Page 72 of The Devil's Torment

“I thought you were never going to wake up.” I run my thumb over her other nipple. “I wondered if you wanted to take a trip out today. The weather looks pretty good.”

“A trip where?” Her fingers burrow into my hair, and she pulls me closer to her. Cupping her tits, I push them together and feast on both her nipples at once. “To my vagina by the looks of things.”

I laugh. “Your pussy is a worthy contender, but I was thinking more of Windsor. We could do a little shopping, visit the castle, say hi to the King if he’s there.”

“You say that like he’d invite you in for afternoon tea.”

“He would if it fit in with his schedule. Unfortunately, he’s overseas at the moment.”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, disbelief rolling in waves across her face. “TheKingwould invite you into the castle? TheKing of England?You’re not serious?”

I chuckle. “The De Vils and royalty have always been close. We go way back. Centuries of connections.”

“How did I not know this?”

I shrug. “It’s not something that comes up in regular conversation.” I kiss her, then throw back the covers, roll her onto her stomach and slap her arse. “Up, Mrs. De Vil. There’s a whole world to discover outside of this bedroom.”

She rolls back over. “Do you think we’ll have time to drop by Anthony’s house on the way? I haven’t had chance to do an in-person site visit yet.”

“I’m sure we can make the time.”

An hour later, with Sol behind the wheel and Barron sitting beside him, we wind our way out of Oakleigh. After visiting Anthony Davidson’s eighteenth century sprawling second home and listening to Victoria excitedly talk about her plans for it, we set off for Windsor.

Hand in hand, we meander through the streets, ducking in and out of tourist shops, where Victoria indulges in buying what she calls classic souvenirs and I call tat. But in truth, I spend most of my time watching her. On the odd occasion she catches me looking and our eyes meet, I get a violent urge to push her up against the nearest wall and fuck her senseless. I feel like a teenager again where sex is the only thing on my mind.

Our grumbling stomachs and sore feet lead us to a bustling café. We snag the last table, toward the middle, and order lunch. Over our food, we talk a little more about her plans for Davidson’s house, and she lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree, her enthusiasm and animation both charming and enchanting.

Not for the first time I wonder how I never saw the real person beneath the dour appearance she used to wear like a tattered cloak each time our paths crossed.

Now I see the real Victoria, I can’t take my eyes off her.

Once our plates are empty, I beckon to a passing waitress and ask for our bill, but as my attention returns to Victoria, she’s paled, and her eyes are flared wide open as though she’s seen a ghost.

“What’s the matter?”

She swallows, blinking furiously. “Nicholas, do you have the drawing on your phone?” she whispers. “The one of the taxi driver.”

“Why?” I half turn to follow her gaze, but her nails dig into my arm.

“Don’t turn around. Just show me the drawing, please.”

“You think you see him?”

“I don’t know. Let me look at it.”

Frowning, I open the photos app on my phone and enlarge the artist’s impression based on the only witness to the driver of Elizabeth’s cab that I’ve managed to locate. I slide the phone across the table. Victoria doesn’t pick it up, but her eyes dart down, then up, then back down again. Finally, she looks at me.

“It could be him. It could be, but it’s hard to tell. Same jaw, same square chin, but he’s not wearing glasses, or a cap, like in this drawing.”

The urge to turn around is almost impossible to ignore. “Tell me where he’s sitting.”

“Along the back wall. It sort of looks like him, but…” She bites her bottom lip. “I’m not sure.”

I take my phone back and seek out Barron standing guard by the entrance. I lift a finger and swirl it in the air. He nods his agreement and gets on his phone to call Sol and tell him to bring the car. Sol won’t be far away, but no parking is allowed on this street.

“Describe exactly where he’s sitting and what he’s wearing. Be specific.” I didn’t want to have to scan the room in case he spotted us. If he was in on the plot to kill Elizabeth—if she even was the target, which I’m still not entirely convinced of—then the last thing I want is to spook him and have him take off and disappear into the crowds.

“There are five tables to the left of a painting of Windsor castle that’s hanging on the wall, and four to the right. He’s on the left-hand side in the middle of those five tables. He’s sitting alone, and he’s wearing a dark gray bomber style jacket and blue jeans.”

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