Page 52 of The Devil's Torment

She doesn’t sound fine. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” The word comes out short and snappy. She sighs, rubbing her forehead. “I’m a little tired, that’s all, and not looking forward to a long, bitter English winter.”

“I’ll warm you up.” I put one arm around her shoulders and keep her close to me as we walk down the stairs, but there’s a stiffness to her body that hasn’t been there these last few days. She’s not okay, no matter what she says, but having a sister is helpful in these situations. It’s better to let her tell me what’s wrong in her own time rather than push and prod.

I still bear the scars of the time I told a fourteen-year-old pubescent Saskia to calm down and stop getting emotional. My sister is far scarier than almost anyone I know when she’s riled.

On the short journey to the airfield, Victoria says exactly four words. No, yes, okay, and fine. I scour my thoughts for what might have upset her, but come up empty. Come to think of it, she’s been fairly quiet since we returned from sailing on our second day here, although the only memories I have of that trip are of fucking my wife on a sandy beach and having her carve scratches into my back.

In fairness, this sudden change in our lives hasn’t been easy on either of us, but it’s worse for her. Tomorrow will mark seven weeks since Elizabeth was murdered, and while for me it’s rage that burns deep, for her it’s grief. I never loved Elizabeth, and I don’t love Victoria. I’ll never open myself up to the depth of feeling loving someone unconditionally brings, but out of the two sisters, I do by far prefer Victoria’s company. There’s an intelligence about her which was lacking in Elizabeth. Not that she was ignorant by any means, just too meek to interest me on an intellectual level. I thought that was what I wanted; a wife who’d give me an easy life and a couple of kids to continue the family name.

Maybe I don’t know myself as well as I thought I did.

As soon as the plane takes off and Victoria shows no sign of wanting or needing conversation, I grab my laptop. I’ve purposely avoided work during the last four days, and as I open my email program and several hundred messages flood in, there’s nothing I’d like more than to avoid it for the next four, too.

Sighing, I scan those my assistant has marked as priority and begin typing responses. By the time the plane lands on a gloomy October day, I’ve barely made a dent in them. Closing my laptop with a snap, I stuff it into my carry-on and unfasten my seat belt. Victoria follows suit, standing and stretching her arms overhead. The action pushes her tits against her shirt, her nipples visible through the cotton. I snuff out a groan and quickly adjust myself.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m thirty-fucking-three, not sixteen. I’ve had more sex in the last four days than the previous four years, and still my dick is ready for more.

She catches me staring, and the first sign of a real smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

“Maybe if you’re not too busy with work, we could have an afternoon siesta.”

I get up and encircle her waist, pulling her close to me. “I’ll make sure I’m free.” A blast of cold air rushes into the cabin when the flight attendant opens the door, but despite the chill, I take the time to kiss my wife, using my body heat to keep her warm.

She responds favorably, opening her mouth to allow my tongue free access. Less than a week married, and already she fits me like a tailored suit.

When a shiver runs through her, I let her go and help her into her jacket. While she’s not exactly chatty on the car ride back to Oakleigh, her body is more relaxed. I clasp her hand, caressing her knuckles with my thumb, and scroll my phone with my free hand, responding to a couple of texts and cancelling two meetings I had between three and five.

If my wife wants a siesta, that’s what she’ll get.

We arrive at Oakleigh, and by the time I get out of the car, Victoria is a few steps ahead of me. I rush her and sweep her into my arms. She squeals, whacks me on the back, then laughs.

“What are you doing?”

“Carrying you over the threshold.” I march inside the house, the sounds of my wife’s giggles warming every cell in my body.

She worried me this morning, but whatever was troubling her seems to have vanished. As I set her back on her feet, Imogen appears at the top of the stairs.

“You’re back.” She races toward us, and all I can think is if Xan saw how fast she scampered down the stairs, he’d have a heart attack. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” Victoria says, embracing her now sister-in-law.

“Can I steal her away for a few minutes?” Imogen asks. “I know you just got back, but I need her advice on something.”

“Ahem, excuse me. Nicholas is not the boss of me. You don’t need his permission.”

There she is. The independent woman I know. Odd, but I’m not irked. I’m amused.

Chuckling, I pull her close to me and kiss her cheek. “Remember our date at three.”

“Sounds good to me.”

I let her go, but I don’t take my eyes off her until the two women turn the corner at the top of the first flight of stairs and disappear from sight. I’m about to go check in with Dad and let him know we’re home when Christian shows up.

“Great timing. I need you.”

“Welcome back, Nicholas. How was the honeymoon?” I lace every word with sarcasm, but Christian isn’t fazed. He simply shrugs and shoves me toward the front door. I dig in my heels. “Where are we going?”

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