Page 32 of The Devil's Pawn

Still, I’m stuck with Imogen… for now. It’s early days, but I may have to increase my efforts and isolate her further. She’s turning into quite the competitor—one I didn’t envisage.

The grandfather clock against the far wall of the dining room chimes on the half hour, and there’s still no sign of her. I’m about to march to her rooms and drag my errant wife down the stairs by her fiery locks when she finally enters.

My breath catches in my throat. She’s dressed in an ankle-length, silver gown that shimmers over her curves and shows a hint of cleavage. Her hair hangs in waves over her shoulders, and she’s added a touch of color to her pillowy lips, but otherwise, her face is bare of makeup. She doesn’t need it. She’s… stunning.

Her green eyes land on mine, and the earlier blaze of anger still swirls in her irises. My dick twitches in response to her challenging gaze, and I offer one of my own in return. Unlike most people, other than family, my wife doesn’t wither beneath my stare. She flourishes.

“Ah, Imogen. You made it.” My father steps forward and clasps her upper arms, kissing both her cheeks. “I’m sorry to drag you to a family dinner the same day you returned from your honeymoon, but it’s been a tradition in our family foryears. We’re all so busy, it’s good to have a regular date in the diary where we all come together.”

“It’s not a problem at all,” she says genially, with none of the defiance I’m lucky enough to be on the receiving end of. “I’m looking forward to getting to know everyone better.”

Oh, no, you’re not.Making friends with my family is not happening. If I’m to use isolation to force her into divorcing me, I can’t allow her to make alliances within Oakleigh.

My father shows her to a seat that’s usually Christian’s—the one next to mine. Everyone shuffles one chair over from where they normally sit. I get a whiff of Imogen’s perfume as I take my seat.

She smells like the kind of sin I’d love to commit again and again.

I’d known celibacy would be difficult to accomplish, and considering how hard my dick is, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep the promise I made to myself as soon as my father announced I was to marry.

I’d never cheat. I may be a lot of things, and have the kinds of morals many would find abhorrent, but cheating on my wife doesn’t make the list. For as long as we’re married, I have two choices: remain celibate or find a way to fuck her without risking an unwanted pregnancy.

I could demand she take contraception, but that’ll create too many questions. And I can’t wear condoms either for the same reason. She’s well aware of the expectations to produce children, and while my refusing to touch her thus far is probably confusing to her, I doubt she’ll mention it.

“Just in time, Imogen,” I murmur as the staff arrive to serve the first course.

“You said seven-thirty,” she replies, leaningback to allow a plate of smoked salmon sushi to be placed in front of her. “I arrived at seven-thirty.”

“The last to arrive.”

“Which no one seemed to mind. Except for you, that is. Color me surprised.”

She digs into the sushi with the delight of a woman who enjoys her food. That pleases me. I can’t abide it when women push their food around their plate and announce they’re full after eating a single lettuce leaf. She strikes up a conversation with Christian, ignoring me completely. I catch Nicholas’s eye. He winks again, then turns and says something to Elizabeth.

“How was the honeymoon?” Dad asks me while the rest of the family chat with those nearest to them.

“Redundant,” I reply.

He narrows his eyes and lowers his voice to ensure we won’t be overheard. “Alexander, you always knew the wedding would take place after Imogen graduated, yet you’re behaving as though it came as a surprise. What is wrong with you?”

“I married her, didn’t I?”

“Because you knew it was your duty, but I had rather hoped you’d throw yourself into being a good husband with a little more… enthusiasm.”

“Then, maybe you should have picked out a wife like Elizabeth.”

My father laughs, the lines around his eyes deepening. “I believe I chose perfectly well.”

“You chose her before she was born. You couldn’t possibly know how she’d turn out.”

“And how has she turned out?”

“She’s…” I search for the right words. “Rebellious, argumentative, stubborn, disobedient.”

He nods sagely, and at first I think it’s because he can see my point of view, but that’s not it at all. “She’s perfect for you.”

I heave a sigh. “The De Vil men don’t marry combative women.”

“Your mother put the combat in combative, and she gave me eighteen wonderful years and six beautiful children.” The lines around his eyes tighten.

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