Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
ALEXANDER
I approach the panic room with an unfamiliar sense of apprehension. I’m fortunate that I’m the only family member here this morning. All I had to do was inform the staff the alarm was being tested, then let it play out. If my father were here, he would not have approved of my plan. Luckily for me, he left early this morning for a business meeting in London.
Tricking Imogen into coming here by setting off the alarm then locking her in was intended as a way to dial up the isolation, to show her I’m in control. Yet seconds from opening the door, I’m having regrets, and I don’t understand why. I’m not a man who regrets my decisions usually because they are often well thought out. But this decision was made off the cuff as an act of revenge. Maybe that’s why I have an uncomfortable feeling swirling through my abdomen.
But surely this latest stunt of mine will push her closer to demanding a divorce. If the roles were reversed, it would work on me. Imogen is a people person, and in the last month, I have, piece by piece, removed anyone she may get close to from her life.
My sister, who has questioned me more than once about why there’s a sudden need for her to travel overseas.
Tobias, who’s enjoying the added responsibility I’ve piled on his plate far too much to query my reasoning.
Her parents, who I told before they left Oakleigh the day after our wedding that I’d like them to give us six months to settle into married life before they come back to visit.
The staff, who’ve been warned to keep a professional distance.
The fucking groom.
I grind my teeth. The temptation to tell Imogen the truth about Edgerton has crossed my mind more than once. Thinking her life could be in danger may be the final straw. In the end, though, I decided against it, although if my other tactics don’t pay off, I may change my mind.
Keying in the code for the panic room, I hold my breath as the door slides to the left. It’s not open all the way when a whirlwind throws herself at me, pummeling my chest with her tiny fists.
“You bastard! How could you? How could you!”
I wrap my arms around her and hold her tightly to my chest, not for comfort, but to avoid a stray fist catching me in the face. She struggles to free herself, but she’s no match for me. That doesn’t stop her trying, though. I shoot my hips backward, narrowly avoiding a kick to the shin. She’s already landed that move twice. She won’t get me a third time.
“Imogen, calm down.”
“You left me here all day. All day!”
Maybe I did take it too far. Originally, I’d planned to leave her here for a few hours, but I’d become embroiled in a work issue, and time got away from me. I don’t plan to tell her that, though. If she thinks I’m heartless, she’s more likely to do what I need her to do.
Leave.
“Calm down, or I’ll call my doctor and have him give you a shot.”
She bursts into tears, her body going limp in my arms. Shock renders me speechless. The last thing I expected was to bring her to tears. She’s gritty, resilient, dauntless. She’d never show me her vulnerable side unless I’d really pushed her to the edge.
Goal achieved.
I should be happy. Except I’m not. I feel like a piece of shit. Her father’s dossier never mentioned an issue with enclosed spaces, but that doesn’t mean she’s immune. Our panic rooms aren’t built to spend hours in. They’re a functional space, with direct access to the police. If today’s alarm had been real, and I hadn’t redirected the phone to call my mobile, armed police would have swarmed Oakleigh within ten minutes.
Imogen’s been in there for seven hours.
Bending my knees, I scoop her into my arms and lock my muscles, preparing for a fight that never comes. She wraps her arms around my neck and holds on tightly, her face burrowed against me.
“I’ve got you. Breathe. You’re okay.”
I stride down the hallway, nudging the door to her rooms open with my hip, and lay her on her bed. Damp hair clings to her forehead, and I brush it away. An apology lingers on my lips, but I can’t bring myself to say the words. Doing so will weaken my position, and there’s an end goal to keep in mind.
Except it’s not burning as brightly as it once was.
Not that it matters how bright or how dull it burns. There’s no possibility of a long-term relationship. My objective still stands, and I’d say I took a giant leap forward today.
“Here, drink some water.” I pick up the glass from a tray I’d had Maisie drop off before I let Imogen out. “There’s food here, too.”
She hiccups, but shuffles to a half-seated position. Her eyes bore into mine as she drinks, but the usual fire I see simmering in her green irises has dulled somewhat.
An uncomfortable feeling stirs in my chest, regret tinged with guilt, but I school my expression, taking the glass from her when she’s had her fill. I place the tray on her lap, but she turns her face to the side.
“Not hungry.”
“Okay, well, I’ll leave it here for when you are.” I set it back on the bedside table and get to my feet.
“Being nice doesn’t suit you.”
I tip my head to one side. “Is that so? Would you rather I tell you you’re treading a thin line? That I’m not a man you want to push? That it’s advisable for you to consider any future actions and what the consequence may be carefully before acting upon them?”
“Fuck you.”
A faint smile tugs at my lips. She’s back. “My feisty Little Pawn.” I tuck her hair behind her ear.
She jerks away from my touch. “Get your hands off me.”
“Now, now, Mrs. De Vil. No need for tantrums.” As I say her name out loud, the need to possess her blooms in my chest, the intensity of feeling beaten only when I call her my wife. It’s ridiculous considering every action I undertake is with a single goal in mind: to rid myself of her and this ill-fated union before my father begins to ask where all the babies are.
“Stuff your stupid name where the sun doesn’t shine.”
My breath catches in my throat. This is it. Thirty-two days since we met, twenty-eight since we married, and she’s giving in. The hollowness in my chest is more than disappointment at how easy it’s been to force her hand, but I’m nowhere near ready to study it further. All I know is it doesn’t feel good.
“Are you asking me for a divorce?”
She pauses, her eyes lifting up and to the left. It’s as if I’m watching the cogs turn in her brain, and I’m fascinated by it. I’m fascinated by her.
“It wouldn’t be a divorce.”
“No?”
“We haven’t done it, so it’d be an annulment.”
I smirk at her use of such innocent language. “Fine. Are you asking me for an annulment?”
“If I was, what would you say?”
Oh, no, Little Pawn. You don’t get off that easy . “Ask me, and you’ll find out.”
The tension crackles between us, two adversaries, both intent on gaining the upper hand. Nicholas doesn’t know what he’s missing out on by marrying Elizabeth. Sparring with Imogen gets my dick harder than by my own hand or any other beautiful woman’s pussy.
She lets a few seconds pass, her gaze belligerent as it drills into me. Eventually, her shoulders bow. “No.”
I wait for disappointment to descend on me. Instead, my chest floods with relief. I don’t get it. Why would she want to stay married to me after all the battles we’ve fought? Perhaps she likes the sparring as much as I do. Whatever her reasons, I’m going to have to double my efforts. The panic room was a great idea, and it’s definitely pushed her closer, but not close enough. My next move has to wound her so deeply, she’ll give me what I want.
“I’ll leave you to rest, then.”
“Just so you know,” she says, as I step away from the bed, “I’m changing my name back to Salinger.”
I pivot, my eyes wide. “I beg your pardon?”
“You can beg all you like. I’m done with being a De Vil. The name doesn’t align with my personal values. From now on, it’ll be Imogen Salinger. I’ll file the paperwork on Monday to make it official.”
Oh, no, you don’t . “You will not .”
“Oh, yeah?” She climbs off the bed and stands directly in front of me, her hands planted on her hips. “Try stop me.”
“You are my wife, ” I seethe. “And you will take my name.” She starts to speak, but I cut her off, raising my palm in the air. “If I were you, I’d think carefully about the next words that come out of your mouth, because my patience is on its last thread, and trust me, you do not want to see what happens when that thread snaps.”
That threat must do the trick, because she clamps her mouth shut. I glower at her for a few seconds, almost wishing she would defy me again. I’d enjoy punishing her. I’d relish the opportunity to bend her over my lap and spank the correct etiquette into her.
“Eat your food,” I snap, stomping across the room. I’ve half a mind to lock her in for the night, but given the mood she’s in, I wouldn’t put it past her to trash the room .
Slamming the door, I stomp down the hallway, blood fizzing in my veins. Of all the things she’s said and done, threatening to revert to her maiden name is a step too far. I can’t have such a public show of disrespect. I won’t have it.
I beeline for my office, but as I pass the library, Nicholas calls out to me.
“Who’s set your arse on fire?”
Skidding to a halt, I reverse course and go inside. Nicholas and Tobias are sitting on the couch, their expressions intrigued by the smoke that’s surely pouring out of my ears. But it’s when they notice my missing eyebrow that both of theirs shoot up their foreheads.
“Oh, my God,” Nicholas says. “What the hell happened to you?”
“I need a drink.” Grabbing the brandy decanter, I half fill a glass tumbler and knock back half in one go. I’ve had an entire day of being stared at, and I’m so fucking over it.
“Let me guess.” Nicholas flashes a side-eye in Tobias’s direction and rubs his chin like a caricatured villain in a bad B-movie. “The lovely Imogen. I wondered why she looked so impish when I left her with you last night after you passed out.”
This is news, and it sends my bad mood sky rocketing. “You let her see me in that state?”
“No. She was already standing over you holding a cushion. I think she was about to smother you.” He snickers. “I suggested she help me put you to bed instead, and she agreed.”
“So, this is your fault?”
“No.” He shakes his head for added emphasis. “It’s your fault. She was rambling on about you firing Edgerton. You should have told her the real reason he’s gone, then she might not have done that.” He loosely gestures to my face. “Which is fucking epic, by the way.” He and Tobias share a look, both of them struggling not to break into beaming smiles at my misfortune.
“You know why I didn’t tell her.” I pace to the window and back again, my anger still running far too hot. “Do you want to know her latest stunt, other than this, I mean?” I flick my fingers at my missing eyebrow and plow on without waiting for an answer. “She told me she’s changing her name back to Salinger.”
Nicholas’s eyes widen. Tobias isn’t so contained. He bursts out laughing.
I glower at them both. “This is not funny. I swear, she is pushing every button I have, including some I wasn’t even aware of.”
“I fucking love Imogen,” Tobias declares.
I slam my drink on an occasional table. My brothers and I fought a lot when we were kids, but I haven’t throttled any of them in years. “What did you say?”
His eyes flick to my fisted hands, but instead of backing off like he should, he doubles down. “I said I love your wife.” His shit-eating grin almost splits his face in two. “And if you weren’t such an idiot, you’d open your eyes and see what you’ve got.”
I make a move. Nicholas leaps to his feet and grips my arms, holding them behind my back. “Whoa, easy. No getting blood on the Axminster. Dad’ll murder you both. It’s older than he is.”
Tobias gets to his feet in that lazy way of his. He and I have similar temperaments. We’re both cool under pressure, but right now, I’m acting more like Nicholas or Christian than my youngest brother. What’s happening to me? I hate this feeling of being out of control, of not being able to think logically.
“Brother, any time you want to go at it, I’m here for you. We can go down to the gym right now and box it out if that’s what you need. Say the word.”
His reasonableness pops me like a balloon, and I sag. Nicholas lets me go, freeing me to flop into the nearest chair.
I rub my forehead. “Why does she get to me so much?”
My brothers share a look. Nicholas replies first. “You already know the answer. She’s pushing you, challenging you, and you’re not used to anyone standing up to you unless it’s one of us, or Dad, or maybe Uncle George. And”—he raises his hands in the air—“hear me out. I think you like this girl more than you’re willing to admit.”
“Which isn’t surprising, considering she’s fucking epic,” Tobias adds for good measure, earning a scowl for his troubles.
“You wouldn’t think she was epic if she waxed your fucking eyebrow. Do you have any idea how much that shit hurts when you rip it off?”
“At least it wasn’t your ball sac.” His comeback is so fast, I almost get whiplash.
“Know what I think would make you both feel better?” Nicholas asks.
I can guess where this is going, but I motion for him to spit it out anyway.
“She needs a good fucking, and so do you.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell them that I plan to, but I still have eight days before I can safely bed her. If my brothers knew I had no intention of fulfilling my duty to provide children to continue the family name, they’d have no choice but to tell my father, and I cannot have that. While my brothers are loyal to me, they’re loyal to Dad most of all.
Soon, Nicholas will marry, and I can’t see it taking long before he puts a baby in Elizabeth. Then the pressure will be off me.
“Change the record.” I thrust my glass at him. “And get me a drink.”