Fucking Isabelle Bishop.
Because at the thought of her name, her face floats before me, head thrown back, eyes closed, throat bared, coming on my hand.
24
Isabelle
The door between my room and his is unlocked. But his room is empty. I don’t hear him or anyone else after his mother leaves. I pace my room trying to wrap my brain around what’s happening. What I’ve learned. All that I don’t know.
His fiancée died in his arms? That’s terrible. And Carlton was the cause of her death? No, that doesn’t make any sense. Carlton may be capable of many things but he’s not a murderer. Why does Jericho St. James think he is?
I think about what Julia said. How what Jericho has on Carlton must be bad if Councilor Hildebrand allowed him to initiate The Rite. Could Carlton have committed such a thing as murder? No. Just no.
And what she said about him protecting me? That’s laughable. I need protecting from him. But she’s his mother. She’s not going to take my side.
I check my phone and finally I’m able to switch it on. It’s an older model and temperamental. I scroll down my short list of contacts and find Julia but her phone rings and rings and finally goes to voice mail.
Should I call Carlton? Warn him? Beg him to help me? But what was he planning for me? To marry me off to that disgusting old man? He couldn’t really do that to me, could he?
I pace some more, my gaze landing on the sandwich I barely ate three bites of. I should eat but can’t. I need to find him. Understand what the hell is going on. Although will he tell me?
Leontine’s words circle in my head.
“You’ll have my son’s protection. Remember that. And you need it, Isabelle Bishop. More than you know.”
What protection do I need? From whom? The only face that swims before me is Jericho St. James’s.
But then I see us on that chapel floor, me with my head thrown back, his mouth locked on my throat. Me coming.
Crap.
I decide I need to find him. Find out what the hell is going on. I half-expect the door to be locked when I turn the doorknob but it’s not, so I step out into the hallway. And the moment I do, I see him. And I freeze.
He’s just coming out of Angelique’s room. He pauses when he sees me. Her bedroom at the opposite end of the hallway so I can’t quite see his face, but I clear my throat and close my door behind me to wait for him. I won't cower. I can’t.
I watch as he walks toward me, his face its usual stony mask as he comes closer, and I can see his expression. I clear my throat when he’s a few feet from me and I open my mouth to speak but hesitate when his gaze shifts to my shirt. I’m very aware I’m not wearing a bra underneath but like he’s already said, it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. Not that he can see anything. It’s not like he has x-ray vision. One eyebrow is raised when he looks back at me.
“You don’t have T-shirts without holes in them? Ones that fit you?”
“It’s my brother’s. Or it was.”
“Ah.” He studies me. “What are you doing outside of your room?”
“Your mother came to see me.”
“I know.”
“She told me something strange I wanted to confirm,” I say, one hand on my doorknob.
“Confirm?” he asks. “She wasn’t clear?”
I falter. It’s true. But why would I think it wasn’t?
“But… Carlton won’t agree to it. And you can’t force me. The Society won’t allow it. The Rite protects me.”
“Hm. Well, Carlton will agree. He’ll give us his blessing, I’m sure. If you don’t mind, I’m tired.” He steps past me.
“Do I get a say?” I ask, turning to watch him move toward his room.
He stops. Pivots back to me. And I feel small and so completely out of my element. Out of my league. I think of Julia. How she approached him, so confident. And I just feel like a little girl as I stand in my T-shirt with all its holes, a pair of jeans, barefoot as he stands there looking perfect in his suit minus the jacket. Looking elegant and in control. Because he is in control. Of everything.
As if reading my mind he steps even closer and I have to crane my neck to look up at him.
“You weren’t complaining at the chapel.”
I blink away, embarrassed. But it’s what he wants. My shame. More ways to humiliate me.
“I don’t want to marry you,” I tell him outright.
“You prefer Joseph Manson?”
“No. I don’t want to marry anyone. I just want to go to my violin lessons and maybe school and I don’t know, just live a normal life. And not be someone’s pawn. Yours or my brother’s.” I feel my eyes fill up and I hate myself a little for my weakness.
“You’re a Bishop, Isabelle. And you are a pawn. Mine. You were your brother’s before and now you’re mine. If you had any delusion about that, about being free before I came into your life, let me dispel it here and now. Carlton Bishop has no brotherly love for you. He never did.”
“I don’t—”
“As for school, we’ll see. I’m not opposed.”
I stop at that, bite my lip. “You’re not?”
“I’m a modern man. If you want to go to school, by all means.”
“What about my lessons?”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“Violin. I study with a small group one night a week.”
“We’ll see.”
I’m surprised and confused and then irritated all over again. Why does he have to give me permission to do something as normal as going to school or taking violin lessons.
“I already missed some lessons. I need to call Paul and—”
“Who’s Paul?”
“Paul Hayes. My teacher.”
“Hm.”
“Maybe I can go next week. Maybe—”
“We’ll see. Don’t push your luck.”
“Luck.” I snort.
“Yes, luck.”
“I want a job,” I say, standing up a little taller, one hand still on the doorknob behind me.
He chuckles. “You already have one. Don’t you remember?”
Oh, I remember. To please him.
“Go to bed, Isabelle. Tomorrow will be a taxing day for you. In.” He takes a ring of keys out of his pocket, and I know he means to lock me in.
“I’m not fucking you.”
“No? Because you came pretty hard earlier, and I barely had my hands on you. Imagine what I can do with my dick inside you. Imagine how hard you’ll come.”
“Stop it.” I push against his chest, but he doesn’t budge.
“Are you imagining it?” he taunts.
I fumble for the doorknob at my back and finally get the door open.
“Good girl. In you go. I don’t want you running off anywhere before the big day.”
“I hate you.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I’ll wait until tomorrow to prove just how much you don’t, Isabelle. My mark on your back. Your blood on my sheets. Sleep well tonight, my virgin bride.”
With that he’s gone, the sound of the lock turning loud, and me left wondering about his words. Knowing the only chance I have is for Carlton to somehow stop this. But then what? Even if he was able to stop Jericho St. James, what then? Let him sell me off to that old man? No. I can’t do that, either. My options are limited.