kick.

As I make my way around the rear of the house, the sight that greets me puts a smile on my face, despite my simmering anger. Stables. Rows and rows of stables, along with several paddocks where horses are grazing. My rooms face the other side of the house, so I haven’t been able to see the stables from my living room or bedroom window.

A few horses are tied up outside their stalls, and a blond guy is brushing the one closest to me with smooth strokes across the chestnut mare’s glistening coat.

“Hi.”

He mustn’t have heard me approach because he jumps and twists around.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt. I’m Imogen.”

“I know who you are.” He narrows his eyes, his expression bordering on unfriendly. “Can I help you with anything, Mrs. De Vil?”

“She’s lovely.” I ignore his reticent attitude and his question. Unless he has a gun I can shoot my husband with, it’s doubtful he can help me. I run my hand over her flank. “What’s her name?”

He loosens up a little. “Lightning.” Pointing to the jagged blaze of white on her forehead, he adds, “She named herself.”

I smile. “And what’s your name?”

He hesitates before answering. “Will.”

“Will.” I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you. Andplease, it’s Imogen. Not ma’am, not Mrs. De Vil. Just Imogen.”

A few seconds pass while he stares at my hand, his brow wrinkling in possible confusion. Maybe discomfort. Eventually, he clasps it, shaking it once before freeing me.

Leaning over a bucket filled with grooming products, I pick up a comb and run it through Lightning’s thick mane.

“Um, what are you doing?”

I smile. “Helping.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “My boss wouldn’t like that.”

“If he gives you any trouble, you send him to me.” My place as Alexander’s wife must count for something. “I adore being around horses, and I’ve always found grooming somewhat therapeutic.”

His eyebrows crawl up his forehead, then he breaks out into a grin. “A bit of a rebel, are you, Imogen?” He doesn’t stumble over saying my name, nor revert to Mrs. De Vil. At last, someone who doesn’t have formality shoved up their asses.

“When it suits me.” I wasn’t that much of a rebel before I came here, but I’m learning fast. “Tell me about yourself, Will.” I drop the comb and pick up a brush, running it over Lightning’s neck and back. “How long have you worked here?”

“A couple of months.”

“And do you like it?”

“It’s okay. It’s a job, money.” He shrugs.

“What about family? Are you married?”

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