Page 74 of The Devil’s Lair

She’s enchanting.

Xan nudges my arm. Christ, he’s a sneaky fucker creeping up on me. I didn’t even hear him arrive.

“Put your eyes back in their sockets, Tobias,” he murmurs.

“One more snide comment from you, and I will put you on your arse.”

He chuckles. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Tomorrow morning, in the gym. Nine o’clock. It’s been a while since we boxed. I think you need a reminder of who’s the better fighter.”

“Done. You need something to take the edge off the sexual energy pouring off you.”

He wanders inside, sliding his arm around Imogen’s waist and kissing her on the cheek. She whispers something in his ear. Their gazes lock, and a secret conversation passes between them.

My chest aches. I both love that for them and envy the connection they have—one I never will. I may have started feeling something marginally deeper than friendship for Rebecca, but it has no future, and I would never start something with her I couldn’t finish. She’s suffered enough pain in her life. I refuse to be the person who adds more.

I catch Rebecca’s eye and beckon to her. She rounds the table, stopping a couple of feet in front of me. There’s no affectionate greeting like Xan showed Imogen. No running her hand down my arm like Victoria is doing to Nicholas. No resting her head on my shoulder the way Grace has with Christian as they chat to Dad. And I’m jealous. I’m insanely, hotly, jealous.

“Hi.”

I force a smile. “Where’s Isla?”

“She’s in bed. She was tired.” Reaching behind her to the table, she picks up a baby monitor and waves it at me. “I’ve tested how fast I can race upstairs and get to her. Thirty-three seconds.” She laughs, but it’s brittle, like she’s trying too hard.

“That’s impressive.” We fall into silence, and for the first time, there’s an edge to it. Usually, our silences are comfortable. This one feels as though I’m dragging my fingernails down a blackboard and can’t make myself stop.

I’m relieved when Dad calls us to the dinner table. Conversations spin up, a tangle of overlapping voices and laughter. Before my brothers married, our dinner conversations centered around De Vil business. Now, they’re lively debates, involving much wider subject matters.

Pushing away my earlier discomfort, I throw myself into banter with Victoria while Rebecca quietly chats with Alice. Those two appear to have struck up a friendship, too. Maybe Rebecca sees her as a mother figure. Especially as it appears her own mother spectacularly failed in the parenting department.

“Have you thought about schools for Isla?” Dad asks at a lull in the chatter.

I turn in his direction. He’s looking at Rebecca, not me.

“Oh.” She wipes the corners of her mouth with her napkin, then sets it beside her plate. “I haven’t. I suppose I should.” She frowns as though berating herself for not being on top of Isla’s schooling.

“We have many good private schools in the area,” Dad continues. “I can arrange a few tours if you’d like.”

Rebecca nibbles her lip. “Um, yes, that… that’s good of you.”

“But…?” I coax.

She fires me a grateful smile. “I admit, I’m worried about it. She still isn’t showing any signs of talking. I’d hoped her therapist would’ve coaxed a word or two from her by now. I’m just not sure how she’ll cope at a regular school.”

“We’ll find the right school for her,” I say gently. “There are another few months to go yet. It’s only early April, and school doesn’t start until September.”

“You know, there’s another option.” Victoria sets down her glass and threads her fingers together. “Have you considered a governess? Someone who could offer one-on-one education until you feel more confident in letting her go to school.”

An icy blast shoots through my veins, origin unknown but fucking powerful. My hands curl into fists, gathering part of the tablecloth and sending my fork crashing to the floor. I launch upright. My chair tips over.

“Absolutely fucking not!” I roar. “Isla will not have a governess.”

Silence falls like a guillotine. Every head at the table turns to me, air crackling with shock. Rebecca’s eyes widen, confusion and alarm written all over her face.

The pounding in my ears deafens me. My chest heaves. I can’t breathe.

“Tobias,” Dad says quietly, his voice an anchor in the chaos coursing through me. “Son, sit down.”