Page 37 of The Devil’s Lair

“So, you’re…” I motion with my hand. “I mean… you’re…” Jesus, Rebecca, spit it out. “Gay?”

His eyes sweep back to mine. “I can assure you there is no physical threat from me, sexually or otherwise, and there never will be. I will provide a good home for you and Isla, and you can live in peace and security knowing that no one will ever be able to hurt you again like Marcus did.”

He hasn’t answered my question directly, which I’m not altogether surprised about. The De Vils are aristocracy, and in these circles, I imagine coming out isn’t always received well. Even sportspeople keep their sexual orientation a secret for fear of reprisal, which, in this day and age, is so very wrong. And sad. Love is love. But if Tobias wants to keep his private desires to himself, it’s not on me to force him to confess.

“Okay. I will think about it. No promises.”

“Take your time.” He gets to his feet and readjusts his cuffs once more. “I have meetings, but I’m around later if you want to talk.”

After he leaves, my body crumples like I’ve had all the air knocked out of me. This is insane. Insane. What is Tobias thinking? What are his brother and his father thinking? Marriage, to a De Vil? I may not know a lot about this family, but their kind of wealth buys privileges people like me can’t even imagine.

Wait, though. A man I met through a violent act could be the answer to all my prayers. And his sexual preferences leading to a lack of interest in me physically sure helps the pill go down a lot easier.

Stop.

No.

It’s a ridiculous idea. I may have sworn off men for good, but a marriage of convenience, even one that comes with a no contact rule, is bonkers.

I’ll leave it a day or so and then tell him I can’t marry him.

The howling wind and rain pelting the window pane wakes me the next morning. My body feels weighed down with the kind of lethargy that comes from a deep, uninterrupted night’s sleep. Rubbing my eyes, I push myself upright.

Isla’s bed is empty

Oh, God…

Panic bubbles up inside me like a fizzy drink poured too fast, spilling over. I leap from the bed, instantly wide awake. She isn’t in the bathroom, nor the living room. I race into the hallway, dread circling in my stomach. She’s been so comfortable here of late that she’s probably gone exploring, but in a house as large as this, she could easily get lost. Or fall down the stairs. Or find herself locked in a cupboard, crying and terrified and unable to scream for help.

I hurry down the hallway, stopping by every open doorway. She’s nowhere. Tobias’s voice drifts toward me, and I sprint in that direction. I’m not the slightest bit prepared for the sight that greets me.

Tobias is sitting at the dining table, and Isla is on his knee, her legs swinging. There are two American-style pancakes on a plate in front of him, and he’s pointing to various bowls of berries.

“Blueberry?”

Isla shakes her head.

“Blackberry?”

She screws up her nose and pulls a face.

Tobias chuckles. “Aha. I’ve got it. You’re clearly a strawberry girl.”

She grins and nods so fast, her head’s at risk of falling off her neck.

“Strawberries it is.” He scatters a few over the pancakes. “Syrup? Yes? Okay, tell me when.”

My heart softens. His patience is the complete opposite of Marcus and how he was with Isla. Not once in the four years of her life did she ever sit on his knee.

Am I dismissing Tobias’s idea too quickly? Could a marriage of convenience work? The thought of never having to worry about Isla’s safety and security, or where the next pound is coming from is awfully tempting. And just look at her. She’s thriving here, and in such a short space of time, too. Plus the therapy he’s offered to pay for will help her even more, maybe even get her to speak again.

This family could give Isla the start in life I never could and access to opportunities that will set her up for life.

There would have to be clear rules, though. Including one clearly laying out that if he ever strikes me or is cruel to Isla, the marriage is over. I can’t see Tobias ever being violent to me or to Isla, but I thought the same about Marcus once upon a time.

I also want some kind of financial security for Isla and, yes, for me, too. If I’m going to do this, then I have to be strategic about it, mercenary almost, even if the idea of making this about money leaves a horrible taste in my mouth. But I’ve experienced first-hand how powerless the lack of funds made me. I don’t intend to make the same mistake twice.

An ember flickers to life inside me. Maybe, just maybe, this man feeding my daughter pancakes is the answer to my prayers. It wouldn’t be a conventional union. Then again, our backgrounds aren’t conventional either.