Page 56 of The Devil's Pawn

Carter snaps his black medical bag closed. “Ten days. Fourteen if you want to make doubly sure.”

“Thanks.” Fourteen days? I only hope I can restrain myself from fucking her for that long. I dial seven on my desk phone. “Richard, will you see Doctor Carter out, please?”

After the doctor leaves, I grab my mobile phone. On the first page is an app I installed this morning. I open it, and after a couple of seconds, a red dot appears.

My lips stretch into a smile. Perfect.

Ah, Little Pawn. Now I’ll always know where you are.

Chapter Twenty

IMOGEN

The pungent smell of hay, saddle soap, and dusty horse hair assaults my nostrils as I stroke Lottie's nose and offer her a piece of carrot. Velvety lips barely touch my hand as she snaffles the treat.

“Good girl.” I scratch the white blaze on her forehead. Riding was out of the question today. Doctor Carter’s “slightly sore” on Sunday morning was a vast understatement. For the last two days, my arm has felt as though it weighs a hundred pounds, and every time I touch the vaccination site, it’s like pressing on a bruise.

Will must be off today. I haven’t seen him around, nor have I asked any of the other grooms where he is. I still haven’t had the conversation with Alexander about warning Will to stay away from me, and until I do, it’s best I don’t draw attention to our friendship.

Since leaving Alexander’s office on Sunday morning, I haven’t seen him, and as today is Tuesday, he’ll lock himself in his office when he returns from wherever he goes, and Richard the Bulldog will stand guard. But tomorrow, we’rehaving a conversation about Will,andabout what happened after the ball on Saturday.

Since he kissed me, I’ve hardly slept, the beautiful thing he said to me afterward running on a loop, making it impossible to drop off. Would it be so bad if I gave into temptation? Sleeping with my husband wouldn’t change anything, although getting pregnant would, and I can’t exactly ask him for contraception. Making babies is part of the contract.

But if I time it right, when I’m least likely to conceive…

The sound of horses’ hooves on the concrete prompts me to turn around. The shock of seeing Alexander enter the stable block riding a chestnut stallion when he shouldn’t be here startles me. I press my body closer to Lottie. Maybe he won’t see me. This isn’t the place for the conversation we need to have. There are too many people around, and besides, I haven’t thought it through properly. I’m not ready.

Dealing with Alexander when all I can think of is the feel of his lips on mine and the hardness between his legs pressing against my stomach isn’t a good idea. When we’re sparring, I can hold my own. But when it comes to sexual matters, he’s far more experienced than me, and knowing him as I’m learning to, he’ll use that to his advantage.

A groom appears from outside, but as he takes hold of the horse’s reins, Alexander’s clipped English accent echoes through the stable block.

“Leave it. I can manage.”

The groom scuttles off, leaving just the two of us. The only way out is to walk past him. Alexander hasn’t looked toward the end of the rows of stables, where I’m standing outside Lottie’s stall, and with any luck, he won’t. He’ll unsaddle his horse and go, and I can slip back to the house without him knowing I was ever here. Then I can tacklehim on my terms, once I’ve figured out the right thing to say.

My breath comes in little sips in anticipation of what, if anything, he’ll do if he sees me here. A pulse thrums in my throat when he dismounts, his boots hitting the ground with a heavy thud. He unsaddles his mount, placing the saddle over the loose box door. Removing the bridle, he whacks the horse on the rump, and the stallion enters the loose box by himself. Alexander follows him. He’s only in there a couple of minutes, probably rubbing the horse down, when he reappears, shuts the door, picks up the saddle and bridle, and leaves.

My shoulders lower on my exhale. I’ll give it ten minutes, then head back to the house. I barely get time to let relief sink in before he’s back. What’s he doing now? He removes his phone from the pocket of his smart, black riding jacket and taps on the screen. Half hidden by Lottie, I run my gaze over him. Is there anything that man can’t wear? He even makes breeches look good. I look a disaster in proper riding gear. It’s why I prefer jeans and ankle boots. On Alexander’s frame, he’d fit right in with Great Britain’s Olympic showjumping team.

His head comes up, and his eyes lock right on to me. My heart rate shoots through the roof, the noise of blood speeding through my veins sounds like river rapids. Neither of us speaks. The tension is almost unbearable, and there’s a moment, a second in time, where I want to bolt, but my feet won’t budge.

Eventually, I find my tongue. “What are you doing here? I thought you were wherever it is you go every Tuesday.” I open the door, leaving him a chance to tell me where that is.

“Change of plans.” One by one, he tugs on thefingers of his leather riding gloves, his gaze never leaving mine. He sets both gloves on top of a feed bin and stalks toward me. “The real question, Little Pawn, is what are you doing here?”

He leans in close, running the tip of his nose along my cheekbone. A faint trace of whisky lingers on his breath, and I can’t help it, I inhale deeply. Drawing back, his eyes flare. If this was a scene from a romance novel, the author might describe him as having cold, flat eyes. Dead, like a shark. But Alexander’s eyes aren’t like that. They’re shining with malevolent intent.

I rack my brains, searching for the kind of sharp wit that comes so easily to me, but this is one of those sexually charged interactions, and I can’t think of a single sarcastic response.

“I-I-I like horses. You know this.”

“Indeed I do.”

He tugs a riding crop out of his boot and draws the lash across my clavicle. The leather is warm and soft, yet I shiver as a fragment of ice enters my veins. His eyes drop to my cleavage. My chest heaves, and with every inhale, my breasts thrust out. It’s as if they’re saying, “I’m here!”

“It appears you like one of my grooms, too. I’ve watched the two of you in the paddock. He’s quite the fan, and, so it seems, are you.”

My heart crashes to the ground. He’s been watching me with Will. Our interactions are purely platonic, and I have nothing to hide. Too late, I realize my mistake. I should have told him Will was teaching me to ride English style and dealt with the ensuing argument out in the open.

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