Page 54 of The Devil's Torment

I run my tongue along my lower lip and hitch a shoulder. “He couldn’t have been more attentive or considerate.”

“And you expected him to leave you to your own devices and be grouchy all the time.”

“Yeah, I kind of did. I’m well aware he didn’t want to marry me, but you know, ever since that night at Noir when that twat punched me in the face, he’s changed. He’s… protective of me.” Maybe a little overprotective. I’m still not entirely convinced he won’t try to make trouble for Matthew in some way, if only to stamp his authority. Nicholas is as alpha male as they come. Protection is in his blood, and from the look in his eyes on the couple of occasions Matthew’s name came up, it’s my ex-boyfriend’s blood he’s after.

I make a mental note to see if I can contact Matthew and maybe, oh, I don’t know, warn him there might be an angry husband on the warpath.

Or… I could be overthinking it.

“Lucky you. Alexander ignored me for the most of my honeymoon. Then again, he was trying to isolate me so that I’d leave him.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t stab him in his sleep.”

“Believe me, I came close more than once. I’m glad Nicholas wasn’t like that, though. And of course, he should protect you. He’s your husband.”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t supposed to be, was he?” I sigh, shaking my head. I’m still having trouble casting off the long shadow Beth’s tragic passing has brought into my life. The dichotomy of missing her like crazy, yet knowing if she were here, my shot at happiness with Nicholas would never have come to fruition is messing with my head. The guilt of it is crushing.

“Vicky.” Imogen takes both my hands in hers. “You can’t keep thinking like that. Sometimes fate has more of a hand in our lives than we care to admit. I’m sorry you lost your sister. I don’t have siblings, so it’s hard for me to imagine what you’re going through, especially as the two of you were close, but she isn’t here, and you are. Don’t let her untimely death rob you of the life you deserve.”

I have to hand it to her, Imogen is awfully wise. Perhaps being an only child means you have to rely on yourself a lot more. She has a point, but knowing and believing are two different things. I can’t help feeling like an imposter, and one day, I’ll pay for my sins.

At two-thirty, I extract myself from the mother-to-be and make it back to Nicholas’s apartment. Our apartment now, I guess, although if I am going to live here, I’ll need to add some personal touches. You can tell this is a guy’s space. It’s all functional furniture and bland walls. A splash of color, the odd throw or two, a few scatter cushions, and I should be able to make it feel a little homier.

I dive into the shower. There’s no time to wash my hair, so I rub in some dry shampoo and brush it until it shines. I apply a dab of perfume below each ear and on my neck, and slip into a cream, satin nightgown that clings to my curves and falls a few inches below the knee. Considering we’ve had a lot of sex the last few days, I’m ridiculously excited at the thought of Nicholas turning up here with lust burning in his eyes and ripping this beautiful gown off me.

Three o’clock comes and goes. No sign of Nicholas. Then three-fifteen. Three-thirty. When the clock hits three forty-five, I change out of the nightgown and into a pair of jeans and a cashmere jumper. Disappointment fills my chest as I head off in search of him. I don’t know his routines or where he works, but every room I pass is empty. I head back to the living room, but Imogen isn’t there any longer.

As I make my way downstairs, I spot a member of staff carrying a large tray filled with food walking away from me. I hurry to catch up to him.

“Excuse me?”

He turns to face me, bowing his head a little. “Mrs. De Vil. What can I do for you?”

I’ve never seen this guy before in my life. His familiarity with who I am is a little unsettling, although he probably attended the wedding in some capacity.

“Um, I’m looking for my… my husband.”

“Mr. Nicholas left the estate with Mr. Christian some time ago.”

“Oh.” My heart sinks. Back two minutes, and I’m already forgotten. He’d rather be off with one of his brothers than be with me. Fine. Got it. “Did he say when he’d be back?”

“I’m afraid not.” He shifts the weight of the tray. “Was there anything else, Mrs. De Vil?”

“No. Thank you. If you do see him, can you let him know I was looking for him?”

“Of course.” He bustles off, disappearing into a room a few doors down. I traipse back upstairs and flop onto the couch.

Should I call?

No. He could easily have called me and let me know he wasn’t going to make it. You know what? Fuck him. No time like the present to put the wheels in motion for Montague Interiors. I never did get around to telling him about my fledgling business on our honeymoon. After his vehement declaration that he wouldn’t rest until Beth’s murderer was found, it took the shine off the trip. I know how selfish that makes me, how horrible, but I can’t help it.

After scrolling through the hundreds of messages between Eloise and me (she’s a wordy bish), I eventually find the one she sent ages ago, before Beth died. Before my parents told me I had to marry Nicholas.

Eloise: Here you go, babe. Guy’s name is Anthony Davidson. His number is 07888 222555. Based in Sevenoaks. Dad said he has good contacts.

Taking a deep breath, I hit the call button. It rings and rings, and I’m about to hang up when it’s answered.

“Davidson.”

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