Page 74 of The Devil's Pawn

And the tracker in your arm, dearest wife. I say nothing, letting her lead the conversation. We turn south out of London instead of north, but she doesn’t make a comment. It might be because she didn’t pay attention to which roads we took to get here, and this is her first time traveling to London.

“We got caught up chatting while at lunch. It was so lovely to spend time with my friends.”

Make the most of it, Little Pawn.“I didn’t ask for an explanation.”

She turns to look out the window, and I brace for abarrage of questions about where we’re going, but she seems none the wiser.

Inhaling deeply, she says, “I’m sorry I was late.”

I curtail my surprise, nodding curtly. “I accept your apology.”

More silence ensues. She plays with the hem of her dress, then the strap on her handbag. I close my eyes. We’ll be there soon. Then all hell is going to break loose.

“How was your meeting?”

I open my eyes and roll my head to the left, running my tongue over my bottom lip. Her eyes lower, watching me sweep back and forth. If I’m not mistaken, she presses her thighs together and breathes in through her nose. My little pawn is a little turned on.

My fingers itch to touch her, to run my hands up her smooth, shapely thighs. To slide inside her. To make her come as hard as she did in the stables. As little as I sleep, every time I have, the sounds she made that evening have filled my dreams. Those panting little gasps, the way her eyes widened as her orgasm approached. The sheen of sweat on her top lip I wanted so badly to lick off.

The hiss she made when I flicked the crop against her clit.

It’s all moot though. Sadly, there isn’t time to enjoy her properly before we arrive at our destination, and after what I’m about to do to her, she won’t be receptive afterward.

“It was… interesting.”

That’s one word for it. Lilian, my therapist, asked me some fucking tough questions about my marriage, and what infuriated me most was that I didn’t have answers for her. Lilian never gives answers, but she does come up with the odd body language cue that, if it spoke, would have saidsomething like, “I call bullshit” when I told her my plans for Imogen hadn’t changed.

Theymight not have, but she believesIhave, and there’s a horrible churning in my stomach that suggests she could be onto something. Seeing Imogen all beaming smiles and light steps as she exited the car with her friends has made what I’m about to do feel… uncomfortable. At first, I didn’t care how much I hurt her, but lately, every time the light in her eyes fades, a part of me feels her pain as though it’s my own.

I take out my phone and answer a few emails. Imogen takes hers out, too, and I catch the odd smile and glance toward the front of the car. She’s texting Emma, and whatever they’re chatting about is making her happy.

That won’t last long.

My chest tightens, and I rub it. As the car slows, I loosen my tie and unfasten the top button. She’s going to hate me for this, but maybe, just maybe, this will be the final straw. The catalyst that pushes her over the edge. To deny someone with Imogen’s personality friendship is one thing, but to let them have a taste of it only to snatch it away again… that’s the cruelest of all.

Even if I was having second thoughts, it’s too late. I’ve set the wheels in motion, and now I have to follow through.

Imogen doesn’t acknowledge we’ve stopped until I unfasten my seat belt. Her head comes up, and she glances out of the window. My jet stands on the apron, the evening sun glinting off the cockpit window.

“What are we doing here?” She turns her attention to me. “What’s going on?”

Ignoring her, I open my car door and step out. Emma is already on the tarmac, with Steven standing beside her.Imogen virtually flings herself out of the car, her head volleying between Emma and me.

I school my expression, resuming my usual aloof demeanor, except instead of coming naturally, it feels fake. “Emma is leaving us.”

Imogen’s jaw drops, her mouth agape. “No, she isn’t.”

“Yes, she is.” I focus on Emma, who’s as blindsided as Imogen. “If you’d called ahead, I would have told you that Imogen isn’t ready for visitors yet. She is settling into her life here, and having people from her old life turn up out of the blue isn’t conducive to making her feel at home here. I will bring her for a visit in a few months.”

She’ll be long gone in a few months. The thought gives me a feeling much like acid reflux. It’s uncomfortable, unwelcome, and I have to force myself not to rub my chest.

Emma’s gaze shoots to Imogen. “Babe?”

“You can’t do this!” Imogen whirls to face me, nostrils flared, eyes blazing with murderous intent. “She’s going nowhere.”

“Steven.” I jerk my chin. “Please escort Miss Delacourt onto the flight.”

“No!” Imogen makes a dash for her friend. I clasp both her arms, pulling her against me. She fights like an alley cat, spitting and kicking out with her legs, but I’m too strong for her, and I’ve learned how to avoid those vicious kicks she landed during previous altercations.

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