Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
ALEXANDER
My car stops at the front of the house, and I rub the back of my neck. What a week. An unplanned trip to Russia on Consortium business wasn’t in the cards, but when the council calls, a representative from each of the families has to attend. It’s been a torturous seven days away from my wife, but I’m home now, and eager to see her.
I slide my phone out of my pocket and check her whereabouts to find she’s at the stables, which is of no surprise to me, and now Edgerton is out of the way, and all other staff background checks came back as clear, I can relax a little.
I hand my briefcase and jacket to Richard, then head over to the stable block. Imogen is feeding carrots to one of the mares, but before I get to her, a horsebox drives into the yard, and the commotion coming from inside brings a smile to my face.
Perfect timing.
While I was in Russia, I made a purchase. A beautiful palomino stallion with an attitude problem. It appears I like my horses the same as I like my women. Or rather, one woman in particular.
Imogen turns to investigate the racket. Her eyes land on me, and she startles before breaking out into a smile that liquifies my insides. I can’t deny it any longer.
I’m obsessed with my wife.
“You’re home,” she says, striding toward me with purpose in her step. “How was your trip?”
“Long.” I clasp her upper arms and, uncaring of our audience, kiss her hard on the lips.
A faint blush creeps up her neck. “What’s this?” She points to the horse box, and what’s soon to be a gigantic hole in the side if my new purchase keeps kicking it.
“Come and see.” I take her hand and lead her to the rear, standing well back as two of the stable hands lower the trailer door. The horse bucks, but there’s nothing for him to hit this time.
“Oh, wow. Beautiful,” she breathes.
“And irascible.”
She grins up at me. “Sounds familiar.”
I arch a brow—the one she waxed. The hair has almost grown back, and while I was furious at the time—and stubborn enough to refuse to have someone fix it—now, when I look in the mirror, I smile. My wife has balls, I’ll give her that.
“You’re risking a spanking, Mrs. De Vil.”
“Gotta catch me first, Mr. De Vil.”
Banter with anyone who isn’t a sibling isn’t normal for me, but I’m loving it. I put my arm across Imogen’s chest, moving her a little farther away as a groom backs the horse out of the trailer. As soon as his four hooves hit the concrete, he rears up .
“Easy, boy.” Imogen raises her hand in a slow, non-threatening manner, but as she takes a step, I grab her wrist.
“No.”
This horse has a feisty temperament, and until I’ve carried out a proper assessment, my wife isn’t going anywhere near him.
“It’s okay,” she says. “I’ll be careful. Let me talk to him, please. I can calm him.”
“No.”
She tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip.
“I said no, Imogen. Don’t fight me on this. What if he kicks you?”
“He won’t.”
“How do you know?”
Her lips thin, and I prepare myself for disobedient Imogen. “If you’d bothered to watch me around horses, then you’d know I have a rapport with them. They trust me, and I trust them. It’s a mutually respectful relationship.”
The palomino squeals and nips at one of the grooms, who yelps and leaps out of the way.
“He’s not respecting that stable hand.”
Her lips twitch. “Please. Thirty seconds. Let me try. You can keep hold of my hand, and if you’re worried, you can pull me away in a second.”
When did this woman tear down most of my defenses? I can’t believe I’m considering allowing her near the animal. His nostrils are flaring, and there’s a wild look in his eye that she might trust, but I sure as hell don’t.
I sigh, and she beams, knowing she’s won this round. Keeping a tight hold on her, I let her inch closer. She fishes a piece of carrot from her jeans pocket and lays it flat in her palm.
“Are you hungry, boy?”
The horse cranes his neck, reaching as far as he can for the carrot without getting too close. Snaffling it, his head snaps back.
“Good boy.” She moves again. I move with her, my muscles coiled and ready to yank her out of the way. She gets out another piece of carrot, then another. On the fourth one, the horse moves forward, and after eating it, he doesn’t back away. She rubs her palm down his forehead, tugging on his mane.
“There we are. You’re okay, aren’t you?”
She continues to talk to him in low, calm tones, and I can’t fucking believe my eyes when the stallion nuzzles her. The whole exchange has lasted less than three minutes, and she’s got the animal eating out of the palm of her hand. Literally and figuratively.
“He’s scared, that’s all. He’s been ripped from his home, and he doesn’t know whether he’s come to a friend or foe.”
Her words hit me hard in the center of my chest. Just like her. I ripped Imogen from her home, from everything familiar to her, and brought her to a strange place with people she didn’t know, then proceeded to isolate her in an attempt to get her to leave me. Is it little wonder she retaliated?
Releasing the hand I had in a vise grip, I slide an arm around her waist. “Seems as though you two have something in common.”
She looks up at me. “Yes, I think we do. Or rather, we did. Given time and space, he’ll realize he’s come to a good home.”
I graze my knuckles over her cheek. “Have you?”
“I’m getting there. ”
“I’m not a good man. You know that, right?”
“I don’t know that because you haven’t shared. I only know what I see.”
“And what is that?”
“My husband.”
If we weren’t in the middle of a bustling yard, I’d fuck her right here, right now. “Come back to the house with me.”
“Can I stay a while? To settle him in?”
Her request should piss me off given how desperate I am to be inside her, but instead, it shows me who she is.
A treasure.
A fucking queen.
My fucking queen.
“Don’t be long.” I kiss the tip of her nose and let her go. It takes all my effort not to look back as I head for the house. If I take one more look at her, I’ll throw her over my shoulder and haul her back with me.
I dive into the shower and wash away the grime of the flight and the car journey. After dressing in black jeans and a black button-down shirt, I’m on my way to give my father the debrief when I happen to glance out of the window overlooking the stables.
My chest swells with pride as I watch Imogen with the new arrival. She’s stroking his neck, his flank, his rump, and his head is down. He’s submitting to her, and it’s a glorious sight. She wasn’t lying when she said she had a way with horses. It’s a rare gift—one I don’t have. She walks around the back of him, and he swishes his tail, but it’s not in annoyance. She offers him another piece of carrot, then clasps her hands to his cheeks and rests her forehead against his.
Time slows down for the next few seconds. A horse tied up outside its loose box kicks over a bucket of water, startling the new arrival. He rears up, cracking Imogen underneath her chin with his snout. She flies into the air, landing on her back.
She doesn’t move.
She doesn’t fucking move.
I almost rip the door off its hinges as I bolt into the hallway and race down the stairs. I trip at the bottom, only saving myself from falling by grabbing onto the handrail.
“Call my doctor!” I yell at Alan as he passes through the foyer carrying a silver tray. “Get him here now!”
I don’t wait to see if he acts. It’s Alan. He’ll be on the phone before I’ve taken a step outside. He’s one of my father’s most trusted employees, and he’s been with us for more than thirty years.
My thighs power me forward, and I reach the stable block in less than a minute. There’s a crowd around Imogen, hiding her from sight.
“Get the fuck away from my wife!” I roar, shoving them out of the way. They scatter like crisp autumn leaves. “No one fucking touches her.” I’m wild with fear, and aware I’m being irrational, but I can’t help it. God, if she’s… if she’s…
My knees hit the concrete. I cradle her head in my lap. “Imogen? Can you hear me?”
Her eyes flicker. “The whole estate can hear you.”
Thank God. She’s not unconscious, and she’s joking. All good signs. The fall must have winded her, which was why she didn’t move. Wincing, she tries to sit up. I ease her flat.
“Stay still.”
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t know that. What hurts?”
“My chin and the back of my head. I hit it when I fell. ”
There’s a faint bruise on her chin that I’m sure will develop over the coming hours, but it doesn’t look like there are any broken or dislocated bones. She touches the back of her head, and when her fingers come away, they’re red.
“You’re bleeding.” I cradle her head and examine the cut as best I can, but it’s hard to see whether she’ll need stitches until the wound is cleaned up.
“You’re observant.”
I roll my eyes, although the fact she’s teasing me is such a relief. “I’m going to pick you up, okay?”
“I can walk.”
“You’re not walking. Stop fighting me for once before I lose my shit.” I scoop her up. “Put your arms around my neck.”
She does as I ask, and I carry her back to the house. Alan is waiting in the foyer. “The doctor will be here in fifteen minutes, sir.”
“Thank you, Alan.”
“I don’t need a doctor,” she protests while I head for the first flight of stairs. “But you do need an elevator.”
“You do need a doctor, and you’re light as a feather.”
“You won’t say that when your back gives out.”
“Imogen.” I sigh. “Shut up.”
“You’re grumpy.”
“And you’re lucky to be alive. I shouldn’t have let you go near that horse.”
“It wasn’t his fault. He got startled, that’s all. Don’t take it out on Sundance.”
“Sundance?”
“Yeah, that’s his name. I named him.”
I don’t respond, because I’m not sure what I’ll do yet. My first instinct is to sell him on, but she’s given him a name already, which means she’s attached. The last thing I want to do is upset my wife over a damn horse.
As I set her on top of her bed, she clutches the hem of my shirt. “Do you hear me? Don’t take it out on him, Alexander.”
“Shush.”
“I’ll shush when you agree.”
I growl. “The horse will be fine. I’m not in the habit of punishing helpless animals.”
The doctor arrives, as does half my family. Word travels fast, but after reassuring them that Imogen isn’t badly hurt, I shut the door in their faces and stand at the foot of the bed while she’s examined.
“No concussion, but that cut in your head needs a couple of stitches.”
“Will you need to shave my hair?”
“No. I can stitch it without doing that.” He opens his bag and gets to work. Once he’s finished sewing her up, he prescribes twenty-four hours of bed rest and tells her to keep the cut dry for three days.
“Greasy hair. Lovely,” she says after I’ve walked the doctor to the door, where Richard waits to see him out.
“Are you hungry?”
She nods. “I could eat some soup. Tomato. And a few crackers, maybe.”
I call the kitchen and order the food. “Anything else?”
Patting the mattress, she says, “Stay with me.”
I perch on the bed and run my thumb over her chin. The bruise is visible now, and it’ll only darken as the hours pass.
“Does it look ugly?”
“It’s only a bruise. It’ll heal soon enough. ”
“When I’m asked, I can say, ‘you should see the other guy.’ I’ve always wanted to say that.”
A lump crawls into my throat. I swallow it down. “You could have been seriously hurt.”
“But I’m not.”
“You scared the shit out of me.” My voice is hoarse as though I’ve yelled so much, I’ve damaged my vocal cords. “I saw the whole thing in slow motion.”
“You saw?”
“Yeah. My rooms overlook the stables, remember? When you didn’t move, I thought…” I swallow the next words because they’re too painful to say out loud.
“I’m okay. I don’t mean to be flippant, but it’s how I deal with things I know could have been worse.”
I don’t get to reply, because Maisie arrives with her soup. She fusses around Imogen for a few minutes until she catches the glare in my eye and hastily leaves. Imogen finishes the bowl of soup and all the crackers, then sinks into the pile of pillows behind her head and yawns.
“I’m kinda beat.”
“It’s the shock. You should get some rest.”
I rise to leave, but she catches the hem of my shirt again. “Stay with me. At least until I fall asleep.”
When I sit back down on the bed, she shakes her head. “No, I want you to lie with me.”
I stretch out beside her, and she curls into me, resting her palm on my abdomen. As much as I yearn to fuck her, once again, luck isn’t on my side. First Consortium business, and now Imogen’s accident. If I believed in fate, I’d say there was a hidden message in there somewhere.
“Things are different, aren’t they?” she murmurs, her eyes closed. “Between us, I mean.”
“Yeah,” I rasp. “They’re different.”
“I’m glad. I got so tired of fighting with you.”
“No more fighting.” I kiss her forehead and stroke her hair. “Now, go to sleep.”
It isn’t long before her breathing changes. I should leave now—my father will expect a briefing from my trip—but as I look at my wife, sleeping so peacefully beside me, I can’t seem to tear myself away.