THE HEIRESS
Episode 30
From U.S Bah ❤ ✌?
That evening, Isabelle made it her sole mission
to corner and interrogate Sam Winters, but it
was as if he was purposefully avoiding her. He
arrived later than the rest of the courtiers,
a
brilliant red Winters tartan sash cutting across
his formal jacket. Despite his distinctive attire,
however, every time Isabelle set off to speak
to him, he somehow disappeared among the
ball guests.
She finally caught him when he was leading
Cora Neasmith towards the gardens, the
blonde beauty clearly not impressed by the
broad swath of tartan across his che-st.
“I need a word,” Isabelle said, her frustration at
having wasted too much time chasing Sam
overruling her manners.
“We were just about to take some air,” Cora
snapped, but Isabelle ignored her.
“Sam, please. It’s important,” she pleaded. The
tall redhead’s jaw worked as he frowned,
looking over Isabelle’s shoulder.
“Cora is important as well,” he said, bowing to
her before turning away, “I’m sorry…”
Cora shot Isabelle an arch look, clearly
relishing that Sam had chosen her over
Isabelle. But Isabelle needed answers,
something that no amount of Cora’s petty
jealousy and anger would prevent.
“Sam, I really must-” Isabelle started, hurrying
after them, only for her progress to be halted
by another hand.
“Just the woman I was hoping to find,” Prince
Graham said, giving her arm a little tug so that
she staggered backwards into his arms.
Isabelle’s cheeks flamed scarlet as she
remembered the last time he’d used that very
same technique to pull her towards him,
regaining her balance and attempting to pull
away. But the prince had other plans.
While Sam and Cora escaped to the garden,
the prince led her to the dance floor,
keeping
her firmly in a dancers’ hold as they stepped
out and joined the waltz.
“I need to speak with Sam Winters and I’d very
much enjoy it if you didn’t interrupt,” Isabelle
grumbled. Graham fixed a practiced look of
innocence on his face.
“Am I to believe that you aren’t enjoying your
dance with me?” he asked.
“No, I most certainly am not,” Isabelle huffed.
“Now if you’ll excuse me.”
She tried to break free as they neared the edge
of the floor, but rather than hold her in place,
the prince allowed her to leave the floor, only
to fall in step beside her.
“Ah, now I un-derstand,” he said, leaning down
to whisper as she made her way back towards
the gardens. “You’d rather I spent my time with
you doing other things besides dancing.”
When Isabelle whirled around to slap him, he
deftly caught her hand and brou-ght it to his
li-ps, his green eyes dancing as they watched
for her reaction. But it was Isabelle who got
the satisfaction of seeing his brows crash
together as the light caught the diamond
sitting on her fourth finger.
“Are you quite finished?” she asked, unable to
fight the grin from curving the corners of her
mouth. He stared at her, for once completely
incapable of determining why she’d returned
her ring to its place around her finger. Was she
taunting him, since he’d promised to pursue
her until she removed it? Or was she really still
holding true to Leopold and her farce of a
betrothal?
Well, there was one way to find out.
“Since you’ve shackled yourself once more, I
believe you know the answer to that question,”
Graham said, his voice ba-rely more than a
growl as he tucked her hand gently into the
crook of his arm. Two could play at her game.
Or, more accurately, his game that she had
now learned to play. Isabelle chuckled, but
remained wordless as Graham held the door to
the chilly autumn garden.
Lanterns hung from the trees, glittering off the
w-et leaves that covered the lawns. Torches and
fire pits flic-kered throu-ghthe ballroom gardens,
illuminating the couples that had gathered
around them for warmth, their merry chatter
and giddy laughter echoing throu-ghthe
gardens.
“I have to go find-” Isabelle started, gathering
her skirts to hurry away, but Graham would
have none of that. He followed her across the
terrace, seizing her around the wai-st and
tucking her into one of his favourite darkened
corners.
The sheer brazenness of it sent a thrill throu-gh
him as he pressed her up against the chilled
stone of the palace. He’d meant to distract her
from finding Sam Winters, but if it meant he
could steal a few kis-ses at the same time,
he’d take that opportunity and make the most
of it.
“You have to find no one,” he said, tucking a
curl back behind her ear. She’d frozen,
immobile, beneath his hands, her eyes wide as
she looked up at him. This close, he could
smell her lavender and vanilla perfume, a fierce
longing to run his li-ps along the curve of her
ne-ck nearly breaking his resolve.
Nearly.
“Graham…” she started, her voice little more
than a whisper.
“Yes, Isabelle?” he asked, his voice just as
quiet as hers. She blinked at him once, twice…
A rush of victory swept over him as she leaned
up to close the distance between them, her
soft li-ps tentatively meeting his. He kis-sed her
gently, reigning in the blaze of pa-ssion that
threatened to overpower him. When her body
leaned into his, he couldn’t help but press her
up against the wall crushing the lace of her
dress as his hands pulled her even closer.
When he paused a moment to breathe, it was
Isabelle who sna-ked a hand around his ne-ck to
pull him back in for more.
~*~
Isabelle had no idea what had overtaken her.
She blamed it on the turmoil in her head, the
endless cacaphony of thoughts that had
deafened her to everything else. Thoughts of
Leopold, the hole in the wall, her father’s letter,
Sam Winters, Kentshire, her betrothal…it was
all too much. When Graham had followed her
outside and backed her into the shadowy
corner, one thought had finally silenced all the
words spinning in her mind.
She very much wanted to kis-s him again.
So she did.
Despite the shudder that ran throu-ghher at the
sight of it, she’d donned her ring that evening
as armour. Her skin crawled beneath the cold
metal, but it was there as a deterrent. She
knew Graham would attempt to meddle, so
she’d for-ced it onto her finger as a means of
driving him away and keeping him at an arm’s
length.
She hadn’t intended for it to draw even closer.
In the confusion of the past few days, she’d
forgotten their bargain, that he would pursue
her until she removed it. The way his green
eyes, upon seeing it, had flared with something
pa-ssionate and fierce had stolen the words
from her li-ps. It was the first time she’d been
able to elicit any sort of emotion from him
beyond an amused chuckle or an arrogant grin
and she found, to her great dismay, that she
relished that power.
As a result, she hadn’t been thinking properly
when he led her outside. She was too drunk
on the knowledge that she finally held some
sway over the prince and too intent on finding
Sam to realize exactly what she’d done by
sli-pping Leopold’s ring around her finger.
But that didn’t matter now, because she was
kis-sing Prince Graham and very much enjoying
it.
“Take it off,” Graham said finally, his breath hot
against her throat as he ran his li-ps along her
ne-ck.
“I beg your pardon?” Isabelle said, using a
finger to lift his chin so they were face to face
again.
“His ring,” Graham said, that same intensity
burning in his eyes. “Take it off.”
Isabelle weighed her choices as she searched
his eyes.
“Why?” she asked.
He kis-sed her in reply, taking her face between
his hands.
“Why?” she asked again, breaking free from
him to tip her head up for air. Graham leaned
his head against the wall, his cheek resting
against hers.
“Because I can’t stand to see you wearing
something of his,” he said, his voice rou-gh
with emotion.
Isabelle’s eyebrows hopped in surprise before
she lifted a hand to cu-p his other cheek, once
again drawing his face around so she could
look at him.
“Would you rather I wear something of yours?”
she asked.
Warning bells sounded in Graham’s head as
her blue eyes glittered up at him in the
moonlight. She was fishing for something and
he’d been so distracted in kis-sing her that he
hadn’t even realized it. He cursed himself for
sli-pping up around her yet again, by revealing
that he hated seeing that bastard’s ring around
her finger. He straightened, the fire that had
clouded his thoughts doused by the shrewd
look in her eyes.
“So you’re after my throne now as well?” he
asked, co-ck ing an eyebrow. Isabelle remained
leaning against the wall, a curl escaping from
where he’d sunk his fingers into her hair. Her
li-ps were swelling from the pa-ssion of their
kis-ses and she looked so enticing that he
wanted to forget all the nonsense surrounding
them and properly ravish her.
But he’d brou-ght her out here for a reason and
now she’d gone and turned it around on him.
He wasn’t about to let her win at his favourite
game.
“Why would I need your throne when I already
have a duchy thanks to your father’s new law?”
she said, watching for his reaction.
She was right. She didn’t need him, nor
Leopold, if she wanted a title and power.
Kentshire would be hers to rule, regardless of
whom she married or whether she married at
all. Something heady and addictive swelled
within him as he looked at her, the feisty,
temperamental daughter of one of Pretania’s
riche-st dukes, somehow toying with him the
way he so often toyed with everyone else.
“Then you don’t need a thing from me, do
you?” he remarked with a dark little chuckle.
“I need you to tell me what you know of the
situation in Kentshire,” she said bluntly.
Graham’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, even
though he knew that she’d have some sort of
demand.
“And what makes you think that I know
anything about that?” he asked.
“Because you’re the prince who knows everyone
else’s secrets,” she replied, with a shrug. The
nonchalance of that shrug, however, was not
reflected in her words, especially when she
added, “I do recall you mentioning something
this afternoon.”
Graham couldn’t help the grin that tugged at
his li-ps. She’d learned quickly, he’d give her
that. But she was worried and it showed.
“What are you offering in return for such
information?” he asked, clasping his hands
behind his back.
“I think I’ve offered plenty already,” she said,
holding his gaze as she reached up to feel her
swelling li-ps. Graham let out a throaty chuckle.
“I daresay you enjoyed that just as much as I
did,” he said. “Your terms, Miss de Haviland?”
“I’ll remove the ring,” she said, toying with it.
Graham’s eyes went to the diamond, a surge
of hatred searing throu-ghhis mind as he
for-ced his eyes away from it.
As much as he would give anything to see that
shackle removed from her finger for good, he
couldn’t tell her. If he told her that her father
had called up his for-ces, she’d no doubt
attempt to escape with Winters and his men.
Kentshire was the last place she should be,
especially after having ignited Prince Leopold’s
ire. Graham wouldn’t put it past the foreign
prince to kidnap her and for-ce her into
marriage, only to be rid of her the moment her
father died and Kentshire pa-ssed to her. She
was safest in Highcastle, but he had no way of
knowing whether her father thought the same.
For all Graham knew, Duke Francis might want
his daughter beside him, away from any man
who might for-ce her into a marriage to win the
prize of Kentshire.
As he debated in his mind, Isabelle slowly slid
the ring from her finger, tucking it down the
front of her bodice. It took every ounce of
Graham’s willpower to return his eyes to her
face. Her actions had derailed his thoughts yet
again and he scolded himself.
Never had a woman ever thrown him off so
badly.
“Well?” Isabelle said, glancing down at her
ba-re finger.
“Your father is attempting to smooth over
relations with Germania, but Leopold was not
easily appeased,” Graham said, opting to stay
as close to the truth as he could. “For now,
they remain at Kentshire until some sort of
agreement is reached.” She didn’t need to
know that Leopold had ridden off in a hurry.
“The borders are restless, however. Lord
Winters is preparing for the worst, in case no
agreement is reached, and there is word of
troop movements in Germania.” She didn’t
need to know that Sam had been summoned
home or that there were already Germanian
troops gathering at the border. “Your father
hasn’t asked for a-ssistance, but we are
preparing to send men to Eastcliffe and
Umberwood should we be called upon with
little notice.” That much, at least, was true. His
father had refused to send men to Kentshire,
but he didn’t intend on letting the Germanians
any farther into his country than was necessary
to discipline the troublesome duchy.
“My father is attempting to smooth over
relations,” Isabelle repeated, a frown creasing
her brows as she worried at her now ba-re
finger.
That had not been what she had expected to
hear, nor did she enjoy the dread swirling
around her stomach. Her father would have no
time to recount the goings-on in a long-
winded letter to her, not while Leopold was
breathing down his ne-ck for an answer.
Graham’s words somewhat a-ssuaged her fears,
for at least her father hadn’t resorted to for-ce in
the form of men-at-arms, but the thought of
her father renegotiating her betrothal had
opened a pit in her stomach.
She told herself it had nothing to do with
Graham’s kis-ses or the willingness with which
she’d removed Leopold’s ring. But the truth sat
at the back of her mind, souring the rest of her
thoughts like a stinking, mouldy wedge of
cheese.
She’d been relieved when Leopold had stormed
from her room. The first night that she’d
removed his ring and tucked it away in her
jewelry box, it had felt as if a weight had been
lifted from her shoulders.
It had almost felt like freedom.
As Graham watched her turn his words over in
her head, she couldn’t help but think that
Leopold would never have granted her such
answers, nor would he have bothered to
bargain with her. Leopold had always done
what he’d wanted, but up until now, that had
always been what Isabelle had wanted too.
It was downright terrifying to consider that she
might have changed her mind.
For as long as she could remember, her
betrothal to Leopold had defined her. She had
grown used to thinking of herself as a future
queen, as Leopold’s future wife, and had
behaved herself accordingly for years. Caught
up in the glamour preparing to marry royalty,
she’d never stopped to consider what she
really wanted from her life. She hadn’t been
able to brush off Graham’s taunts about her
becoming Leopold’s prize cow and brood mare
as she’d thought she had. Instead, the barbs
had buried themselves un-der her skin, feeding
the doubt already planted in her mind about
whether a life with Leopold would really be all
that she’d dreamed it would be.
“Thank you,” Isabelle said finally, pushing her
thoughts back to face the prince who stood
before her. Graham bowed his head in
response, still watching her warily as if trying
to gauge her reaction.
“I’m feeling quite tired,” she said, pushing off
from the wall and moving past him, back
towards the ballroom doors.
“Have a good night, Isabelle,” he said, fighting
the urge to reach out a hand towards her now
ba-re left one.
To be continued…..