Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
IMOGEN
Our car draws to a halt in front of Oakleigh’s impressive entranceway, and Douglas switches off the engine and climbs out. I heave a sigh. Home sweet home. Honeymoon over, although describing it as such is false considering there’s nothing “honey” about my husband, nor am I over the “moon” at being married.
Funnily enough, though, I saw a different side to him when we played chess. I wouldn’t call it excitement, but he was much more animated and vocal. We played twice more after my initial introduction, and while he’s still whooping my ass far too often for my liking, the book I ordered should be here by now, meaning I can start to study the game. Once I learn the strategy, I can outmaneuver him on the chessboard—and in life.
My door opens, and I exit the vehicle. I’m about to walk into the house when Alexander captures my elbow, stopping me.
“How’s your daughter doing, Douglas?”
I do a double take. Alexander doesn’t participate in small talk. Not that I’ve witnessed, anyway.
“She’s doing much better, sir, thank you.”
Daughter? I look at Alexander for answers but get none.
“That’s good. If there’s anything else I can do.”
“You’ve done more than enough, sir. If it weren’t for you, well…”
Alexander draws his hand up. “I made a few phone calls. That’s all. It was the least I could do.”
“It made all the difference to us, sir. We’re incredibly grateful.”
“You’re a valuable member of my team, Douglas. Please send my regards to your wife.” He urges me forward and into the house.
“Welcome back, sir,” Alan says, closing the door behind us. “Mrs. De Vil.”
“Thanks.” I wait until Alan has retreated before I ask, “What’s wrong with Douglas’s daughter?”
“She’d been having blurred vision for a while, along with a few other unexplained symptoms, and Douglas was being given the runaround by his GP.”
“And you helped?”
“Helped is a stretch. I simply sent my private doctor to examine her. Turns out she has diabetes that, if left untreated for much longer, could have had serious consequences.”
This is a different side to Alexander—one he hasn’t shown me until now. A funny feeling settles in my stomach. Have I misjudged him?
“But she’ll be okay?”
“She’ll be fine. She and her family are getting all the support they need. ”
“Thanks to you.”
One corner of his mouth tilts up. “You sound surprised. I treat my staff well, Imogen.”
Bitterness courses through me. He treats the staff better than he treats me. "So it seems," I mutter. "It's a shame you don't extend the same courtesy to your wife."
Before he can respond, I jog up the stairs to my rooms. As I close the door behind me, shame coats my tongue. Alexander does a nice thing—one he didn’t have to do, and certainly one I hadn’t expected from him—and I make it all about me. Why should I care how he treats me? The unkinder he is to me, the easier it will be to keep jabbing him with insults and pushing his buttons. Given my deep loneliness, if Alexander shows me kindness or understanding, there’s a risk I’ll find it harder to do what needs to be done.
There are still a few hours of daylight left, and since I haven’t explored the grounds of Oakleigh yet, I may as well make the most of the warm sunshine. It was several degrees colder in Scotland while cloudy most of the time, and I yearn to feel the sun on my face.
I miss California desperately. The golden sandy beaches, the impressive mountains, the heat of the sun, mild breezes, and the smell of the ocean. I miss my parents, too. And Emma. And my college buddies. I guess I just miss being around people I have a connection with.
Shaking off the gloom, I grab a light jacket and my batphone, as I’ve christened the cell Alexander gave me. As far as I can tell, it’s the same as any other phone, so whatever this extra layer of security is, it isn’t interfering with how it works.
Stuffing it into the pocket of my jeans, I’m halfway across the vast living room when there’s a knock at my door. For a second, I think it might be Alexander, but I can’t see him politely knocking and waiting for approval to enter.
“Come in.”
Maisie pokes her head around the door, takes in my attire, and frowns. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Yes. Out for a walk. I want to make the most of the late evening sunshine.”
“Oh, um… no one has told you.”
It’s my turn to frown now. “Told me what?”
“About the dinner.”
I sigh at the back and forth. “Maisie, it feels like we’re playing twenty questions. What dinner?”
She closes the door behind me and ventures farther into the room. “The first Friday of each month, Mr. De Vil Senior hosts a dinner, and the entire family must attend. There aren’t any exceptions. Mr. Alexander sent me to tell you.”
Of course, he did.
My skin prickles. Why couldn’t Alexander tell me about this dinner himself? He had plenty of time to let me know of this tradition during our trip back from Scotland. Then again, this is typical of him. Probably thinks such tedious details are beneath him, so it’s left for Maisie to do his dirty work.
I take it all back. His kindness to Douglas was only a blip. He’s still an asshole.
“It starts at seven-thirty. I can help you dress if you’d like.”
“That won’t be necessary, Maisie. Thank you. Please tell Mr. Alexander that I am otherwise engaged, and if he wishes to discuss our social calendar with me, he can come and talk to me about it himself.”
Her mouth opens and closes as I sweep by her and careen down the stairs to the first floor. The front door is too heavy to slam, more’s the pity, so I leave it wide open. I haven’t a clue where I’m going, but if I don’t work off some of this rage, I’m liable to use my mothballed kickboxing skills and crush my beloved husband’s balls with a well-aimed kick.
As I make my way around the rear of the house, the sight that greets me puts a smile on my face, despite my simmering anger. Stables. Rows and rows of stables, along with several paddocks where horses are grazing. My rooms face the other side of the house, so I haven’t been able to see the stables from my living room or bedroom window.
A few horses are tied up outside their stalls, and a blond guy is brushing the one closest to me with smooth strokes across the chestnut mare’s glistening coat.
“Hi.”
He mustn’t have heard me approach because he jumps and twists around.
“Sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt. I’m Imogen.”
“I know who you are.” He narrows his eyes, his expression bordering on unfriendly. “Can I help you with anything, Mrs. De Vil?”
“She’s lovely.” I ignore his reticent attitude and his question. Unless he has a gun I can shoot my husband with, it’s doubtful he can help me. I run my hand over her flank. “What’s her name?”
He loosens up a little. “Lightning.” Pointing to the jagged blaze of white on her forehead, he adds, “She named herself.”
I smile. “And what’s your name?”
He hesitates before answering. “Will.”
“Will.” I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you. And please, it’s Imogen. Not ma’am, not Mrs. De Vil. Just Imogen.”
A few seconds pass while he stares at my hand, his brow wrinkling in possible confusion. Maybe discomfort. Eventually, he clasps it, shaking it once before freeing me.
Leaning over a bucket filled with grooming products, I pick up a comb and run it through Lightning’s thick mane.
“Um, what are you doing?”
I smile. “Helping.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “My boss wouldn’t like that.”
“If he gives you any trouble, you send him to me.” My place as Alexander’s wife must count for something. “I adore being around horses, and I’ve always found grooming somewhat therapeutic.”
His eyebrows crawl up his forehead, then he breaks out into a grin. “A bit of a rebel, are you, Imogen?” He doesn’t stumble over saying my name, nor revert to Mrs. De Vil. At last, someone who doesn’t have formality shoved up their asses.
“When it suits me.” I wasn’t that much of a rebel before I came here, but I’m learning fast. “Tell me about yourself, Will.” I drop the comb and pick up a brush, running it over Lightning’s neck and back. “How long have you worked here?”
“A couple of months.”
“And do you like it?”
“It’s okay. It’s a job, money.” He shrugs.
“What about family? Are you married?”
He grunts. “No wife. No family. Folks passed a while ago now. I had a brother but he… he died, too.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“He was murdered. ‘Bout a year ago. Beaten to death. ”
I touch the base of my neck with my free hand. “That’s awful.”
“Yeah.”
He falls silent, and I do, too. I’ve no idea what to say to that. I’d always thought of England as safer than America, but I guess there are evil people everywhere.
“I believe there are horses I can ride,” I say when five minutes pass without us exchanging a word.
Will nods. “I can saddle one up for you now if you like.”
I grimace. “As much as I’d love to say yes, I can’t ride English style. I’d probably fall off. Riding western style is a lot different.”
He grunts, resuming the sweeping brush strokes along Lightning’s back.
“You could teach me.”
It’s unlikely Alexander will, despite Saskia’s suggestion that I ask him. Even if he would, he’d probably be impatient, and I’d tighten up, meaning the horse would feel my nerves and the whole thing would end in disaster.
“Not sure your husband would like that.”
“I can’t say I’m all too concerned with what Alexander would or wouldn’t like.”
He stops, brush still in hand, head tilted to one side. “You are a rebel.”
I chuckle. “So, will you teach me?”
Setting the brush down, he folds his arms and studies me. I’m not sure what he’s looking for, but when he nods, I assume he’s found it.
“I’ll—”
“Imogen.” The sharp tone of Alexander’s voice cuts through the air. I stand on tiptoes and peer over Lightning’s withers. Ugh. How did he find me?
“Yes?” I snap, irked that he’s taken my moment of peace and trampled all over it with his size thirteens.
“What are you doing here?”
I roll my eyes and have to bite my tongue not to start my answer with “Duh”. Instead, I go with, “Grooming this horse.”
His exasperated sigh echoes around the yard. Glaring at Will, he snaps, “What’s your name?”
I expect Will to fold under Alexander’s fearsome glower, but he stands tall and looks him right in the eye. “Will.”
No “sir” or “Mr. De Vil.” I’m impressed.
“You’re dismissed.”
“Alexander, don’t be?—”
“I will deal with you when we have privacy.” Turning to Will, he glowers. “Are you still here?”
Will flicks his eyes to me, then backs away, disappearing around the side of the stable block.
“There was no need for that.”
“What are you doing here when you’re supposed to be dressing for dinner?”
I toss the brush in the bucket of grooming products and dust off my hands. “Ah, yes, the dinner. The same dinner you failed to tell me about yet expect me to attend.”
A frown drifts across his face. “I did tell you.”
“No, you sent Maisie to tell me.”
His frown deepens. “How is that different?”
“Oh, my God.” I shake my head. “You believe that, don’t you?” Exasperation seizes me. I brush past Alexander, beelining for the house.
He catches up to me before I’ve gotten ten feet. Gripping my elbow, he forces me to stop. I try to shake him off, but it’s like trying to free myself from superglue.
“You expected me to inform you of the dinner personally?” He scratches his cheek, his brow furrowed.
“Yes, Alexander. That’s what I expected. Especially since we were alone together for several hours earlier today on the journey back from Scotland, yet you didn’t say a thing. Why not?”
His puzzled expression would be funny if I weren’t so mad at his cluelessness. He’s not a stupid man, far from it, yet when it comes to normal societal expectations, he’s as dumb as a box of rocks.
“I thought the British prided themselves on their politeness.”
He blinks several times before answering, as though he’s weighing up how best to handle me. “My apologies.” He couldn’t sound stiffer if he tried.
“Are you truly sorry or spouting a line?” Before he can say a word, I plow on. “And how did you find me?”
His lips thin. “Don’t question my integrity. If I say I’m sorry, I mean it.” Pivoting, he walks away from me, his long strides putting a fair distance between us within seconds. I race after him. This time, it’s me who grabs his arm.
“Hold on. I want an answer.”
“To which question? You toss them around like confetti.”
I ball my fists at my sides. Refraining from punching him may be my greatest accomplishment to date. “How did you find me?”
It’s clear he’d rather have answered the question about his piss poor apology. He avoids my eyes, which isn’t like him at all. I might have only met him twelve days ago, but this guy wears confidence and arrogance like a suit of armor, and I know why.
“It’s my phone, isn’t it? That’s the extra security you were talking about.”
Busted, he finally meets my gaze, and there’s a hint of remorse in his. “Not only that. There are other security measures. It’s for your safety.”
“And just happens to have the added benefit of you being able to find me wherever I go. How convenient.”
Whirling away from him, my footsteps are so thunderous, I’m surprised the concrete doesn’t crack beneath my feet. He joins me, hands stuffed in his pockets, head down as we walk back to the house in what’s becoming our regular state of being: fucking silence.
As we step into the cavernous hallway, and I head for the stairs, Alexander calls out to me.
“Dinner is in the main dining room. Seven-thirty sharp. That gives you thirty minutes to get ready.”
I’d love nothing more than to tell him to fuck off, that I’m not hungry, and I refuse to attend the stupid dinner. If Alexander was the host, I probably would. But he isn’t, Charles is. The last thing I want to do is disrespect my father-in-law, especially when, during our brief encounters, he’s been nothing but kind to me.
I carry on up the stairs as if he hadn’t spoken. Let him sweat.
He’s made one decision for me at least.
Next time I leave the house, my phone stays behind.