Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
IMOGEN
Since moving to England, I’ve become partial to a boiled egg, with the bread cut into strips the English call “Soldiers”. The name is odd, but the taste is delicious. I’m on my third dunk into the yolk when Alexander enters the dining room.
It’s been three days since I saw him after what I’ve called “The Towel Incident,” and I’ve been dreading coming face to face with him ever since. The look he gave me when he saw me standing butt naked at the window reminded me of how a predator might look when deciding how quickly to kill their prey.
He sits down in his usual chair, but instead of getting out his phone like he normally does, or picking up the newspaper folded neatly next to his glass of iced water, his eyes land on me. Pressing his fingertips together, he steeples them underneath his chin. It’s a struggle, but I hold my tongue. I break far too often at this game Alexander plays, and I’m sick of being on the losing side.
“Did you ever buy that chess for beginners book? ”
It’s not at all what I expected him to say, and I must wear my surprise on my face, because he almost smiles. Almost.
“Yes. It arrived ages ago.”
“Have you studied it?”
“A little.” I should have studied harder, but since Alexander hadn’t brought up playing again, I assumed he’d either forgotten or hadn’t been interested in a rematch.
“Good. I have an hour after breakfast. Want to play?”
The stubborn side of me wants to tell him I’m busy. Playing chess, a game Alexander clearly loves, and I think, in time, I could love, too, doesn’t align with my plan to piss him off enough that he can’t have divorce papers drawn up fast enough. Yet I’m so lonely, even the idea of spending time with my husband is better than rattling around on my own.
Besides, playing chess could help me to the end game. I’m not sure how, but just watching him play, how he strategizes, how he thinks… it can’t hurt.
“Sure, if you have the patience to play with a novice.”
“I have the patience.” He sits back as an omelet is placed in front of him. Picking up his knife and fork, he cuts into it. “Eat, then we play.”
We eat in silence, but there’s a subtle shift. It’s comfortable rather than excruciating. After three and a half weeks of angst, I’m entitled to an hour of peace. Being in a state of constant conflict is exhausting. Nothing’s changed when it comes to Alexander and me, but everyone deserves a little vacation. This is mine. As soon as the game of chess is over, normal business will resume. I’ll make sure of it.
Tossing his napkin on the table, he stands. “Ready?”
“Yeah. Get ready to have your ass beaten.”
He tilts his head. “Sounds like fun. ”
His response shocks me so much, I jerk back. “Did you just make a joke?”
“Perhaps I did.” Sweeping past me, there’s a notable lift to his shoulders, as though he’s proud of himself. I follow him to the library, where a chess set I don’t remember seeing last time I was here is set up on a table in the middle of the room, a chair on either side.
“Did you plan this?”
“Yes.”
His honesty surprises me. Then again, I can’t think of a single time Alexander has lied to me. Avoided replying to a question he doesn’t want to answer, yes. But outright lying. It’s not him.
“What if I’d said no?”
“Then, you’d have missed out on a game of chess, and I’d have carried on with my day.” He holds out a chair, waiting for me to sit, then takes the one across from me. “I’m glad you said yes, though.”
“Me, too.” The admission is out before I can swallow the words. It’s true, but I hadn’t intended to tell him that. “I’m lonely, so I guess your company is better than no company.” I mean it as an insult, but his twitching lips are a sign he hasn’t taken it that way.
“I’m honored.” He lifts one eyebrow and shows me his palm. “Ladies first.”
I make my first move. He makes the same move, as he does with my second, third, and fourth moves. By the fifth, I sigh.
“Are you mirroring my moves?”
“No. I’m countering. What will you do next, Imogen?”
A chill runs through my veins. Is he talking about chess or our marriage? Does he somehow know my plans and why I’m making myself as irritating as possible to him? I study his expression, but he’s not only a master of chess; I bet he makes a great poker player, too.
I bring my knight into play. It’s the wrong move. Two maneuvers later and it’s checkmate.
Blowing out a breath, I flop back into my chair. “This game is so hard.”
“If it were easy, it would be boring.” His eyes lock onto mine. “Don’t you think?”
I’m unsure if we’re still talking about chess, or he really does know what I’m up to. Until he outright confronts me, though, I intend to continue.
“Again.”
He smiles, and it’s such a rarity that I stare and stare and stare. I’m even more confounded when he follows the smile up with, “That’s my girl.”
During the hour, we get through a total of four games, and with each one, I improve. The final game lasts a full twenty-five minutes, and even though he beats me, I’m proud of myself. If I keep studying and practicing, one day, I will emerge the victor. At chess and in relation to our marriage.
“I have to go.” He rises to his feet. “Good game, Little Pawn. We’ll make a chess master out of you yet.” After crossing the room, he pauses on the periphery. “There’s a ball this evening. My father hosts one around this time every year. It starts at eight o’clock in the ballroom.” He runs his gaze over me. “I look forward to seeing you there.”
Before I can question him further, he’s gone. At least he told me himself, and with more than an hour to spare. That’s progress .
Except there’s only one kind of progress I’m looking for. The divorcing kind.
Right?
Yes. Yes. Nothing has changed. Sure, I’ve just spent an enjoyable hour in his company, and yes, there’s a subtle shift in our relationship—so subtle I can’t describe it—but the plan remains. I want out of this marriage. I want to take up the position with Zenith and forge my own path in life. If he’d agreed to let me work for one of the De Vil companies, maybe I could have steered the conversation around to Zenith, but he’d outright refused without discussion.
The plan stays.
A ball, though. That sounds… fancy. Which means I’ll have to wear something appropriate, and I’m not sure I even have anything appropriate. I head back to my rooms and wander into the closet to rifle through my clothes. Perhaps I could wear my graduation gown. It’s good enough. Taking it out, I hold it against myself. It’s hard to fathom that when I wore this not that long ago, I’d stupidly fooled myself into believing I had my whole life ahead of me. Now, here I am, married, living in a foreign country, with a stranger for a husband, and I still haven’t had sex.
You couldn’t make this stuff up.
“Ms. Imogen?” Maisie calls out. I didn’t even hear her knock, though she would have. Maisie’s got the formal shit down to a T.
Folding my dress over my arm, I return to my bedroom to see what she wants. She isn’t alone. Beside her is possibly one of the most elegant women I’ve ever seen, dressed in a cream trouser suit, with sky-high heels to match, and a blue blouse that has to be made of the finest silk given the way it falls. She has neatly styled her hair into a chignon without a strand out of place, whereas my messy bun, jeans, and thin sweater make me look like a hobo.
“Ms. Imogen, this is Brigitte.”
Maisie introduces her as though I should know who Brigitte is, except I’ve never seen the woman before.
“Nice to meet you.” I shake my head. “Sorry, but who are you?”
“Brigitte is your dresser, Ms. Imogen.”
I blink several times. “My… what?”
“I have couture, Madame De Vil,” Brigitte says, her French accent as polished as the rest of her. She fits in here far better than I do. Alexander should have married her instead. “For tonight’s ball.”
Before I can tell her I’m good, I have a dress, she sashays outside, returning with two racks; one filled with the finest dresses, the other loaded with shoes, purses, and all kinds of accessories. Maisie bobs her head and backs out of the room, leaving me with Brigitte.
“Shall we begin?” With a flourish, Brigitte plucks out a floor-length, cream gown, the shade similar to her suit, but as she comes toward me, I hold out my dress.
“I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. I already have a dress for the ball.”
Her gaze drops, and she almost curls her lip in distaste. “No, no, no.” She whirls her arm in the air. “That won’t do at all. You are the belle of the ball. You must dress as such. It is expected.” Whipping my graduation dress right out of my hands, she tosses it on the bed and holds the cream dress against me. “Ready to have some fun?”
I smile at her. You know what? I think I am.
At a little before eight that evening, I make my way down the stairs toward the ballroom. It’s the same room where I had my wedding reception, so I can only imagine how many guests have been invited. Nerves swarm my stomach, and I’m still in two minds about this dress. It’s so… revealing. Brigitte had to use a ton of tape to keep my boobs in place. The vibrant emerald green suits my coloring, but it plunges down to my belly button and has a slit up one side that reaches my left hip. I feel on display, but Brigitte is a persuasive lady.
I love what the hairdresser has done to my hair, though. It’s sort of a messier French twist, and she’s left out a few tendrils to frame my face.
When I enter, I immediately search the room for Alexander, but he isn’t here. A part of me had hoped he might come to my rooms and offer to escort me to the ball himself, but his failure to appear had quashed that stupid dream.
“Imogen.” Charles spreads his arms out wide, then moves in for a hug and kisses both my cheeks. “My, what a vision. And you, my beautiful daughter. You take my breath away.”
I glance behind me to see Saskia’s back. When did she arrive home? Is Tobias back, too? As the thought pops into my head, he appears.
Saskia wrinkles her nose. “Oh, Dad. Behave.” But she doesn’t look displeased with his compliment. “You’re right about Imogen, though. You look beautiful.” She gives me a peck on the cheek as the rest of the family arrive. I find myself standing beside Tobias as the first of the guests file in. Thankfully, it isn’t like my wedding. We’re not expected to shake hands with the entire guest list.
“Where’s Alexander?” I ask Tobias from the side of my mouth.
“Work issue. He’ll be here any minute.” Smiling down at me, he winks. “He’s going to swallow his tongue when he sees you. Ah, here he is now.”
My husband enters the room dressed in a tuxedo, like every other man, but he wears it so much better. The expensive material hugs his frame like a second skin, showing off his taut muscles, broad chest, and narrow hips. Our eyes meet, and I hold my breath, both dreading his reaction to my outfit and craving it.
“Doesn’t Imogen look stunning Alexander?” Saskia says.
His eyes flick to his sister, then back to me. “Yes.”
That’s it? That’s all he’s got to say. My shoulders bow, the weight of disappointment almost too much to bear. Although why I’m disappointed is a mystery. The last thing I should seek is Alexander’s attention. The only thing I want from him is a set of divorce papers.
It’s odd, though, how sometimes the way we react to a given situation is out of our control. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. Would it have killed him to be a little kinder?
I’ve barely collected myself when he walks off and engages in conversation with a couple I vaguely recognize from our wedding. There’s a momentary silence while those around me probably try to think of the right thing to say. It’s Tobias who saves the day.
“My darling Imogen.” He sticks out his arm. “Since Alexander is basically feral, come have a drink with me.”
What I’d rather do is leave this ball and lick my wounds in private, but I accept his offer, sliding my hand through the crook of his elbow. He leads me to the bar. Once I’ve taken several sips of a delicious cocktail Tobias had the bartender make especially for me, the pain from Alexander’s hurtful dismissal has dulled somewhat.
“If that’s the best he can do, I guess he must have swallowed his tongue after all.” Rejection is a bitter pill to swallow, even from him.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Tobias says. “The best way to even the score is to enjoy yourself. That’ll annoy him more than anything.” He leads me to the edge of the dance floor. “Now, let me brief you on all the salacious gossip. Who shall I dish the dirt on first?” He taps his bottom lip. “Ah, here we are. Do you see the woman over there in the rather daring red dress?” He waits for me to nod. “That’s Lady Chatsworth. She’s married to Lord Chatsworth.” He points his chin at a gray-haired gentleman a good forty years older than his wife. “And you thought Alexander was an old sod.” He chuckles, and I laugh along with him.
“I adore you, Tobias. You’ve been nothing but kind to me since I arrived.” Not that we’ve spent much time together, but every interaction has been a positive one. Unlike my interactions with my husband, whose angle of attack changes course so frequently he makes my head spin.
“I am rather lovable. Sometimes I’m convinced I was adopted.” Another chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Of course, Lady Chatsworth has certain needs her husband finds, shall we say, challenging, given his advancing years.” He leans closer and waggles his pinky at me. “And not only because he can’t get it up.”
I laugh. “I think it’s you who’s salacious, Tobias.”
“Dearest girl, you don’t know the half of it.” He gestures to a young man in his mid to late twenties. “That’s Lady Chatsworth’s bodyguard. She keeps him around for his gigantic schlong.”
I cover my mouth, giggling. “How would you know?”
He winks at me and leans in as though he’s about to impart a gigantic secret. “I like to watch, dear Imogen.”
I blink a few times in succession. Watch. Does he mean…?
“Watch? You mean them…?” I make a weird hand gesture. “You know?”
“Fucking. Yes. I get my kicks from watching other people fuck.”
I’m not sure what to say, so I don’t say anything. Tobias fills in the gaps without me having to ask, anyway.
“I own a sex club close to here called The Lair. It’s… a side project, shall we say. Lady Chatsworth and a fair number of other guests in this room are members.” He grins and does this overexaggerated shiver. “The things I know.”
I hold up a hand. “Keep them to yourself.”
He laughs. “Don’t knock it until you try it, Imogen.”
“And what about when your turn to marry comes along? Will you still… do what you do?”
“Yes. It’s who I am, and anyone I marry will have to accept that. Besides, I’m counting on my father having given up by then. There’s three ahead of me to spawn the next generation of devils. That’s enough for anyone, surely.”
“Don’t you mean De Vils?”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
God, I adore him. He’s so different from his brothers. I stand on tiptoes and kiss his warm cheek. “Thank you for saving me, Tobias.”
“Oh, stop. You’ll have me blushing in a second.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, and I glance behind me. Alexander is hovering by the entrance, alone, a menacing gleam in his eyes. I’m still smarting from his dismissive attitude earlier. I’d tried so hard to fit in, to… if not impress him, then at least have him appreciate the effort I’ve gone to tonight, and he’s barely given me a second look. And now, because I’m chatting to his youngest brother and, I admit, flirting a little, he’s pissed? Well, too bad. He can take his angry glare and shove it.
I move closer to Tobias. “Who are they?”
Tobias follows my gaze to a scary-looking tattooed man, with dark hair swept back from his face, and piercing blue eyes. He’s talking to another man, who must be six foot six at least, with a fifty-inch chest. Neither of them looks as though they fit in here, which is why they catch my attention.
“The slightly smaller one with the murderous glint in his eye is Patrick Mahoney, head of the Irish Mafia. Trust me, you do not want to get on the wrong side of him. He’s someone we call upon from time to time when we need a certain… type of person to get the job done.”
I think he means having someone killed. It doesn’t surprise me that the De Vils are involved in some shadier activities.
A shiver runs from my head to my toes. “When I first arrived, I thought you might be the mafia.”
Tobias chuckles. “Darling girl, we’re so far above the mafia, they’d get a nosebleed if they came all the way up here. No, they’re… let’s say contractors.”
I’m not sure if that makes me feel any better. “And the other one?”
“That’s Loris Winslow. Or, to give him his official title, the seventeenth Earl of Montford. Not that he ever uses it. Decent chap. He runs a private security firm, Intrepid.”
I give Loris Winslow the once over. He’s stunning to look at, but far too bulky for my tastes.
“Hey.” Tobias nudges me. “Don’t let your husband catch you checking out another guy.”
I laugh, but it’s tinged with acrimony. “I doubt he’d notice.”
“Oh, he’d notice.”
I signal my disagreement with a shrug. “Who’s that with the earl?”
“That’s his wife Destiny. She’s a concert pianist. Worth catching one of her shows. Maybe ask Alexander to take you.”
“Take her where?” The deep baritone of my husband sounds behind me. I stiffen when he grips my elbow.
“To the theater,” Tobias says.
“I don’t think so. A word, wife.”
Leading me away from his brother, he guides me to a quiet corner and crowds me, his body imposing, his amber eyes aflame, his scent overpowering.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I gaze at him with a disgusted expression. “Right now? I’m suffocating.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Don’t test me, Imogen.”
“Test you? I’m replying to your question, Alexander. If the answer isn’t what you were looking for, perhaps you need to articulate yourself better.”
He’s planning my murder; it’s written all over his face. I bet he gets that Patrick guy to do it, or maybe he’ll do it himself. But I won’t back down. He hurt me earlier. Now it’s my turn to land a blow or two of my own. It’s his fault I’m feeling stabby.
“I mean with Tobias,” he says, teeth clenched .
“Oh, I see.” I nod sagely. “I can understand why two people having a normal conversation is confusing to you. It’s not something you’ve had much practice in.”
“That was not conversation.”
“No? Do enlighten me, then.”
“You were flirting.”
I throw back my head and laugh. “If you say so.”
He moves his arm so fast it’s a blur. Clamping his large hand around my throat with enough pressure to convey his feelings, he whispers, “Don’t push me, Imogen.”
I grip his fingers, trying, and failing, to peel them away. “So what if I was flirting? What’s it to you? You’re not interested in me.”
“He’s my brother. ”
“Oh, right. So, the problem is me flirting with a family member. Gotcha. Well, lucky for me, there’s a ton of suitable candidates. Maybe that Donovan guy is around here somewhere. I bet he won’t mind joining me in a little flirting.”
Alexander’s nostrils flare, my aim dead on. Good.
“If you go near Donovan or any other man, I will chain you to your bed, and you won’t see another soul until you’ve learned how to show your husband some respect.”
“I’ve told you before, respect is earned, not demanded.”
His grip on my throat tightens, his eyes flashing with a mixture of desire and rage. His breathing changes, becoming shallower. Butterflies flood my abdomen, and the space between my legs aches. He leans in closer until our breaths mingle. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me, and my lips automatically part. I want him to kiss me, to prove to me that he wants me.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Little Pawn.”
My stomach twists. There he goes again with commentary that makes me feel as though he knows what I’m planning. What I’ve been planning all along. The urge to swallow engulfs me, but I resist it. “And you’re talking in riddles. Then again, what else is new.”
I shove at his chest, and he drops his hand. With a departing glare, I return to Tobias, forcing a wavering grin, even though the exchange has left me shaken.
“Are you okay?”
His concern brings a rush of tears to my eyes, but I blink them away. “I’m fine. Come on. Dish the gossip.”
Tilting his head to one side, he says, “You know, Imogen, my brother doesn’t realize what a diamond he has in you yet, but he will. Give him time.”
I murmur some platitude or other and let him lead me away. How stupid of me that I craved Alexander’s attention when that should be the last thing on my mind. It’ll only complicate my plan, and that’s what I need to keep my mind on, not the pang in my chest nor the ache between my legs. He can’t know what I’m up to. The only person aware of my endgame is Emma. He’s either bluffing or he’s referring to something else entirely. Until I’m presented with evidence to the contrary, I’m choosing to believe it’s the latter.
It turns out that Tobias knows pretty much everyone, and there aren’t many who escape his acerbic wit. I catch sight of Elizabeth chatting with a dark-haired woman I haven’t seen before. Elizabeth is more animated than I’ve seen her on the previous two occasions we’ve met. The other girl, though, is zoned out, her shoulders drooping like she's carrying this invisible load.
“Who’s that with Elizabeth?” I ask Mr. Know-It-All.
He follows my gaze. “Her sister Victoria. Looks like she’s swallowed a particularly bitter plum, doesn’t she? ”
He laughs, but I only offer a faint smile. To me, she looks sad rather than bitter. Nicholas approaches, and Victoria stiffens and averts her eyes. He takes Elizabeth’s hand, and the two walk away. Tobias is whispering some juicy piece of gossip in my ear, but I’m too busy watching Victoria staring at Nicholas’s back, an intense look of longing on her face.
Ah. I see it now. Poor Victoria. She’s got the hots for her sister’s fiancé. What a horrible situation to be in. I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am. She tracks his every step until a crowd of people cut him off from view, then she turns away, swiping a glass of champagne from a passing server. She empties it in one go, setting the glass back on the tray before the server has taken a step.
“Would you excuse me for a moment, Tobias?”
I head over to Victoria, smiling as I approach. “Hi. We haven’t met. I’m Imogen.”
“I know who you are.” She smiles a little, and it changes her whole face. “Are you surviving life with the De Vils?”
“I’m holding my own.”
“Good. You’ll need to.”
“Not a fan?” From the way she stared at Nicholas, I’d say the complete opposite, but I’m not surprised when she shakes her head.
“Most of them are jerks.”
“You’ll be part of the family soon.”
She scoffs a laugh. “Just because my sister has no choice other than to marry Nicholas doesn’t mean I’ll ever consider myself a part of this family. No, thank you. I’d rather eat prunes.”
I chuckle, warming to her immediately. Maybe Victoria could be the answer to my loneliness. I’d hoped Saskia and I would grow close, but the woman is hardly ever around. “You know, Victoria, you’re my kind of girl.”
“It’s Vicky. I hate being called Victoria. Makes me sound as though I’m being scolded.”
“Vicky, it is.”
I’m about to ask her if she’d like another drink when Tobias appears at my shoulder.
He dips his chin. “Victoria.”
She gives me a look. I swallow a chuckle.
“Tobias.”
“I hope you don’t mind me stealing this lady away for a dance.”
“Wouldn’t matter if I did. You De Vils always get what you want.”
Spinning on her heel, she disappears into the crowds. Tobias screws up his face. “Like I said, bitter plum.” He sticks out his arm. “Shall we?”
I could not disagree more with his assessment, but as I see little point in arguing, I let him lead me onto the dance floor.
I think, though, that I may have found myself a friend.