Page 31 of The Devil's Pawn

As infuriated as I am with my wife’s intractable behavior, there’s something rather magnificent about watching her storm up the stairs as if a swarm of bees were chasing her while knowing I’m the cause of her rage.

There’s a fire in her that not only intrigues me, but urges me to stoke it, to see how far I can push her before she flames out. I may as well have some fun with her before she reaches the end of her tether and leaves me for good.

She turns the corner after the first flight of stairs to climb the second, sending a hateful glare my way before vanishing from sight.

A small smile creeps over my lips, but it falls the second I think about where I found her. At the stables, no less, grooming a horse as if she was one of the staff rather than my wife. The woman is like an unruly child who seeks the thing its parents will find the most maddening, and then keeps pushing the button until they get the reaction they’re looking for, whatever that may be. It doesn’t matter that I don’t intend her to keep that status for long. As far aseveryone else is concerned, this is it for the rest of our lives, and respecting me and this household is non-negotiable.

The groom in question is lucky he got away unscathed. He should have immediately sent her packing the second she showed up, let alone allowed her to help him do his job.

A prickle of unease drifts over my skin. Why didn’t he send her away? I’m a man who listens to his gut, and something is telling me to dig a little deeper on this individual. I slide my phone from my trouser pocket and fire off a text to Richard.

Groom called Will. Find out how long he’s worked here and send me his job application.

“Ooh, brother. If looks could kill, I’d be organizing your funeral.”

I glance behind me as Nicholas approaches, a taunting grin on his face.

“What have you done to upset the lovely Imogen this time?”

I’m close with all my siblings, but mostly to Nicholas. At only two years younger than me, we have the most in common, yet there’s something about hearing my wife’s name on his lips that irks me. It shouldn’t. Nicholas is engaged to be married to a woman who wouldn’t dare talk back to him the way Imogen does to me, and that suits Nicholas perfectly. He wants a doormat for a wife. Before I met Imogen, I’d have said the same thing about me, but now… well, I’ve changed my mind. The constant angst makes my dick hard.

“Nothing.” I slide my phone into my pocket.

He laughs. “Didn’t look like nothing to me.”

“What would you know? You’ve only met her two or three times.”

“Yeah.” His grin widens. “Almost as many as you.”

“Fuck off, Nicholas.”

Without giving him another chance to rib me, I stride toward the dining room. I’m the first to arrive, but that isn’t surprising, given it’s only ten past seven. Nicholas enters shortly afterward and takes his usual seat, reaching for the jug of iced water.

“Is Elizabeth coming?”

“Of course.” He winks as he pours himself a glass. “She’s obedient, unlike your beloved.”

My jaw flexes, and so do my hands. He drops his gaze and arches an eyebrow.

“My, my. Iceman is melting under the strain, and you haven’t even been married a week. It doesn’t bode well.”

Before I get a chance to respond or punch him in his smug face, Christian saunters in. “What doesn’t bode well?”

“Nothing.” I glare at Nicholas.

He meets my glower with another broad grin.

“How was the honeymoon?” Christian asks.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” His forehead wrinkles. “Imogen is a lucky girl.”

I expel a heavy sigh through my nose. Is everyone trying to push me this evening? First Imogen getting too fucking cozy for my liking with that groom, then Nicholas witnessing Imogen’s ire aimed squarely at me, and now Christian. If non-attendance at this dinner wasn’t cause to find yourself cast out from the family, I’d skip it.

I’m saved from any further attempts by my brothers to snap my last nerve when the rest of the family arrives. Saskia is chatting with Elizabeth, although the conversation is one-sided. Elizabeth is a quiet girl, respectful of this family and her position as Nicholas’s future wife. Which I guess isprecisely the reason he chose her as his bride when given the choice between Elizabeth and her far more spirited sister Victoria.

It makes me wonder whether my father would have still chosen Imogen for me had he known what a firecracker she’d turn out to be. Throughout generations, the De Vil men have typically married women similar to Elizabeth. Take my aunt Alice, for example. She wouldn’t say boo to a goose, let alone answer back to Uncle George, or to anyone in fact.

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