Devil's Pawn (Devil's Pawn Duet 1)

“What did you mean? That you met your husband the same way I met Jericho?” I’m not sure who knows what about our situation.

“I mean Santiago took me to punish my father.”

“Your father?”

She nods. “He thought my father had done something to his family, but he was wrong.” Her expression darkens and I see her force a smile back on. “But the reason I told you is I know how it feels in the beginning and I want you to know you’re not alone. You can always talk to me.”

“He thinks my brother…” I can’t bring myself to say the words. “He thinks Carlton did something that I don’t think he could have done. The Bishops and the St. James’s have a terrible history. A bloody one. And although Carlton isn’t an angel, I just don’t think he’s capable of what Jericho is accusing him of. And I feel so out of my element. I don’t know how to handle this.” All of this comes pouring out of me possibly surprising me more than it does Ivy.

“Well, from the way he’s watching you I’d guess you’re doing something right.”

I look up to find Jericho’s eyes on me from across the room. “I think he just wants to make sure I don’t run off,” I say with a shrug and a smile wishing I had a strong drink now as I sip the juice.

“I don’t think so. The mark, can I see it?”

I turn just enough so she can have a look.

“Oh, it is gorgeous,” she says, tracing the outline of it. “Santiago designed it. Jericho asked him to make sure your scar was covered.”

I look at her. “That’s what his brother said too. I guess he finds it ugly. I have another one,” I touch my collarbone. “I wonder if he’ll tattoo me there too. Cover me with ink to hide the ugliness.”

“I don’t think it’s about ugly or beautiful,” Ivy says. “From what Santiago told me he wanted to erase it. Put his mark over top of it. Maybe erase the memory of it? I don’t know. Santiago wouldn’t say exactly.”

“Erase the memory? My memory you mean?”

She nods. “That’s the impression I had. He said it was an ugly night that shouldn’t have happened at all.”

“It’s the night my brother was killed.” I wonder how much Jericho knows about that. Why he cares.

She puts her hand over mine and squeezes. “Then I understand why Jericho would want you to forget it.”

This is a whole other side I haven’t yet heard. I’ve never considered. Did he really make the tattoo what it is to help me forget what happened? No. No way.

The gong sounds then and Ivy and I both look toward the sound. People begin to move toward the chairs set up at the opposite end of the room and I see Jericho and Santiago approach.

“Here we go,” Ivy says and stands, keeping my hand in hers. “Remember, if you need anything just call me. Here,” she says, slipping a piece of paper and a pen out of her clutch. She scribbles her phone number down and squeezes it into my palm. “That’s my cell phone but you can always call the house too.”

“Thank you, Ivy. Really.”

“Of course,” she says and gives me a quick hug before Santiago takes her hand, nods a farewell to me and leads her away.

“How was your tête-à-tête?” Jericho asks as he wraps a possessive hand around the nape of my neck again.

“Much more interesting than any conversation I’ve had with you,” I tell him.

He smiles, gives a squeeze of his hand. “Oh, sweetheart, you are so earning your evening.”

I don’t get a chance to ask what he means as he leads us through the crowd to the very front of the room where our seats are located. I’m surprised. He’s not one to seek out attention. He’s more like the cat who watches from the tree unseen but seeing everything. Waiting to pounce.

It takes a few minutes before everyone is seated and after a welcome and a mention of the charity for which funds will be raised tonight, the auction begins.

A painting opens the auction. It’s a beautiful, gold framed landscape from a Dutch artist painted three centuries ago and the amount of money the auctioneer names to start the bidding has me choking.

Jericho doesn’t bid on this item. He flips through the booklet instead as the first, second, third and fourth items are set on the stage and taken off the stage once sold.

“Ah,” he finally says, sitting back and setting one hand on my knee. He leans toward me as two men carry in whatever is hidden beneath the red velvet blanket. It’s clearly heavy. “This one’s the one I’m after. It’s actually a gift for you.”

I only have time to glance at him before the item is placed and the blanket covering it tugged off. And I swear everyone in the room must hear my gasp.