Page 45 of The Devil's Pawn

“Turn around.”

His voice is laced with a demand I couldn’t disobey even if I wanted to, which I don’t. I pivot, seeking the mirror, but the angle is all wrong, and I can’t see him. I listen keenly,straining for the slightest sound that might give me a clue to his intentions. It’s quiet. Too quiet. I can’t pick up on his breathing any longer. Then I hear it. The soft click of a door. I whip around and stride into the bedroom. Alexander has gone, and the ache that’s steadily grown with each fractious encounter blooms once more.

My gaze shifts to the bed. The black card is gone, too, and in its place is a gold one. Frowning, I cross the room and pick it up. I blink several times in case my eyes are deceiving me.

It’s got my name on it: Mrs. Imogen De Vil. He came for his card.

But he left me one of my own.

Chapter Sixteen

ALEXANDER

Raw intensity and fierce longing wars with frustration and anger at my actions. I keep telling myself to stay away from Imogen yet, like a moth to the proverbial flame, the pull is too difficult to resist. I should be using my absence as yet another way to isolate her, but keeping my distance is growing more challenging by the day.

My refusal to allow her to work is just one more way for me to ensure her solitude, but the look on her face at my curt “No” caused an ache to settle on my chest. I recognize the physical sign all too well: guilt.

She’s smart and would no doubt make a great contribution to the building and architecture company, and Christian who runs that side of the business would take her on in a heartbeat, but working will expose her to far too many people and ruin my plans.

I’m getting close; I can feel it. It’s been almost a month since she arrived, and every day, her light dims that little bit more. She’ll capitulate soon. She has to.

My balls ache, and my dick chafes against my zip as Ipower down the stairs, taking them two at a time. I never should have gone to her rooms, but how was I to know she’d be in the shower with the bathroom door wide open when I went to swap my card for one I’d had specially made for her?

As soon as she stepped out, her curvy body wet and glistening, I should have walked away. Now I can’t get the image of her nakedness out of my mind. It’s scored there, a third-degree burn, and there’s no way for it to heal. I’m self-aware enough to know that every time I close my eyes, Imogen’s pert tits, rounded stomach, and flared hips are all I’ll see.

My father, for all his power, money, and contacts, couldn’t save Annabel. After she died, I vowed I’d never risk bringing a child into this world, knowing forces outside my control could take them from me at any moment. If I touch Imogen once, I won’t be able to stop, and I can’t let that happen. To put myself in a position where I could be responsible for a baby, the most vulnerable human being of all… No, I can’t do it. Iwon’tdo it.

Outside, the skies are gray and heavy, although it’s still warm and humid. Maybe it’s the impending thunderstorm that’s giving me a headache, and once the rain arrives, my mind will clear, and I’ll know what to do. I hate feeling out of control. It takes me back to when I woke up in that foul, rat-infested cellar, my head muzzy with the aftereffects of the drug our kidnappers had used to steal us from our beds, and panic coursing through me at Annabel lying unconscious beside me.

My heart rate shoots up, and I pause, taking several deep breaths until it settles down. Maybe talking to Annabel is what I need to sort through the confusion. It’s been a while since I’ve visited her grave, and Mum’s, too. Shame fills me.My days may be full, from morning until night, but that’s no excuse to abandon them.

As I walk away from the house, something makes me look up at Imogen’s rooms. She’s standing in the window, stark naked, almost as if she knows the internal struggle I’m dealing with and wants to taunt me. To show me she’s the one with all the power.

She is, too. Fortunately for me, she doesn’t realize that, and I have to make sure she never does. Despite my raging attraction to her, the plan hasn’t changed. Once she’s gone from my life, at her request, my father will shift his focus to Nicholas and Elizabeth, and I’ll be off the hook. I doubt he’d force me to marry a second time, especially as I’ve made no secret of how difficult I find Imogen to manage. He’ll see the dissolution of our marriage as a failure on his part, and I have no intentions of putting him right.

The ache in my groin worsens the longer I look at her. Tearing my gaze away from temptation, I set off on the twenty-minute walk to the chapel, where Imogen and I married just a few short weeks ago. I head around the back to where the cemetery is, snaking through the graves of our ancestors until I reach the final resting place of my mother and sister.

Someone has left fresh flowers on both Annabel and Mum’s graves, and shame coats me once more that I’ve left it so long between visits. In the early years, we all came here regularly, but these days, we visit only on birthdays or at Christmas, and then it’s as a family.

I read the card on Annabel’s first, and my chest tightens.

I think about you every day. I didn’t know you, but you’ll always be my sister. ILY, Saskia xx

Saskia was only four when Annabel died, yet despite herlack of memories, Annabel and our mother are as real to her as they are to me. I read the card she left for Mum next.

I miss you. I wish you were here to guide me. Your beloved daughter, Saskia xx

It’s been years since I’ve cried, which makes the rush of tears somewhat of a surprise. I blink them away. Saskia is so self-sufficient and outwardly confident, I often forget how young she is. As her eldest brother, it’s on me to be more present in her life. If it’s guidance she needs, then I should offer that to her. She might find talking to me easier than Dad, especially about Mum. I’ve been so wrapped up in the business, my thirst for revenge, and in Imogen, I’ve forgotten my role as the eldest child. She’s due back from the business trip I sent her on to keep her away from Imogen on Friday night. I’ll take the opportunity to check in on her then.

“What should I do, Belle?”

Belle was the nickname only I used for my twin, and she called me Sasha, whereas the rest of my family use the much more common Xan. As twins, we’d had an extra special bond, and since those bastards took her from me, there’s a piece missing that will never be filled no matter how long I live. My hatred for those murderers still burns deep, even though they’re dead. It’s why I do what I do, why I kill those who rape and murder women. It’s the only time I get a few precious moments of peace.

A blob of rain lands on my shoulder, and within seconds, it’s teeming down. I take refuge in the chapel, but instead of bringing me solitude, all I can see is Imogen standing beside me at the altar, looking like a fucking dream. Yet the only word I’d offered her was that she looked “nice”.

This plan of mine may be the best for me, and for Imogen, but it’s only making me hate myself even more.

The downpour eases off, although it’s still raining when I emerge from the chapel. I turn up the collar on my jacket, put my head down, and make my way back to the house. I have meetings all afternoon and late into the night, yet when I enter the house, it’s not my office I head toward. I pull up the app that tracks Imogen’s phone. She’s still in her bedroom and, God help me, hopefully, still naked. I have no idea what I’ll say to her when I get there, but my feet take me in that direction, anyway.

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