Chapter 117
CHAPTER 4
Isla couldn’t hear his words, but she didn’t need to. The anger radiating from Graham Lancaster was palpable, like heat rolling off a wildfire. She felt it in the sharpness of his movements, in the storm brewing in his dark eyes, and in the way his lips moved with quick, deliberate precision. Even without sound, the weight of his frustration struck her like a physical blow.
“I-I just needed some time,” she stammered, her voice trembling. Her gaze flicked to his lips, catching the sharp line of his frown as he registered her feeble explanation.
Instead of easing his anger, her words seemed to ignite it further. Graham stepped down from the stairs, closing the distance between them in long, purposeful strides until he stood right in front of her. His 6’2 frame loomed over her, making her feel impossibly small, his presence commanding and almost suffocating.
“Edwin and I have been searching for you since the funeral ended,” he said, each word sharp and deliberate as she read them from his lips. “You just ran out of the grounds and disappeared. Do you have any idea how worried everyone was?” He paused, his brows furrowing, the intensity of his gaze boring into her. “How worried I was?”
The last words hit harder than the rest. Isla wished she could look away, escape the intensity of his anger, but she was trapped. She had to keep watching his lips, forced to meet his penetrating gaze to follow his words. And in doing so, she couldn’t help but notice the details of his face—the strong jawline now shadowed with stubble, the faint crease of frustration between his brows, and the rugged handsomeness that had always made her nervous.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” she said softly, trying to steady herself. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “I’m fine.” And she meant it—or at least, she wanted to.
Graham’s jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a hard line before he spoke again. “How can I not?” he demanded, the tension in his voice carrying over even in silence. His next words came like a thunderclap: “You’re my responsibility now.”
The phrase struck her like lightning. Her breath caught, her chest tightening painfully as her heart slammed against her ribs. His responsibility? The words echoed in her mind, a mix of shock and confusion coursing through her.
Before she could process the full weight of what he’d said, Graham took a step back and glanced toward the door. His tone shifted, softer now but still firm. “Come on in and change your clothes,” he instructed, gesturing toward the manor. Then, turning to Edwin, he said, “Go let Maggie know her beloved pet is back so she can stop fretting and get dinner ready.”
Edwin nodded instantly, hurrying inside without another word. The moment they were alone, Graham reached out, his large hand closing gently but firmly around Isla’s arm. The gesture startled her—his touch was warm, commanding, and entirely unexpected.
Isla stiffened, her body locking in place as he began to guide her up the steps of the manor. Her mind reeled, her senses overwhelmed. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus on anything except the faint scent of his cologne—a rich, woodsy aroma that seemed to cling to him effortlessly. The surrealness of it all left her dazed. Graham Lancaster, the man she’d idolized from a distance for so long, was touching her as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, and she tried to focus, but her thoughts refused to settle. She was so lost in the sensation of his hand on her arm and the steady rhythm of his steps beside her that she didn’t even notice when he said something.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, her voice breaking the silence as she glanced up at him. “I didn’t catch that.”
Graham stopped, turning to look down at her. For a moment, the hard edges of his expression softened, and something like regret flickered in his eyes. “It’s okay,” he mouthed, his lips forming the words slowly for her benefit. Then, almost sheepishly, he added, “Sometimes I forget… you can’t hear.”
Strangely, as Graham looked at her now, the harsh edge in his expression softened, replaced by something she couldn’t quite decipher. Was it concern? Care? Isla wasn’t sure, but the shift was undeniable. His dark eyes held hers for a fleeting moment before he spoke again, his tone gentler than before.
“Never mind,” he said, his lips forming the words slowly enough for her to catch. “Go and freshen up. Maggie must be serving dinner by now.”
Then, to her surprise, he reached out and gave her a light pat on the back—a casual gesture, quick and unthinking, the kind of thing someone might do to hurry along a younger sibling.
Isla froze for a moment, her face heating as the realization sank in. That’s exactly how it felt—as though he were treating her like a little sister. Her cheeks flushed crimson at the thought. She had always known Graham Lancaster saw her as nothing more than the daughter of his father’s second wife, a quiet shadow on the periphery of his life. But now, he was acting protective, almost familial, as though she were his responsibility in the most brotherly sense of the word.
The very idea made her stomach twist with an odd mix of indignation and something she couldn’t quite name. Before he could notice her reaction, Isla turned on her heel and fled toward the sanctuary of her room. The door clicked shut behind her, and she leaned against it, her heart still pounding.
And why couldn’t she convince herself that it was better this way?
When she finally emerged from her room, the house felt eerily quiet. The grand corridors of Thornfield Manor, usually so full of life, seemed to echo with the absence of her stepfather. The thought sent a fresh wave of sadness crashing over her, but she steadied herself as she made her way to the dining room.
The sight that greeted her stopped her in her tracks. Graham was seated at the head of the table—the chair her stepfather had occupied for as long as Isla could remember. Seeing him there, so effortlessly filling the role of patriarch, was like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t just the physical act of him sitting there; it was the way he seemed to belong there, as though that seat had always been his.
Isla quickly averted her gaze, afraid that if she looked any longer, the tears she’d been holding back would start to fall again. Keeping her head down, she hurried to the farthest chair from Graham and his girlfriend, the one closest to the wall, and sat down.
Maggie bustled in a moment later, carrying dishes with her usual efficiency. But before she served the food, she stopped beside Isla, hands on her hips and a stern expression on her face.
“Do you have any idea how worried we were about you, young lady?” Maggie said, her lips moving quickly, her tone unmistakable even though Isla couldn’t hear a word. “Running off like that, without a word to anyone! You scared us half to death!”
Isla kept her eyes trained on Maggie’s lips, reading the reprimand in the movement of her mouth. Her shoulders slumped as she absorbed the housekeeper’s words. When Maggie finished, Isla simply nodded, murmuring, “I’m sorry.”
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