Page 96 of The Devil's Pawn

I laugh, even though, on behalf of womankind, his bullish behavior should infuriate me, as well as set off several red flags. But that’s just him.

“Fine, but I’m taking the left-hand side of the bed.”

“Works for me. I sleep on the right-hand side anyway.” His lips meet mine, and by the time he releases me a minute later, I’m a puddle of need, and all thoughts of a date have scattered. But as I ride his leg, letting him know my intentions with my actions, since I still struggle to verbally express anything “dirty”, he lets me go, wagging a finger at me.

“The date is not in your bed.”

I pout. “You’re bored with me already.”

“Not true, but I have this whole thing planned. So, dress in something comfortable, wear layers in case it gets chilly, and be downstairs in fifteen minutes. Oh, and I have a surprise for you.”

“What surprise?”

“You’ll find out.”

He leaves me to change, and by the time I get downstairs, Alexander is already waiting. He’s dressed in blue jeans and a black T-shirt that clings to his chest and shows off his biceps. For a man who, for all intents and purposes, has a desk job, he keeps himself in great shape. Maybe it’s all those men he kills.

His proclivity toward violence should scare me, but the fact he makes sure of their guilt and only targets men who’ve hurt and abused women and defenseless kids makes me proud to call him my husband. I wish with all my heart he’d felt able to share what happened to his sister and his mother before now, but since we spent a large part of the first weeks of our marriage in a state of constant angst, it’s hardly a surprise he kept something so private and painful to himself.

He’s leaning against a red, racy-looking sports car I haven’t seen before. I don’t know much about cars, but I bet it goes fast. Strangely, though, it only has two seats.

“Your carriage, Mrs. De Vil.” He opens the passenger door with a flourish and gestures for me to get in. As I do, he bends over me and clips in my seat belt, stealing a kiss on his way to standing.

“Where have you put Steven?” I ask, referring to one of his bodyguards. “Have you stuffed him in the trunk?”

He chuckles, jerking back his head as a black SUV rolls to a stop behind us with Douglas driving and Steven in the passenger seat. It’s weird to think we’re never completely alone, but after what he told me about his and Annabel’s kidnapping, I understand his obsession with security. It’s probably overkill, but our experiences shape who we are as people, so it’s unsurprising he’s over-the-top about the risks, however small.

Once he climbs into the driver’s side and fastens his seat belt, a question I’ve been musing on comes to me, and I decide to voice it.

“Can I ask you something about your kidnapping? If it’s too painful, that’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

He starts the engine and pulls away from the house. “You, my darling wife, can ask me anything. I may not always answer, but you should never be afraid to ask.”

“How did the men get into Oakleigh without being detected?”

He rolls his lips, a muscle feathering in his cheek. “It’s a good question, and one I have thought about often over the last nineteen years. Both my father and I came to the same conclusion.”

“Which is?”

“They had help from the inside.”

My eyes widen. “Who?”

“We don’t know. My father and Uncle George, as well asseveral Consortium members, interviewed every single person who worked at Oakleigh at the time, but they never found the culprit. And believe me when I say they did not go easy during questioning.”

I shudder at the hidden message behind that innocuous sentence. He misreads my reaction, squeezing my hand.

“You’re safe, Imogen. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Oh, I know. I’m only sorry you didn’t get the answers you deserved to.”

“I haven’t given up, and I never will, but as each year passes, the chances of discovering what happened lessen. I’m convinced, though, that the men who took us and murdered Annabel were not acting alone. They insisted they were, but I didn’t believe them then, and I don’t believe them now. Whoever they were working for must have had immense power, because those men chose to die rather than give me a name. I’d wager whoever was in charge threatened the men’s families if they grassed.”

The car growls when he presses the gas pedal, and we set off toward the entry gates. They open as we approach, the guard on duty saluting as though Alexander is in the military. My eyes fall to the gun holstered around his waist. It’s not the first time I’ve left Oakleigh, but on the previous occasions, I never noticed the guards were armed.

“I thought guns were illegal in Britain.”

“They are.”

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