Page 16 of The Devil's Pawn

“I didn’t choose you so much as your father and I came to an agreement. Call it instinct, but the moment he proposed the idea, I knew it was the right thing to do, for youandfor Alexander.” He leans in closer, whispering in my ear. “I know you won’t let me down.”

A blush steals across my face. If he knew what I had planned, he wouldn’t be so nice to me. But if my strategy works out the way I hope it will, it’ll be Alexander who has to deal with Charles’s disappointment and, yes, possibly wrath. I can’t allow myself to worry about that. I need to be selfish and to put myself first.

“I’ll try not to, sir,” I lie.

“I hope you’ll settle in here at Oakleigh, and it’ll become a home to you as much as it is to us.”

Not a chance. “Thank you, sir.”

With his features steeped in kindness, Charles smiles. “I want you to be happy here.”

I don’t know how to reply without sounding disrespectful, so I return his smile but say nothing.

“Ah, here’s Alexander.”

My stomach sinks. Great. Right when I was having a nice time, here comes husband dearest to ruin it all. The smileslides off my face as Charles releases me and hands me over to Alexander.

“Dance with your wife.”

There’s more than a hint of an order in his tone, and despite his earlier comments regarding Alexander’s stubborn streak, I get a distinct feeling he won’t outwardly defy his father. Charles bows to me as Alexander takes my hand and slides his other hand around my waist. Unlike his father, who swept me around the room as if dancing was in his blood, Alexander’s frame is stiff, and he couldn’t look any less comfortable if he tried.

“You don’t have to dance with me, you know,” I say. “Especially if you’re going to make that face while doing it.”

He peers down his aristocratic nose at me. “What face?”

“The constipated one.”

His expression transforms from constipated to disgusted. “I do not look like that.”

“You should see it from where I’m standing.”

I probably shouldn’t rile the beast, but I can’t help it. There’s something about my brand-new husband that makes me want to behave like I’m still in grade school.

“What did my father say to you?”

“About what?”

“Anything.”

“He said you were an asshole, but as you’re his son, he has to like you. I think he was trying to make me feel better.”

He freezes in the middle of the dance floor, and his hand is so tight on my hip, I’m sure he’ll leave a bruise. His sigh comes up all the way from his polished Italian shoes. “Did you learn to run that mouth at the expensive college your parents paid for?”

Angling my head to one side, I offer a faint smile. “It’s odd, you know. With everyone else, I’m the epitome of politeness. Just ask your father. It’s you who brings out the sass in me. Funny that, isn’t it?”

Without waiting for a response I’m not interested to hear, I wriggle from his grasp and head for the nearest server holding a tray filled with drinks. If I’m to make it through my wedding night without stabbing my husband in the eye with a diamond-studded letter opener, I’ll need more than the glass of water I’ve had so far.

I swipe a flute filled to the brim with the finest champagne, probably flown in from the vineyards of France, and down a third. The hit of alcohol goes some way to soothing my frayed nerves. I’m not a big drinker, but tonight, I need it. I check the gold watch Dad gave me for my twenty-first birthday. Ten o’clock. God, I’m exhausted, but I guess I’m stuck here for a while longer yet. Probably for the best. Nerves are already streaming around my body at the idea of losing my virginity to a man I disliked on sight, and who clearly doesn’t like me, either.

I’m scared.

What if it hurts? What if he’s rough? What if I can’t bring myself to do it? Would he take me anyway?

Yes, I think he would.

I feel sick at the thought of him holding me down while he forces himself on me.

Once again, my anger rises at my parents, and right at its peak, they appear, all beaming smiles and shining eyes.

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