Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
ALEXANDER
As infuriated as I am with my wife’s intractable behavior, there’s something rather magnificent about watching her storm up the stairs as if a swarm of bees were chasing her while knowing I’m the cause of her rage.
There’s a fire in her that not only intrigues me, but urges me to stoke it, to see how far I can push her before she flames out. I may as well have some fun with her before she reaches the end of her tether and leaves me for good.
She turns the corner after the first flight of stairs to climb the second, sending a hateful glare my way before vanishing from sight.
A small smile creeps over my lips, but it falls the second I think about where I found her. At the stables, no less, grooming a horse as if she was one of the staff rather than my wife. The woman is like an unruly child who seeks the thing its parents will find the most maddening, and then keeps pushing the button until they get the reaction they’re looking for, whatever that may be. It doesn’t matter that I don’t intend her to keep that status for long. As far as everyone else is concerned, this is it for the rest of our lives, and respecting me and this household is non-negotiable.
The groom in question is lucky he got away unscathed. He should have immediately sent her packing the second she showed up, let alone allowed her to help him do his job.
A prickle of unease drifts over my skin. Why didn’t he send her away? I’m a man who listens to his gut, and something is telling me to dig a little deeper on this individual. I slide my phone from my trouser pocket and fire off a text to Richard.
Groom called Will. Find out how long he’s worked here and send me his job application.
“Ooh, brother. If looks could kill, I’d be organizing your funeral.”
I glance behind me as Nicholas approaches, a taunting grin on his face.
“What have you done to upset the lovely Imogen this time?”
I’m close with all my siblings, but mostly to Nicholas. At only two years younger than me, we have the most in common, yet there’s something about hearing my wife’s name on his lips that irks me. It shouldn’t. Nicholas is engaged to be married to a woman who wouldn’t dare talk back to him the way Imogen does to me, and that suits Nicholas perfectly. He wants a doormat for a wife. Before I met Imogen, I’d have said the same thing about me, but now… well, I’ve changed my mind. The constant angst makes my dick hard.
“Nothing.” I slide my phone into my pocket.
He laughs. “Didn’t look like nothing to me.”
“What would you know? You’ve only met her two or three times. ”
“Yeah.” His grin widens. “Almost as many as you.”
“Fuck off, Nicholas.”
Without giving him another chance to rib me, I stride toward the dining room. I’m the first to arrive, but that isn’t surprising, given it’s only ten past seven. Nicholas enters shortly afterward and takes his usual seat, reaching for the jug of iced water.
“Is Elizabeth coming?”
“Of course.” He winks as he pours himself a glass. “She’s obedient, unlike your beloved.”
My jaw flexes, and so do my hands. He drops his gaze and arches an eyebrow.
“My, my. Iceman is melting under the strain, and you haven’t even been married a week. It doesn’t bode well.”
Before I get a chance to respond or punch him in his smug face, Christian saunters in. “What doesn’t bode well?”
“Nothing.” I glare at Nicholas.
He meets my glower with another broad grin.
“How was the honeymoon?” Christian asks.
“Fine.”
“Fine?” His forehead wrinkles. “Imogen is a lucky girl.”
I expel a heavy sigh through my nose. Is everyone trying to push me this evening? First Imogen getting too fucking cozy for my liking with that groom, then Nicholas witnessing Imogen’s ire aimed squarely at me, and now Christian. If non-attendance at this dinner wasn’t cause to find yourself cast out from the family, I’d skip it.
I’m saved from any further attempts by my brothers to snap my last nerve when the rest of the family arrives. Saskia is chatting with Elizabeth, although the conversation is one-sided. Elizabeth is a quiet girl, respectful of this family and her position as Nicholas’s future wife. Which I guess is precisely the reason he chose her as his bride when given the choice between Elizabeth and her far more spirited sister Victoria.
It makes me wonder whether my father would have still chosen Imogen for me had he known what a firecracker she’d turn out to be. Throughout generations, the De Vil men have typically married women similar to Elizabeth. Take my aunt Alice, for example. She wouldn’t say boo to a goose, let alone answer back to Uncle George, or to anyone in fact.
Still, I’m stuck with Imogen… for now. It’s early days, but I may have to increase my efforts and isolate her further. She’s turning into quite the competitor—one I didn’t envisage.
The grandfather clock against the far wall of the dining room chimes on the half hour, and there’s still no sign of her. I’m about to march to her rooms and drag my errant wife down the stairs by her fiery locks when she finally enters.
My breath catches in my throat. She’s dressed in an ankle-length, silver gown that shimmers over her curves and shows a hint of cleavage. Her hair hangs in waves over her shoulders, and she’s added a touch of color to her pillowy lips, but otherwise, her face is bare of makeup. She doesn’t need it. She’s… stunning.
Her green eyes land on mine, and the earlier blaze of anger still swirls in her irises. My dick twitches in response to her challenging gaze, and I offer one of my own in return. Unlike most people, other than family, my wife doesn’t wither beneath my stare. She flourishes.
“Ah, Imogen. You made it.” My father steps forward and clasps her upper arms, kissing both her cheeks. “I’m sorry to drag you to a family dinner the same day you returned from your honeymoon, but it’s been a tradition in our family for years. We’re all so busy, it’s good to have a regular date in the diary where we all come together.”
“It’s not a problem at all,” she says genially, with none of the defiance I’m lucky enough to be on the receiving end of. “I’m looking forward to getting to know everyone better.”
Oh, no, you’re not. Making friends with my family is not happening. If I’m to use isolation to force her into divorcing me, I can’t allow her to make alliances within Oakleigh.
My father shows her to a seat that’s usually Christian’s—the one next to mine. Everyone shuffles one chair over from where they normally sit. I get a whiff of Imogen’s perfume as I take my seat.
She smells like the kind of sin I’d love to commit again and again.
I’d known celibacy would be difficult to accomplish, and considering how hard my dick is, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep the promise I made to myself as soon as my father announced I was to marry.
I’d never cheat. I may be a lot of things, and have the kinds of morals many would find abhorrent, but cheating on my wife doesn’t make the list. For as long as we’re married, I have two choices: remain celibate or find a way to fuck her without risking an unwanted pregnancy.
I could demand she take contraception, but that’ll create too many questions. And I can’t wear condoms either for the same reason. She’s well aware of the expectations to produce children, and while my refusing to touch her thus far is probably confusing to her, I doubt she’ll mention it.
“Just in time, Imogen,” I murmur as the staff arrive to serve the first course.
“You said seven-thirty,” she replies, leaning back to allow a plate of smoked salmon sushi to be placed in front of her. “I arrived at seven-thirty.”
“The last to arrive.”
“Which no one seemed to mind. Except for you, that is. Color me surprised.”
She digs into the sushi with the delight of a woman who enjoys her food. That pleases me. I can’t abide it when women push their food around their plate and announce they’re full after eating a single lettuce leaf. She strikes up a conversation with Christian, ignoring me completely. I catch Nicholas’s eye. He winks again, then turns and says something to Elizabeth.
“How was the honeymoon?” Dad asks me while the rest of the family chat with those nearest to them.
“Redundant,” I reply.
He narrows his eyes and lowers his voice to ensure we won’t be overheard. “Alexander, you always knew the wedding would take place after Imogen graduated, yet you’re behaving as though it came as a surprise. What is wrong with you?”
“I married her, didn’t I?”
“Because you knew it was your duty, but I had rather hoped you’d throw yourself into being a good husband with a little more… enthusiasm.”
“Then, maybe you should have picked out a wife like Elizabeth.”
My father laughs, the lines around his eyes deepening. “I believe I chose perfectly well.”
“You chose her before she was born. You couldn’t possibly know how she’d turn out.”
“And how has she turned out? ”
“She’s…” I search for the right words. “Rebellious, argumentative, stubborn, disobedient.”
He nods sagely, and at first I think it’s because he can see my point of view, but that’s not it at all. “She’s perfect for you.”
I heave a sigh. “The De Vil men don’t marry combative women.”
“Your mother put the combat in combative, and she gave me eighteen wonderful years and six beautiful children.” The lines around his eyes tighten.
Six… but only five of us left.
My lungs flatten at mention of my mother and the reference to Annabel. An apology I’ve made many times over spills from me. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
He puts his hand on my forearm. “No. Stop.”
His fervent support should make it easier for me to forgive myself, but instead, it makes it harder. He says he doesn’t blame me for what happened, but I can’t bring myself to fully believe him. I’ve never doubted his love, but I do doubt his forgiveness, no matter how many times he repeats it.
“I trusted my father when he chose your mother as my bride,” he says, returning to the subject of my recent nuptials. “All I’m asking is for you to have that same trust in me.” His gaze drifts to Imogen, now deep in conversation with Saskia, who, while I’ve been chatting to Dad, has swapped seats with Christian. “She’ll make a fine addition to this family.”
Saskia is someone I’ll have to watch. She’s a social butterfly, like Imogen. Same with Tobias, and after how close he and Imogen were at the wedding, I don’t need him nor my sister to befriend my wife and ruin my plans. I make a mental note to send both Saskia and Tobias on a raft of business trips overseas. That should solve the problem.
“Maybe tell her that,” I say.
Dad pats my hand. “She’ll come around. Try getting to know her. You’ll be amazed at how far a little understanding goes.”
Understanding? Of Imogen’s motivations? Good luck to me.
During the entire dinner, Imogen and I don’t exchange a single word. She focuses all her attention on Saskia and the other members of my family closest to her. She even chats away with Elizabeth as if she’s known her for a while, coaxing more than a sentence or two from Nicholas’s reserved fiancée.
This is not good. Not good at all.
By the time coffee is served at the end of the meal, my usual icy demeanor is aflame. She’s making friends, which I can’t allow, winning over my family and soon-to-be sister-in-law, not to mention embarrassing me. Everyone here must have noticed how I’m the only one she hasn’t spoken to.
I rise from the table. “Dad, please excuse my wife and me. We have some things to discuss.”
A knowing smile followed by a nod tells me what Dad thinks I’m doing.
He couldn’t be more wrong.
Imogen looks at me for the first time since she sat at the dinner table ninety minutes ago. “We do?”
Barely holding on to my temper, I grind out, “Yes, we do.”
I wait for her to push back her chair, and once she’s free of the table, I take hold of her elbow and propel her into the hallway. As soon as we’re clear and out of sight, she tries to shake me off. I tighten my grip and march on, putting as much distance between us and the family gathering as I can.
“Let me go. What is wrong with you?”
I shove her inside the formal drawing room where my father entertains his business associates and round on her. “How dare you embarrass me in front of my family.”
Her eyes widen, and her brows shoot up her forehead. “Embarrass you? What the hell are you talking about? I thought it went well. I made the effort to talk to everyone. To include everyone.”
And that’s a major spoke in my plans, but I can’t let her know that. Better to focus on her disrespect.
“Oh, you did. You spoke to everyone. Everyone except me. You’re my wife. I demand respect.”
She looks a little taken aback at my statement, and then she… she… throws back her head and laughs. Loudly.
“Oh, dear.” Sticking out her bottom lip in a pout, she adds, “Were you feeling left out? Poor baby. Want to be the center of attention or you throw a hissy fit?” She casts her arms out to the side. “Rant away. Doesn’t matter to me. Oh, and while we’re at it, let’s not forget that I’m your wife in name only. And for the record, respect is earned, not demanded.”
My typically restrained temper flares up. I move until I’m breathing the same air she’s breathing. Planting my feet wide, I slide one arm behind her knees, the other around her back, and, dropping my left shoulder, I toss her over it.
A high-pitched squeal erupts from her, and she pummels my lower back. “Put me down!”
I smack her hard on her left butt cheek. She cries out, so I smack the other cheek even harder.
“Ow! That hurt. How dare you spank me! ”
“This is what you get for being a brat.”
“A brat?” She wallops me again, catching me in the left kidney. I wince. Damn. That bloody hurt. She’s got a hell of a punch on her.
“Yes, a brat, and brats get punished.” Marching from the room, I stride down the hallway.
“Put me down!”
I ignore her, and when she doesn’t get any further responses from me, she grabs handfuls of my jacket and shirt, tugging as if she intends to tear the clothes from my body.
“You asshole! I said put me down!”
Oh, I intend to, but not in the way she expects.
The smell of chlorine hits my nostrils the second I open the door to our indoor swimming pool. This rebellious wife of mine needs a lesson in discipline, and I’m going to give it to her. The overhead lights flicker on the moment we enter.
She quickly guesses my intentions, her shocked gasp echoing off the walls.
“No. Alexander, don’t you dare! I mean it!” As I get closer to the edge of the pool, she cries out, “I can’t swim!”
“Liar.” I toss her into the water. What she isn’t aware of is that I asked her father for a dossier on her, which means I’m well aware that she was one of the key members of her college swim team. Even I wouldn’t have given her a dunking unless I was sure she wouldn’t drown.
Although… given her recent behavior, I may have been tempted.
I wait for her to resurface. She doesn’t. Fuck, she hasn’t resurfaced. Because of the navy-blue tiling, the water is too dark to see to the bottom. A cold wave of fear crashes over me, my heart beating erratically. I’m about to tear off my shoes and dive in after her when she reappears, spluttering with her hair plastered to her head.
Tension leaks from my body, my heart rate gradually slowing. Jesus Christ. For a second, I thought she’d hit her head on the bottom when I threw her in.
Fear is the one emotion in charge when I snap, “That’s for being a brat. Maybe the shock will help you reflect on your behavior.” I spin on my heel and leave her there, floundering.
In a way, she’s done me a favor. I’m well and truly fired up for the piece of shit I’m due to visit in four hours’ time. I crack my knuckles, spoiling for a fight.
I should pity the poor bastard, but that fucker’s got it coming.