THE HEIRESS
EPISODE 19
From U.S Bah ❤ ✌?
“How did you find me?” Isabelle demanded,
the poker quivering before her as Prince
Graham closed the door quietly behind him. He
co-ck ed a skeptical eyebrow at her makeshift
weapon, sighing as he strode towards one of
the side tables.
“A pair of little birds witnessed you fleeing your
suite,” he said, pulling a matchbook from his
pocket to light a candle.
“And I found it most
bizarre for a fire to be flic-kering in this window
as I strolled throu-ghthe gardens.”
“Did Alicia share any savoury news once you’d
plied her with kis-ses outside?” Isabelle
demanded. She bit her tongue as soon as the
words had sli-pped out.
“You certainly do the poorest job of concealing
your jealousy,” Graham mused, touching the
flame of the first candle to a myriad of others
littered about the room. As he circled, Isabelle
kept the poker firmly pointed in his direction.
“I am not jealous, only disgusted,”
Isabelle
shot back.
“Really? Because to me, it certainly sounds a
great deal like jealousy,” Graham said, setting
down the candlestick as he turned to face her.
“Now, are you really planning on bashing me
over the head with that or can we have a
civilized conversation devoid of weaponry?”
“I’d like you to leave me alone,” Isabelle said
throu-ghgritted teeth.
“No,” Graham said simply.
They glared at each other in the flic-kering,
golden firelight as the flames of a dozen
candles sent shadows dancing across the
walls.
“Why?” Isabelle asked finally, lowering the
poker.
“Because you’re stuck in a daydream and you
refuse to wake up,” he replied.
“Perhaps I enjoy that daydream and I don’t
want to be woken up,” she said.
“Would that we could all exist in a happy
delusion, though in your case that presents
quite a problem,” Graham said, slowly
sauntering away across the room, his hands
clasped behind his back. Isabelle took
advantage of his movement to sidle towards
the door, abandoning the poker.
“And what problem is that?” she asked.
He
spun around to face her, freezing her in her
tracks. She was still too far from the doorway.
“That you’re too busy dreaming to open your
eyes and notice what’s going on around you,”
Graham said.
“You’ve been at court for over a
month now. Have you learned anything useful
beyond the usual, meaningless court gossip?”
“I’ve learned that you’re a pig,” Isabelle offered.
He rolled his eyes, unamused.
“The king has been in session with his closest
advisors for the better part of a week.
Do you
have any idea why?” he continued. The
flic-kering light was dancing off the jewels in
his coronet in a most distracting way.
“I haven’t the faintest clue, nor do I particularly
care,” Isabelle said.
“You should,” Graham said. “Of all the people
at court, you’re the one who stands to gain or
lose the most because of what’s being
discussed in such meetings.”
“So I’m supposed to trust that you have the
faintest idea about what I want?” Isabelle
demanded.
Graham’s li-ps curled up at the
corners as he advanced towards her, his hands
still clasped behind his back.
He moved
slowly, deliberately, like a cat stalking its prey,
his steps the only sounds in the firelit silence
surrounding them. The medals pinned to the
sash that cut across his broad che-st winked as
they reflected the dancing flames of the
candles.
“I know a great deal more than you do about
what you should want,” he said, running his
eyes over her.
“For one, you are a little girl
besotted with a very dangerous man,
something you still fail to un-derstand.”
“I am not besotted, I’m betrothed,” Isabelle
fired back, her hands curling into fists in the
folds her skirts as she resisted the urge to
slap him. He deserved it, but she was acutely
aware that they were alone.
It was already far
beyond proper and antagonizing a man in such
a situation would not help her escape any
fas-ter. She didn’t dare test how Graham would
react to such a move, as she wasn’t entirely
sure that it would be with a sm-irk and scathing
comment.
“Betrothed by an agreement that your father
clearly regrets,” he said, plucking up a tiny
globe to examine it before setting it down
again and resuming his advance across the
solar towards her.
“He regrets nothing!” Isabelle snapped, backing
around a love seat to put a piece of furniture
between her and the prince she so longed to
strike. The urge was growing as he dared to
speak of her father as if he were a doddering
old fool. Of course her father didn’t regret her
betrothal.
If he had, he would’ve delayed…
Isabelle paused in her retreat as her stomach
plummeted to the floor.
“Then why did he send you to Highcastle and
not to Ardalone with your husband-to-be? Why
did he never allow you to visit Germania?”
Graham asked, his green eyes glittering in the
candlelight as he asked the very questions she
was asking herself.
“Because marrying Leopold would be
tantamount to a declaration of war, something
my father has never wanted but your father has
openly threatened!” Isabelle managed, spitting
out the first excuse that came to mind. Her
fists remained curled as she rounded on the
advancing prince.
Graham cast an amused
look down at them before meeting her eyes
once again, that taunting half-grin still in place
as if he was daring her to make use of them.
“Marrying Leopold would turn you into no more
than a brood mare for Germania,” Graham
said. “Marrying me would turn you into a
queen.”
Isabelle couldn’t help but bark a bitter little
laugh.
“I’d rather marry a turnip farmer than marry
you,” she said.
Graham’s head reeled back ever
so slightly, the amusement vanishing from his
face as he studied her, those kingly shields up
behind his green eyes once again.
“You still don’t un-derstand, do you?” he asked,
shaking his head as he watched her. The cold
metal of Leopold’s ring was bi-ting into the
flesh of Isabelle’s fingers as they remained
clenched together.
Enough. Enough of these mind games and
manipulations. She was going to end this once
and for all.
“No, you’re the one who doesn’t un-derstand,”
she said, advancing angrily towards the prince.
“You compelled me here to prove your power
over my family. You neglected to send me
home when I asked and you kept me here
despite my desire to be anywhere else in the
entire kingdom. I know you’re playing with me
and I’ve had enough of it, Graham!”
His name on her li-ps seemed to have the
same effect on him as it did on her.
It was the
first time she’d ever said it alone, without the
title preceding it, and suddenly the space
between them was too close, the heat of the
room too intense as her cheeks flamed
scarlet.
To Graham, however, it was a sound he hadn’t
expected he’d enjoy so much. Feisty Isabelle
de Haviland, cheeking him by using his given
name. If he had had any doubts about it
before, he knew it now: this woman could
never marry the cold, brutal, selfish prince of
Germania.
Because he wanted her for himself.
He took another step towards her, but this
time she didn’t back away, defiantly holding his
gaze. There was an edge of fear in her eyes
and he didn’t blame her, for had she been
anyone else, she would have reason to fear him
after addressing him so informally.
But not Isabelle.
“Let me go home,” she said, her voice little
more than a whisper as the prince paused in
front of her, so close that their breath might
have mingled if she hadn’t been holding hers.
“I think not,” he said.
Before she realized what he was about to do,
before she could lift either of her clenched
fists, Graham’s thumb was tracing her cheek
as he brou-ght his face down to hers. She went
rigid, expecting something rou-ghand
demanding like Leopold’s kis-ses, but Graham’s
li-ps on hers were gentle, almost teasing. Her
hands flew up to push him away, but once
they’d settled on the firm curves of his
shoulders, she couldn’t bring herself to break
free. The feel of his mouth had stilled her
protests with a searing dart of heat throu-ghher
stomach.
She didn’t want it to stop.
When he pulled away, she realized with a flood
of shame that she wanted him to do it again. It
must have been written all over her face
because Graham’s grin returned, his face just
inches from hers.
“I’ll wager that a turnip farmer couldn’t kis-s you
like that,” he said, his green eyes spellbinding.
She swallowed, hating herself even more when
her gaze fell to his li-ps.
“I’ll wager he wouldn’t either,” she said, yanking
her hands back from his shoulders. “Because
that was horrific.”
“Horrific?” Graham repeated, amused. He bit
his bott-om li-p if only to draw her attention
back to it, relishing the blus-h that crept up her
cheeks once again. “Perhaps I ought to try
again so I can convince you otherwise.”
A delighted shiver ran throu-ghher at the
thought of kis-sing him again before some
logical part of her mind roared in protest.
Horrified by her own treachery, she backed
away from him.
“You forget that I am spoken for,” Isabelle said,
thr-usting Leopold’s diamond up and into
Graham’s face. He laughed as he seized her by
the wrist, tugging her towards him. Isabelle’s
heart was hammering as his hands found their
way around her wai-st, his fingers running along
her bodice in such a way that all she could
think about were his li-ps, once again just
inches from hers.
“I forget nothing,” Graham said, running his
eyes over her face. “Especially when it has to
do with you.”
He leaned down again and this time Isabelle
didn’t bother trying to resist.
It was futile,
especially with the way he held her, his hands
warm even throu-ghthe many layers of her
dress. This time he was more insistent, but
once again nothing like the bruising kis-ses
she’d grown accustomed to from Leopold. His
mouth played with hers, gentle, coaxing,
taunting, as his tongue darted out to taste her.
Blinded by the heat rising in her middle, she
forgot whose arms she was in, running her
hands up around his ne-ck to pull him closer.
But where Leopold’s hair had been long
enough to run her fingers throu-gh, Graham’s
was short, too short, the contrast yanking her
from whatever spell his kis-s had been working
over her.
This time she did push him away, breathlessly
staggering backwards until she caught herself
against an armchair.
They stared at each other
in silence, Isabelle’s mind spinning with a
thousand shameful thoughts as he grinned at
her, amused by the after-effects of his kis-s.
She needed to leave. She needed to flee from
this infernal palace and its devious prince
before he twisted her mind so thorou-ghly that
she’d never be able to look at Leopold again.
Already the mere thought of her betrothed filled
her with a flood of guilt.
Amidst all the chaos
whirling around her mind, her father’s words
surfaced as she silently stared down the
prince.
Please remember that many men would see you
as little more than land in a skirt…
That was why he’d kis-sed her. It was nothing
more than another move in his game.
Graham
wanted Kentshire and he was going to use
whatever means necessary to keep it, even if
that meant seducing her away from Leo and
imprisoning her here in his palace. Her
crumbled resolve began to piece itself back
together as she pushed away from the
armchair, brushing off her skirts and lifting her
chin.
Graham’s kis-ses, no matter how they set her
stomach to tumbling in a delicious, giddy way,
would never ecli-pse the promise that Leopold
had made to her.
The Germanian prince had
vowed to love and cherish her as his future
wife, to protect and nurture Kentshire alongside
her, as her family had for centuries.
“Have a good evening, your Highness,” Isabelle
said frostily, dipping a curtsey before striding
past him to the door.
Graham watched her go,
the smile fading from his face at the ice in her
eyes.
He’d watched the thoughts race across her
face as she straightened, the flustered,
blus-hing girl vanishing as she built up her
walls once again.
When she’d curtseyed, it had
been the future Duchess of Kentshire bowing
before him – the cold, calculating woman who
was decidedly immune to his charms. He’d
allowed her to leave, for anything else he said
or did would be powerless against whatever
she’d told herself to shake the blus-h from his
kis-ses and freeze her eyes to ice once again.
Except now, there was a crack in that wall of
ice. He hadn’t been imagining it when she’d
kis-sed him back, the feel of her hands running
up his ne-ck into his hair sending a hot flush of
longing throu-ghhis body.
Some part of her
had wanted to be kis-sed by him, opening a
chink in her impene-trable armour. Such a
discovery had been a long time in coming and
knowing that he’d finally been able to break
throu-ghto the girl beneath the frigid facade
was somewhat of a comfort.
But any triumph
he might have felt was soured by the
knowledge that it was not yet enough to tear
her away from her blind allegiance to Leopold
and the years of groundwork the other prince
had painstakingly laid to gain her trust.
As the door snicked shut behind her, Graham
wished that he’d been truly able to read her
mind, to find out what she’d told herself to shut
off those blue eyes so quickly.
Whatever it
was, he’d find some way to defeat it, to chase
those thoughts from her head.
kis-sing her had
certainly worked like a charm and, as much as
he’d have enjoyed doing it again, he very much
doubted that the frosty future duchess would
allow him within an arm’s length any time
soon. His mouth curved down as the thought
crossed his mind, aware of how difficult it
would be to corner her alone now that he’d
made such a move.
Lowering himself into the very same armchair
she’d used to catch her balance, Graham
attempted to comfort himself with the
knowledge that, at long last and at the very
least, he’d uncovered one of the indomitable
Isabelle de Haviland’s weaknesses.
To be continued…..