Page 107 of The Devil’s Lair

She’s come alight.

“I don’t know. I probably should’ve thought about it before now, but…” She glances sideways at me. “There’s been a lot going on. I don’t have much, though I’m sure I can come up with something.”

“Oh, let’s go shopping. You, me, Imogen, and Vicky. We can have lunch, too.”

Rebecca turns to me. “Is that all right with you?”

I hate that she asked, even if I understand why. Marriage to that fucking bastard La Salle had caged her, and it’ll take a while for those behaviors to vanish.

“Absolutely. I’ll watch Isla.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. We’ll have a great time, won’t we, kiddo?”

Isla nods. “Pony.”

I laugh. “See? All sorted.”

We finish breakfast, and as Isla slides to the floor, and Rebecca pushes back her chair, I stand, too.

“Go nuts,” I say. “I expect you to come back loaded with bags.”

She beams, stands on tiptoes, and puts her mouth right next to my ear. “Thank you. And who knows? There might be a little gift in there for you, too.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a set of lingerie or two.”

She winks, then leaves with her hand tucked in the crook of Grace’s elbow.

Lingerie. Blood rushes to my groin. I stare at the door, lost in thought.

Is it tonight yet?

Christian nudges me as he goes to leave, too. “Welcome to the club, brother. Trust me, you won’t ever want to leave.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

REBECCA

This is what princesses must feel like all the time. There I was, assuming we’d visit a couple of department stores and maybe the odd boutique on Regent Street. Instead, we’re at Harrods. Not the Harrods the general public knows, though. Little did I know there’s a secret part of Harrods, an invitation-only area known as The Penthouse. I’ve no idea how the girls swung this, but I guess the name De Vil carries weight.

It’s a lot to take in.

Our personal concierge flutters around bringing champagne and nibbles, and my own personal shopper. A well-put-together woman called Melanie is, right now, picking out outfits for me to try. It’s heady stuff. Beats being jostled by the crowds on a busy high street, but at the same time, I’m overwhelmed.

“Just give yourself over to the process,” Vicky says. “They know what they’re doing.”

Melanie returns and beckons to me. “Ready to have some fun?”

I nod, although the jury is out on the fun part. Melanie leads me into the changing room. It’s only then the true horror of this moment wallops me.

My scars.

Some of the dresses are backless. I can’t wear those.

“You can hang your clothes up there.” Melanie gestures to a row of coat hooks, oblivious to the panic careening through me like a runaway train. When I don’t move, she stops bustling around and settles her gaze on me. “Is everything all right, Mrs. De Vil?”