Page 65 of The Devil's Pawn

ALEXANDER

I approach the panic room with an unfamiliar sense of apprehension. I’m fortunate that I’m the only family member here this morning. All I had to do was inform the staff the alarm was being tested, then let it play out. If my father were here, he would not have approved of my plan. Luckily for me, he left early this morning for a business meeting in London.

Tricking Imogen into coming here by setting off the alarm then locking her in was intended as a way to dial up the isolation, to show her I’m in control. Yet seconds from opening the door, I’m having regrets, and I don’t understand why. I’m not a man who regrets my decisions usually because they are often well thought out. But this decision was made off the cuff as an act of revenge. Maybe that’s why I have an uncomfortable feeling swirling through my abdomen.

But surely this latest stunt of mine will push her closer to demanding a divorce. If the roles were reversed, it would work on me. Imogen is a people person, and in the lastmonth, I have, piece by piece, removed anyone she may get close to from her life.

My sister, who has questioned me more than once about why there’s a sudden need for her to travel overseas.

Tobias, who’s enjoying the added responsibility I’ve piled on his plate far too much to query my reasoning.

Her parents, who I told before they left Oakleigh the day after our wedding that I’d like them to give us six months to settle into married life before they come back to visit.

The staff, who’ve been warned to keep a professional distance.

The fucking groom.

I grind my teeth. The temptation to tell Imogen the truth about Edgerton has crossed my mind more than once. Thinking her life could be in danger may be the final straw. In the end, though, I decided against it, although if my other tactics don’t pay off, I may change my mind.

Keying in the code for the panic room, I hold my breath as the door slides to the left. It’s not open all the way when a whirlwind throws herself at me, pummeling my chest with her tiny fists.

“Youbastard!How could you? How could you!”

I wrap my arms around her and hold her tightly to my chest, not for comfort, but to avoid a stray fist catching me in the face. She struggles to free herself, but she’s no match for me. That doesn’t stop her trying, though. I shoot my hips backward, narrowly avoiding a kick to the shin. She’s already landed that move twice. She won’t get me a third time.

“Imogen, calm down.”

“You left me here all day. All day!”

Maybe I did take it too far. Originally, I’d planned toleave her here for a few hours, but I’d become embroiled in a work issue, and time got away from me. I don’t plan to tell her that, though. If she thinks I’m heartless, she’s more likely to do what I need her to do.

Leave.

“Calm down, or I’ll call my doctor and have him give you a shot.”

She bursts into tears, her body going limp in my arms. Shock renders me speechless. The last thing I expected was to bring her to tears. She’s gritty, resilient, dauntless. She’d never show me her vulnerable side unless I’d really pushed her to the edge.

Goal achieved.

I should be happy. Except I’m not. I feel like a piece of shit. Her father’s dossier never mentioned an issue with enclosed spaces, but that doesn’t mean she’s immune. Our panic rooms aren’t built to spend hours in. They’re a functional space, with direct access to the police. If today’s alarm had been real, and I hadn’t redirected the phone to call my mobile, armed police would have swarmed Oakleigh within ten minutes.

Imogen’s been in there for seven hours.

Bending my knees, I scoop her into my arms and lock my muscles, preparing for a fight that never comes. She wraps her arms around my neck and holds on tightly, her face burrowed against me.

“I’ve got you. Breathe. You’re okay.”

I stride down the hallway, nudging the door to her rooms open with my hip, and lay her on her bed. Damp hair clings to her forehead, and I brush it away. An apology lingers on my lips, but I can’t bring myself to say the words. Doing sowill weaken my position, and there’s an end goal to keep in mind.

Except it’s not burning as brightly as it once was.

Not that it matters how bright or how dull it burns. There’s no possibility of a long-term relationship. My objective still stands, and I’d say I took a giant leap forward today.

“Here, drink some water.” I pick up the glass from a tray I’d had Maisie drop off before I let Imogen out. “There’s food here, too.”

She hiccups, but shuffles to a half-seated position. Her eyes bore into mine as she drinks, but the usual fire I see simmering in her green irises has dulled somewhat.

An uncomfortable feeling stirs in my chest, regret tinged with guilt, but I school my expression, taking the glass from her when she’s had her fill. I place the tray on her lap, but she turns her face to the side.

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