Page 87 of The Devil’s Lair

I nod, unable to speak in case I blurt the one truth that’s too loud to ignore any longer.

I’m in love with my husband.

Chapter Twenty-Six

TOBIAS

It was past midnight when we got home from The Lair, and I haven’t slept a single minute. Rebecca’s horrifying recount of the night before I met her keeps running over and over in my mind, like a horror movie I can’t turn off. I’d feared the worst when she told me about the time Marcus brought home a friend and shared her then, but gang rape? I had not seen that coming.

My blood is made up of raw anger. I can’t bring Marcus back to life, but I am going to find every single man who touched her that night and put them in the fucking ground. I’m not sure how yet. I can’t ask her. Not now, at least. Her memories are too fresh, too painful. The last thing I want to do is add to her agony. But one way or another, I will make them pay. They won’t get away with this.

No wonder the idea of being touched by another man is abhorrent. Despite my growing feelings for my wife, I won’t act on them. I can’t. I’m not that guy.

Besides, what if we did try to change the terms of our arrangement and I had the same reaction with her as I’ve had with every other person I’ve attempted intimacy with? A rejection like that when she trusts me would destroy our entire relationship, and I’d rather protect what we have than burn it all to the ground.

I’m about to head to the dining room for breakfast when there’s a light tap on my door. My heart rate shoots up. Rebecca? We didn’t talk much in the car on the way home last night, and we both went our separate ways as soon as we returned to Oakleigh. Will it be awkward between us? Will she regret telling me of the atrocities she went through that night?

I take a breath and open the door.

“Isla.” I crouch down to my stepdaughter’s level and grin at her. “Good morning, sweetheart. Where’s Mama?”

She gestures in the direction of their rooms. I’m guessing Rebecca is still asleep. “Hungry?”

She nods, then holds out her hand for me to take. My heart swells to twice its size. I love this kid so fucking much. It makes me even more determined to quash my growing feelings for Rebecca. I’m not averse to risk taking, but that is a step too far. The potential losses are astronomical.

I take Isla’s hand, and she skips alongside me to the dining room, which is empty. There’s a pile of pancakes in the middle of the table plus bowls of fruit. I smile. The staff already know how much Isla loves pancakes. I wonder if they saw her on the way to my rooms and anticipated she’d be along shortly. It wouldn’t surprise me. Our household staff are wonderful. They anticipate our needs before we know what they are.

I lift her onto a chair with a bolster cushion. “Okay, Miss Isla, how about a pancake?”

Both thumbs shoot in the air.

I pick up the tongs and lift a pancake off the stack and put it on a plate. “What fruit do you want?” I point at the blueberries.

She shakes her head. Same with bananas and raspberries.

“Strawberry.”

My jaw drops, and my heart damn near expires. I stare at Isla. She spoke. She fucking spoke. Or did I imagine it? A sharp gasp sounds behind me. I twist my head to see Rebecca’s standing by the door, a hand clasped over her mouth.

I crouch beside Isla. “Did you…? Can you say it again, sweetheart? What did you want?”

She points at the bowl overflowing with ripe strawberries. “Strawberry.”

Rebecca lets out a strangled sob, and my cheeks are wet. I swipe at the tears as Rebecca falls to her knees beside me.

“Isla, oh, my clever girl.” She cups Isla’s cheeks. “Yes, darling, you can have strawberries. As many as you want.”

I reach for the bowl and hold it in front of Isla. She takes a handful and drops them onto her pancake like it’s no big deal and she hasn’t just rocked our world by uttering her first word since she was three. The first word I’ve ever heard her speak.

“Syrup.”

Rebecca’s openly crying now. Isla seems oblivious to the momentous moment that her mother and I are struggling to deal with. I pass her the syrup and collapse beside Rebecca as my legs give out, too.

“What are you two doing on the floor?”

I look up at Grace, her expression bemused. “Isla spoke,” I croak.

“Oh, my God.” She beams. “Isla, you little champ.”