Page 43 of The Devil's Pawn

“I mean”—she checks behind her again—“he’s never in a good mood on a Tuesday night. It’s best he’s left alone. Trust me.” With a kind smile, Maisie shuffles off, leaving me staring after her with only one question swirling through my mind.

What does Alexander do on a Tuesday that puts him in such a bad mood?

Chapter Fifteen

IMOGEN

I had hoped to talk to Alexander this week about taking up a position with the firm, but whatever business issue he sent Saskia and Tobias off to solve had apparently needed his attention, too, which means I haven’t had the opportunity to discuss it. He only returned last night and headed straight for his study, the impenetrable Richard standing guard once again.

His continued absences have thrown up another problem: if he’s never here, how can I possibly rile him until he gets sick of me and asks for a divorce?

Meanwhile, my loneliness continues to expand until it consumes me. I feel swallowed whole by it. I managed a quick call with Emma last Saturday, but she couldn’t chat for long. She was meeting a group of our classmates at the beach and couldn’t seem to get me off the phone fast enough. I tried not to let it bother me, but it did. Her life is moving on without me, and all the while my chances of getting out of here are growing slimmer by the day.

As I still haven’t found the motivation to draw, the mainway I spend my time is riding. Will has continued to defy orders and teach me, and Lottie and I are getting along swimmingly. Yesterday, I even went for a short hack on my own. The freedom I felt stayed with me all night.

The smell of bacon draws me to the dining room now, but the sight of Alexander sitting at the head of the table reading a newspaper stops me in my tracks. He hasn’t seen me yet, and I take the rare opportunity to study him without him being aware of my attention. The bruises and cuts on his knuckles have faded, although one or two deeper cuts remain. He seems relaxed enough, though, so perhaps this is the best time to raise the issue of gainful employment with him.

He folds the paper, and as he does, his eyes lock with mine. Pretending I’ve just arrived and haven’t spent several seconds watching him, I sweep into the room and sit where I normally do, at the opposite end of the table from him.

“Good morning.” I keep my voice light and force a smile. I need something from him, and the best way to get it is to put my usual combative approach on hold.

The staff member on duty pours me a coffee. I murmur a thanks and take a sip.

Setting the paper down, Alexander points to his empty glass, and the same staff member dashes over to refill his glass with iced water. He sips, then returns the glass to the table. “Good morning to you. How did you sleep?”

My forehead wrinkles. Small talk? Alexander doesn’t do small talk. Not that I’ve noticed, anyway. He’s abrupt in his dealings with most people, even his siblings.

“Well.” I lean back as a plate of bacon and eggs is placed in front of me. I smile my thanks and dig in. As unhappy as I am, the one thing that hasn’t changed since I arrived atOakleigh is my appetite. Maybe it’s the country air, but I’m constantly starving.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. Work is… consuming.”

My fork, loaded with food, pauses halfway to my mouth. An apology? What’s happened to the man? Has someone cloned him?

“That’s okay. You have a large empire to run.” Being agreeable is easier than I thought it would be. It makes for a far more relaxing breakfast. “It’s understandable that it consumes you. You’re lucky you have something that absorbs your time.”

Good segue, Imogen. Keep it going.

He pushes his plate to one side and draws a bowl of berries toward him. Stabbing a strawberry, he slips it into his mouth, and I stare. I stare and stare as he chews, then swallows. Eventually, I pull my gaze away and return to my breakfast.

“The inordinate amount of online shopping you did must have consumed you a little.”

My heart stutters, stops, then jerks back to life. Ah, hell. I’d almost hoped he wasn’t going to mention it, or perhaps didn’t even know yet. That ruins my plans to ask him about taking on a job. No point in keeping up the charade now.

Schooling my expression, I look him dead in the eye. “And what do I get for my disobedience? Another spanking? A second dunking in the pool? Or do you have something else on your list you’re planning to punish me with?”

“Respect,” he says.

I almost fall off my chair. “What did you say?”

Seemingly bored with the fruit, he sets the almost-full bowl on top of his empty plate. “You could have boughtanything, especially as that card doesn’t have a credit limit, yet you chose to help a dozen or more charities that I’m sure made good use of your gifts.”

My mouth opens and closes but, for once, I’m speechless. This reaction was the last thing I expected when he finally broached the subject. I figured he’d be mad. But he’s… well, not quite smiling, but he isn’t scowling, either. I’m so confused.

“And I presume the donation to Zenith is related to your love of architecture.”

My skin prickles. If he knows I have a job offer on the table, it might alert him to my plan. I can’t have that.

“I interned with them a couple of times during college. They do a lot of work to help communities in Africa, so not exactly altruistic but progressive.”

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