Page 83 of The Devil's Pawn

She doesn’t move.

She doesn’t fucking move.

I almost rip the door off its hinges as I bolt into the hallway and race down the stairs. I trip at the bottom, only saving myself from falling by grabbing onto the handrail.

“Call my doctor!” I yell at Alan as he passes through the foyer carrying a silver tray. “Get him here now!”

I don’t wait to see if he acts. It’s Alan. He’ll be on the phone before I’ve taken a step outside. He’s one of my father’s most trusted employees, and he’s been with us for more than thirty years.

My thighs power me forward, and I reach the stable block in less than a minute. There’s a crowd around Imogen, hiding her from sight.

“Get the fuck away from my wife!” I roar, shoving them out of the way. They scatter like crisp autumn leaves. “No one fucking touches her.” I’m wild with fear, and aware I’m being irrational, but I can’t help it. God, if she’s… if she’s…

My knees hit the concrete. I cradle her head in my lap. “Imogen? Can you hear me?”

Her eyes flicker. “The whole estate can hear you.”

Thank God.She’s not unconscious,andshe’s joking. All good signs. The fall must have winded her, which was why she didn’t move. Wincing, she tries to sit up. I ease her flat.

“Stay still.”

“I’m okay.”

“You don’t know that. What hurts?”

“My chin and the back of my head. I hit it when I fell.”

There’s a faint bruise on her chin that I’m sure will develop over the coming hours, but it doesn’t look like there are any broken or dislocated bones. She touches the back of her head, and when her fingers come away, they’re red.

“You’re bleeding.” I cradle her head and examine the cut as best I can, but it’s hard to see whether she’ll need stitches until the wound is cleaned up.

“You’re observant.”

I roll my eyes, although the fact she’s teasing me is such a relief. “I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

“I can walk.”

“You’re not walking. Stop fighting me for once before I lose my shit.” I scoop her up. “Put your arms around my neck.”

She does as I ask, and I carry her back to the house. Alan is waiting in the foyer. “The doctor will be here in fifteen minutes, sir.”

“Thank you, Alan.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” she protests while I head for the first flight of stairs. “But you do need an elevator.”

“You do need a doctor, and you’re light as a feather.”

“You won’t say that when your back gives out.”

“Imogen.” I sigh. “Shut up.”

“You’re grumpy.”

“And you’re lucky to be alive. I shouldn’t have let you go near that horse.”

“It wasn’t his fault. He got startled, that’s all. Don’t take it out on Sundance.”

“Sundance?”

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