Page 5 of The Devil's Torment

Beth.

Agony spears my chest, sharp enough that I press a hand to my sternum and rub. After a few seconds, the pain eases, but as Nicholas makes his way toward us, it flares up again. This time, even rubbing it doesn’t help.

“Laura, Phillip, I’m?—”

“You’re disgusting,” I cut in, not wanting to hear another word out of his treacherous mouth. “You couldn’t even be bothered to stick around for Beth’s funeral. You are a?—”

“Enough, Vicky.” My father squeezes my upper arm firmly enough to leave a bruise. “You’ve already disrespected this family in front of the entire congregation. I don’t want to hear another word from you, young lady.”

“It’s okay, Phillip.” Nicholas lays a hand on my father’s shoulder, but the flare to his nostrils gives him away. He’s furious. Good. “Emotions are running high,” he adds.

If it were just me and him, he wouldn’t be as polite. He’s respectful to my parents only because he almost married their daughter. Instead, he had a hand in killing her.

“Not yours, obviously,” I snap. “What have you got in there?” I poke a finger in the general direction of his chest, trying not to notice how taut the muscles are, straining against his dress shirt. “A swinging brick?”

“Enough.” This time my dad yells loud enough to draw the attention of the remaining guests who’ve stuck around for the free food and expensive champagne. Not for Beth. Not for my Beth. Most of them didn’t even know her. The De Vils took charge of the guest list, just like they took charge of everything else, including my sister’s remains. It kills me to know I’ll have to come to Oakleigh in order to spend time with her.

“You will apologize to Nicholas right this second,” Dad orders, bringing me back to the present.

“Phillip, that’s not necessary.” Nicholas switches his gaze from my father to me, a steeliness in his eyes, the merest hint of a veiled threat.Nowwe see the beast.

“I’m trying to find out who killed Elizabeth, Victoria. I had a lead that couldn’t wait.”

“We know who killed her. You did.”

My father vibrates beside me, and Mum’s eyes are wide and unblinking as if she’s struggling to process what’s happening. Or maybe she’s worried what my contempt means for her and Dad. Whatever the reason, I don’t care. I stopped caring the second my sister stopped breathing.

Nicholas flexes his hands as though he’s trying not to clamp them around my neck, and a subtle blush steals over his cut-glass cheekbones.

“That’s not true,” he grinds out through clenched teeth.

I snort. “If you hadn’t upset her that night, she’d have come home with us. She’d be safe and sound instead of lying in a cold grave.”

The sigh he expels comes from deep within him, the action one of a man inching toward the end of his tether. A part of me wants to push him further, to see what would happen if he exploded. He strikes me as a man so tightly coiled that it fascinates me what he’ll do if that thread of control holding him together snaps. I’d love to be the one to make him lose his shit.

“At the risk of repeating myself for the hundredth time,” he snaps, “I said nothing to Elizabeth that would have upset her. She was stressed about the wedding, and I reassured her. The next thing I knew, she’d vanished.”

“To get away from you.” I can’t help wanting, noneedingthe last word.

“Cut me a fucking break, would you?” He almost growls each syllable, the underlying threat of retribution one that won’t work on me. I’m beyond caring what my impertinence will do. Way beyond that. “Finding Elizabeth’s murderer consumes my every thought, night and day.”

“Oh, bless your frozen little swinging brick.” Sarcasm threads through every word. “How awful it must be for you.” I wrench out of my father’s vise-like grip and storm off knowing I’ve only worsened my fate, but I’ve got no fucks left to give. They’ll probably send me away again like they did after I helped Imogen sneak off the estate. An ill-advised action that ended in her kidnapping.

God, maybe I’m the problem. Maybe there’s a reason my parents always favored Beth over me or why Nicholas chose my younger sister as his bride when convention would put me, the eldest child, in that position.

The only child, now.

Stuffing my knuckles into my eyes, I rub them hard, probably getting mascara all over my face, but who cares? I don’t.

“Vicky, wait.”

I pull up, turning as Imogen races toward me. She wraps me in a hug, and for a few seconds, I hug her back. There’s something about Alexander’s wife that’s different from what I’m used to. Many British people are frugal with their hugs, the aristocratic and rich among the worst for behaving in a standoffish way. But Imogen isn’t like that. She hugs like she means it, like sheenjoysit. I’ve never visited America, but from what I understand, they’re far more open with their affections than we are. Given how comforted I am by her silent support, there’s something to be said for that.

Too soon, though, my Britishness kicks in, and I pull away, my eyes stinging with tears I can’t let fall.

Later,I tell myself.When you’re alone. When you can sob freely without being judged.

Imogen interlaces our hands. “Come with me.”

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