Page 30 of The Devil's Pawn

“What are you doing here when you’re supposed to be dressing for dinner?”

I toss the brush in the bucket of grooming products and dust off my hands. “Ah, yes, the dinner. The same dinner you failed to tell me about yet expect me to attend.”

A frown drifts across his face. “I did tell you.”

“No, you sent Maisie to tell me.”

His frown deepens. “How is that different?”

“Oh, my God.” I shake my head. “You believe that, don’t you?” Exasperation seizes me. I brush past Alexander, beelining for the house.

He catches up to me before I’ve gotten ten feet. Gripping my elbow, he forces me to stop. I try to shake him off, but it’s like trying to free myself fromsuperglue.

“You expected me to inform you of the dinner personally?” He scratches his cheek, his brow furrowed.

“Yes, Alexander. That’s what I expected. Especially since we were alone together for several hours earlier today on the journey back from Scotland, yet you didn’t say a thing. Why not?”

His puzzled expression would be funny if I weren’t so mad at his cluelessness. He’s not a stupid man, far from it, yet when it comes to normal societal expectations, he’s as dumb as a box of rocks.

“I thought the British prided themselves on their politeness.”

He blinks several times before answering, as though he’s weighing up how best to handle me. “My apologies.” He couldn’t sound stiffer if he tried.

“Are you truly sorry or spouting a line?” Before he can say a word, I plow on. “And how did you find me?”

His lips thin. “Don’t question my integrity. If I say I’m sorry, I mean it.” Pivoting, he walks away from me, his long strides putting a fair distance between us within seconds. I race after him. This time, it’smewho grabshisarm.

“Hold on. I want an answer.”

“To which question? You toss them around like confetti.”

I ball my fists at my sides. Refraining from punching him may be my greatest accomplishment to date. “How did you find me?”

It’s clear he’d rather have answered the question about his piss poor apology. He avoids my eyes, which isn’t like him at all. I might have only met him twelve days ago, but this guy wears confidence and arrogance like a suit of armor, and I knowwhy.

“It’s my phone, isn’t it? That’s the extra security you were talking about.”

Busted, he finally meets my gaze, and there’s a hint of remorse in his. “Not only that. There are other security measures. It’s for your safety.”

“And just happens to have the added benefit of you being able to find me wherever I go. How convenient.”

Whirling away from him, my footsteps are so thunderous, I’m surprised the concrete doesn’t crack beneath my feet. He joins me, hands stuffed in his pockets, head down as we walk back to the house in what’s becoming our regular state of being: fucking silence.

As we step into the cavernous hallway, and I head for the stairs, Alexander calls out to me.

“Dinner is in the main dining room. Seven-thirty sharp. That gives you thirty minutes to get ready.”

I’d love nothing more than to tell him to fuck off, that I’m not hungry, and I refuse to attend the stupid dinner. If Alexander was the host, I probably would. But he isn’t, Charles is. The last thing I want to do is disrespect my father-in-law, especially when, during our brief encounters, he’s been nothing but kind to me.

I carry on up the stairs as if he hadn’t spoken. Let him sweat.

He’s made one decision for me at least.

Next time I leave the house, my phone stays behind.

Chapter Eleven

ALEXANDER

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