Page 34 of The Devil's Pawn

“A brat?” She wallops me again, catching me in the left kidney. I wince. Damn. That bloody hurt. She’s got a hell of a punch on her.

“Yes, a brat, and brats get punished.” Marching from the room, I stride down the hallway.

“Put me down!”

I ignore her, and when she doesn’t get any further responses from me, she grabs handfuls of my jacket and shirt, tugging as if she intends to tear the clothes from my body.

“You asshole! I said put me down!”

Oh, I intend to, but not in the way she expects.

The smell of chlorine hits my nostrils the second I open the door to our indoor swimming pool. This rebellious wife of mine needs a lesson in discipline, and I’m going to give it to her. The overhead lights flicker on the moment we enter.

She quickly guesses my intentions, her shocked gasp echoing off the walls.

“No. Alexander, don’t you dare! I mean it!” As I get closer to the edge of the pool, she cries out, “I can’t swim!”

“Liar.” I toss her into the water. What she isn’t aware of is that I asked her father for a dossier on her, which means I’m well aware that she was one of the key members of her college swim team. Even I wouldn’t have given her a dunking unless I was sure she wouldn’t drown.

Although… given her recent behavior, I may have been tempted.

I wait for her to resurface. She doesn’t.Fuck, she hasn’t resurfaced.Because of the navy-blue tiling, the water is too dark to see to the bottom. A cold wave of fear crashes over me, my heart beating erratically. I’m about totear off my shoes and dive in after her when she reappears, spluttering with her hair plastered to her head.

Tension leaks from my body, my heart rate gradually slowing. Jesus Christ. For a second, I thought she’d hit her head on the bottom when I threw her in.

Fear is the one emotion in charge when I snap, “That’s for being a brat. Maybe the shock will help you reflect on your behavior.” I spin on my heel and leave her there, floundering.

In a way, she’s done me a favor. I’m well and truly fired up for the piece of shit I’m due to visit in four hours’ time. I crack my knuckles, spoiling for a fight.

I should pity the poor bastard, but that fucker’s got it coming.

Chapter Twelve

IMOGEN

When I wake up the next morning after one of the worst night’s sleep of my life, my eyes are still stinging from the chlorine that got in them after Alexander dumped me into the pool. Not to mention having to traipse through the house sopping wet while praying I didn’t bump into any of his family. I might have taken my rage out on them, and it’s not their fault my stupid husband is a gigantic jerk.

It took forever for my anger to reduce from ‘burn the world with Alexander in it’ to ‘burn Alexander’, and even several hours and an entirely new day later, it’s simmering away like a pan of oil on a low heat, ready to spit the second that bastard comes anywhere near me.

Brat?Brat!I amnota brat. How else was I supposed to respond to his ridiculous self-absorbed attitude? Sit there and take it? Ha! Wrong woman for that.

Although… my initial thoughts on how to get under his skin had been to behave in a childish manner. Looks as though I’m succeeding.

That doesn’t alter the fury simmering beneath thesurface of my skin at his reaction. I should have challengedhimon whyhedidn’t strike up a conversation withme.Why am Ithe one supposed to suck up to him? He spoke to his father, shared the odd comment with Nicholas, and that was it. He didn’t even speak to the rest of his family.

Idid. I talked to Saskia, who I like a lot, as well as his brothers. I even chatted with Elizabeth, who is so shy, she doesn’t add much to the conversation, but at least I tried. More thanhedid.

Asshole.

I shower and dress in sweats and a T-shirt with my college logo printed on it. There’s something comforting about the familiarity, and I need that today more than ever. I haven’t heard from Emma in a few days, and while it’s tempting to bombard her with texts every day, it isn’t fair to do so. She’s trying to find her feet in a new job, and dealing with my drama-filled life isn’t her responsibility. I know her. She’d want to reply, to comfort and soothe me, when her attention needs to be focused on impressing her boss and her coworkers, and making sure she’s kept on past her probation.

My stomach rumbles, but I can’t face going in search of food. I learned from Maisie that Alexander has his own dining room, where his personal staff serve breakfast every morning, but if I venture there with the fires inside me still smoldering, I may pour an entire jug of coffee all over his damn head.

I could call Maisie and ask her to bring a tray to my room, but that will get reported back to Alexander, and I don’t want him to think he’s won this round. Even though he has, otherwise I’d go and eat something, wouldn’t I?

The day stretches ahead of me, and without a thing to occupy my time, I pace my rooms from one side to the other.It’s during the tenth circuit that I remember something, and a grin creeps over my face.

I still have Alexander’s credit card—the one he gave to me in Scotland. So far, I’ve only bought that chess book, but it doesn’t have to end there.

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