Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
ALEXANDER
Imogen’s bodyguards exit the vehicle, followed by Imogen, then by Emma. What I’m not expecting to see bringing up the rear is Victoria.
My eyes narrow. What’s she doing here? I unfold my arms and push off the car as Imogen’s gaze collides with mine. There’s a moment of angst swirling in her green irises before she squares her shoulders and stands tall. She’s daring me to call her out for being twenty-five minutes late.
A great business tactic to bring confusion to your opponent is to do the opposite of what they’re expecting. It makes them second guess everything, and a confused opponent is one easy to take advantage of. To go in for the kill. Which is why, instead of showing anger or irritation, I soften my gaze and smile at her as she approaches me.
“Good day?”
She touches the base of her neck, her head flinching slightly backward. “Um… yes. A great day.”
“Wonderful. Your hair looks lovely.” I gesture to the car. “Shall we go home?”
Her brows draw inward, and she glances behind me as though she’s expecting the real me to come forward at any moment.
“Can you give Vicky a ride home?”
“Sean will do it.” I raise a finger at the driver who’s been ferrying Imogen and her friends around all day. “Sean, please see that Miss Montague gets home safely.”
“Why can’t she ride with us?”
“It’s cool, Imogen,” Victoria says. “At least he’s not making me take the bus home.” Her eyes flash to mine, her lips flattening. It’s a well-known fact that Victoria doesn’t like my family, which is something of an issue for her considering her sister will soon be a member of it after her wedding to Nicholas. I don’t particularly care either way how she feels about me. What I do care about is her filling Imogen’s head with poison.
Hmm. Emma is easily dealt with, and she will be. Soon. Victoria is a trickier prospect. The last thing I need is her and Imogen forming a close friendship.
“There isn’t room in the car. Victoria will be perfectly safe traveling with Sean.”
“It was great to meet you, Emma,” Victoria says, hugging the American. “I hope to see you again soon.”
You won’t. I’ll make sure of it.
“Yeah, great to meet you, too.” Emma and Victoria hug like they’ve known each other for years rather than a few hours. The moment Victoria moves in to hug Imogen, I huff and check my watch. When I look up, Emma’s eyes are on me, her lips flat in obvious disapproval. I stare back at her until she looks away from my well-practiced scowl.
Pressing my palm to Imogen’s lower back, I urge her toward the car. “Emma, you can ride with Richard. I’d like to speak to my wife.” My tone brooks no argument as I wait for Imogen to climb into the car. Slamming the door, I make my way to the other side. The second I close the door, I activate the privacy screen, and clip my seat belt into place.
And I wait. And wait. A protracted silence ensues. Five minutes pass before she speaks.
“Aren’t you going to scold me for being late?”
I fold my hands in my lap and turn toward my wife. “Do you think I should?”
“No.”
“Then, I won’t waste my breath.”
She frowns. Good. The more confused she is the better. She’ll try to figure out what’s going on with me and won’t notice we’re not headed for Oakleigh.
“Weren’t you concerned that I could have been kidnapped?”
I fiddle with my shirt cuffs, tugging at them. “I knew exactly where you were.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I nod my head. “The bodyguards and the batphone.”
And the tracker in your arm, dearest wife . I say nothing, letting her lead the conversation. We turn south out of London instead of north, but she doesn’t make a comment. It might be because she didn’t pay attention to which roads we took to get here, and this is her first time traveling to London.
“We got caught up chatting while at lunch. It was so lovely to spend time with my friends.”
Make the most of it, Little Pawn. “I didn’t ask for an explanation.”
She turns to look out the window, and I brace for a barrage of questions about where we’re going, but she seems none the wiser.
Inhaling deeply, she says, “I’m sorry I was late.”
I curtail my surprise, nodding curtly. “I accept your apology.”
More silence ensues. She plays with the hem of her dress, then the strap on her handbag. I close my eyes. We’ll be there soon. Then all hell is going to break loose.
“How was your meeting?”
I open my eyes and roll my head to the left, running my tongue over my bottom lip. Her eyes lower, watching me sweep back and forth. If I’m not mistaken, she presses her thighs together and breathes in through her nose. My little pawn is a little turned on.
My fingers itch to touch her, to run my hands up her smooth, shapely thighs. To slide inside her. To make her come as hard as she did in the stables. As little as I sleep, every time I have, the sounds she made that evening have filled my dreams. Those panting little gasps, the way her eyes widened as her orgasm approached. The sheen of sweat on her top lip I wanted so badly to lick off.
The hiss she made when I flicked the crop against her clit.
It’s all moot though. Sadly, there isn’t time to enjoy her properly before we arrive at our destination, and after what I’m about to do to her, she won’t be receptive afterward.
“It was… interesting.”
That’s one word for it. Lilian, my therapist, asked me some fucking tough questions about my marriage, and what infuriated me most was that I didn’t have answers for her. Lilian never gives answers, but she does come up with the odd body language cue that, if it spoke, would have said something like, “I call bullshit” when I told her my plans for Imogen hadn’t changed.
They might not have, but she believes I have, and there’s a horrible churning in my stomach that suggests she could be onto something. Seeing Imogen all beaming smiles and light steps as she exited the car with her friends has made what I’m about to do feel… uncomfortable. At first, I didn’t care how much I hurt her, but lately, every time the light in her eyes fades, a part of me feels her pain as though it’s my own.
I take out my phone and answer a few emails. Imogen takes hers out, too, and I catch the odd smile and glance toward the front of the car. She’s texting Emma, and whatever they’re chatting about is making her happy.
That won’t last long.
My chest tightens, and I rub it. As the car slows, I loosen my tie and unfasten the top button. She’s going to hate me for this, but maybe, just maybe, this will be the final straw. The catalyst that pushes her over the edge. To deny someone with Imogen’s personality friendship is one thing, but to let them have a taste of it only to snatch it away again… that’s the cruelest of all.
Even if I was having second thoughts, it’s too late. I’ve set the wheels in motion, and now I have to follow through.
Imogen doesn’t acknowledge we’ve stopped until I unfasten my seat belt. Her head comes up, and she glances out of the window. My jet stands on the apron, the evening sun glinting off the cockpit window.
“What are we doing here?” She turns her attention to me. “What’s going on?”
Ignoring her, I open my car door and step out. Emma is already on the tarmac, with Steven standing beside her. Imogen virtually flings herself out of the car, her head volleying between Emma and me.
I school my expression, resuming my usual aloof demeanor, except instead of coming naturally, it feels fake. “Emma is leaving us.”
Imogen’s jaw drops, her mouth agape. “No, she isn’t.”
“Yes, she is.” I focus on Emma, who’s as blindsided as Imogen. “If you’d called ahead, I would have told you that Imogen isn’t ready for visitors yet. She is settling into her life here, and having people from her old life turn up out of the blue isn’t conducive to making her feel at home here. I will bring her for a visit in a few months.”
She’ll be long gone in a few months. The thought gives me a feeling much like acid reflux. It’s uncomfortable, unwelcome, and I have to force myself not to rub my chest.
Emma’s gaze shoots to Imogen. “Babe?”
“You can’t do this!” Imogen whirls to face me, nostrils flared, eyes blazing with murderous intent. “She’s going nowhere.”
“Steven.” I jerk my chin. “Please escort Miss Delacourt onto the flight.”
“No!” Imogen makes a dash for her friend. I clasp both her arms, pulling her against me. She fights like an alley cat, spitting and kicking out with her legs, but I’m too strong for her, and I’ve learned how to avoid those vicious kicks she landed during previous altercations.
“I’m calling the police!” Emma yells as Steven tows her toward the plane. “This is kidnapping. You can’t keep her locked up as if she’s a prisoner.”
“She’s my wife. I can do anything I like.”
“I’ll have you arrested!” She’s halfway up the steps now. “Babe, it’s okay. I’ll fix this. I will.”
“Emma!”
Imogen’s pitiful wail slices through my heart like a cold, unforgiving blade. I hate this, but I made my decision, and now I have to follow through. It’s too late to change my mind, even if Lilian’s passive-aggressive commentary at today’s session is playing on a loop inside my mind.
As the plane door closes, and Steven jogs back to the car, all fight leaves Imogen. She sags in my arms, much the same as she did after the panic room incident, allowing me to easily lead her back to the car.
She sits like a stone, arms loose in her lap, her eyes glassy and staring straight ahead. When she makes no move to clip herself in, I reach across her and fasten her seat belt, then my own. The weight of guilt presses down on me, which is why I reach for her limp hand. I fully expect her to tug out of my grasp, but she doesn’t. I run my thumb over her knuckles, an unexpected urge to comfort her coming over me.
We ride back to Oakleigh in silence. She gets herself out of the car and trudges into the house, aiming straight for the stairs. I make a move to follow her when my phone rings. I shake my head at the caller. It’s the superintendent of the local police force. Emma went through with her threat to call the police, unaware the outcome she sought would never happen.
I answer the call, speaking before he does. “She’s fine.”
Imogen pauses on the stairs, twisting to look over her shoulder.
“I appreciate that, Superintendent, but she’s perfectly well.”
Imogen’s resigned sigh reaches me, and she continues walking upstairs. I speak with the super for a few seconds more, then cut the call and follow Imogen upstairs. I don’t bother knocking before entering her room and crossing the living space to her bedroom.
She’s lying in the middle of the bed, legs curled into her chest, hands fisted underneath her chin. Her misery should make me happy, but it’s had the opposite effect—one I hadn’t anticipated when I cooked up this plan earlier today.
Now I’m the one who’s miserable.
Earlier today, Lilian suggested I take another look at my motivation and my reasons for wanting Imogen to end the marriage. My desire not to have children is non-negotiable, but if that issue were off the table, would I want to remain married to Imogen?
Yes, I think I would.
Perching on the edge of the bed, I brush a strand of hair off her forehead. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“No, you’re not, otherwise you wouldn’t have.”
Her voice lacks all the spirit I’ve come to expect from her. That I’ve come to adore. She's a beacon of light in a harsh world, and somehow, over the past few weeks, she's found her way into the darkest corners of my heart and ignited a spark. I’ve gone from apathetic to intrigued to finding myself fond of my wife. Infatuated, even. Every quarrel, however tense or combative, is one I’ve relished. Except for the lost eyebrow. I did not enjoy ripping off that wax strip.
“Look at me.”
I touch her chin, gently easing her head around. She does as I say, rolling onto her back, her sorrowful eyes locked onto mine.
“I had my reasons for sending Emma away. I said I’ll take you to see her in a few months once you’re settled, and I mean it.” I do, too. If she stays, I’ll keep that promise. But if my latest ploy forces her hand and she asks me for a divorce, I won’t stand in her way, no matter how unsettled that thought suddenly leaves me feeling.
“And what do I do in the meantime? How do you expect me to settle in here when I’m so dreadfully lonely. You’re hardly ever here, and when you are, it’s not like we do anything together. I ride alone, I walk alone, I eat alone, I am alone. I’d hoped to make friends with your sister, but she’s always away on business. Vicky lives miles away. You fired Will. There’s no one here for me.”
I lock my jaw at her mention of Edgerton. I may be regretting some of my more recent decisions, but that’s one I’ll never regret. I’m still pissed that he managed to cheat our processes and land a job here in the first place. So far, he’s stayed away from Oakleigh, and if he values his life, he’ll continue to do so.
“We play chess.” It’s meant as a joke. I even say it with a smile, but she responds with a glower.
“We’ve played chess twice. Once on our so-called honeymoon.” She scoffs a laugh. “And once the day of the ball. You might like solitude, but I hate it.”
Which is the reason I based my entire strategy around isolating her, but that strategy no longer brings me any satisfaction. In fact, I hate it, but at the same time, I’m not sorry I sent Emma away. If I am remotely thinking about giving this marriage a try—not forgetting the thorny issue of children—then I will be the person Imogen spends her time with.
“What if Saskia is around more often? And what if I make more of an effort to spend time with you, too?” I chuckle, and it must be a rarity, because her eyes widen. “Although you might not want that, of course. ”
Her gaze shifts from wide to narrow. “Why are you being nice to me now? What’s changed?”
I graze her soft cheek with the back of my hand. “I have.”