The Genius Heiress Plays The Fool

"Get out. Don't embarrass me." Frank Poole's voice was a low, vicious hiss. His thick hands shoved hard against Georgiann's shoulders.

The cheap lace of her wedding dress caught on the car door latch. The fabric tore with a loud rip that cut through the quiet driveway of the Moreno estate.

Georgiann stumbled forward onto the gravel. Sharp stones dug into her bare knees through the torn tulle. She kept her head down. Her fingernails bit into the soft flesh of her palms. The sting kept her mind sharp and clear. She forced her face to go slack, her eyes turning wide and empty.

Inside the massive double doors, a blast of cold air hit them.

Elizabet Henderson stood in the center of the grand foyer. She was tall and severe, with silver-streaked hair pulled into a tight chignon. She brought a manicured hand up to cover her nose, her face twisting with disgust. "This is what you bring us? A mental defective?"

Charlton Moreno sat in his wheelchair a few feet away. He wore a tailored black suit that hung perfectly on his broad shoulders. His dark hair was neatly combed, and his jaw was sharp, the bone structure prominent beneath pale skin. His posture was rigid. His long fingers tapped a slow, steady beat against the leather armrest. Tap. Tap. Tap. A muscle twitched along his jaw.

Frank wiped sweat from his forehead. "Karel fell suddenly ill, Mrs. Moreno. A terrible fever. But Georgiann is a Poole bloodline too. She's quiet. She won't cause trouble."

Elizabet let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "This is what you bring us? A broken thing? Do you think the Moreno bloodline can be contaminated by such filth?"

Charlton stopped tapping. His dark eyes locked onto Frank. The room went dead quiet, the silence pressing against Frank's chest. Charlton didn't raise his voice. "Get out."

The two words hit Frank like a slap.

Frank's face drained of color. Desperate to save the Moreno funding, he lunged forward and grabbed Georgiann's arm. His grip bruised her skin. "I'm sorry, Mr. Moreno. We'll leave immediately."

He yanked her backward.

Georgiann let her body go limp, moving with the force of his pull. As she passed the heavy mahogany coffee table, she angled her foot. The heel of her cheap shoe caught the thick edge of the Persian rug.

She let out a sharp gasp. Her balance vanished. She pitched forward, falling directly toward the man in the wheelchair.

Charlton's reflexes kicked in. He raised his arms to block the impact.

But the moment his fingertips brushed the fabric at her waist, his body froze. A violent shudder ripped through his chest.

A faint, icy scent of milk and crushed mint filled his lungs. It was a scent he remembered from his worst nightmares. His heart slammed against his ribs, beating so fast it made him dizzy.

Georgiann collapsed onto his lap. Her soft cheek pressed against the cold, stiff fabric of his suit trousers. She could hear the frantic, hammering rhythm of his heart beneath his chest.

She slowly tilted her head up. She blinked her large, clear eyes, staring at him with the empty, terrified innocence of a lost child.

Charlton's throat moved as he swallowed. He stared down at her face. Images of blood and shattered glass flashed through his mind. A sharp pain hit his temples. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps.

Alistair Penhaligon, the head butler, rushed forward. He was a thin, stooped man with a hawk-like nose and sharp, watchful eyes. "Apologies, sir." He reached out to pull Georgiann away.

"Don't touch her." Charlton's voice was a guttural growl.

Alistair froze. Elizabet's mouth dropped open. She stared at her son in absolute shock. He never let anyone touch him. Especially not a filthy, uninvited stranger.

Frank saw the hesitation. A greasy smile spread across his face. "If the young master doesn't mind her, then the marriage is settled! She's yours!"

Charlton didn't look at Frank. His eyes remained glued to the girl on his lap. His throat was dry as sand. "She stays."

Georgiann's lips twitched upward for a fraction of a second. She instantly suppressed it, returning to her blank stare. Her small, pale hand reached out and gripped the edge of his suit jacket, holding on tight.

"Charlton, you can't be serious!" Elizabet stepped forward.

Charlton shifted his gaze to his mother. His eyes were flat, carrying a silent, lethal warning. Elizabet swallowed her words and stepped back.

Frank didn't wait for another invitation. He turned and practically ran out the front doors, his bodyguards trailing behind him.

The heavy doors slammed shut. The foyer fell into a thick silence.

Charlton looked down at the small hand clutching his jacket. Her knuckles were white. The grip was desperate. A strange, heavy warmth spread through his chest, replacing the usual hollow void.

He forced air into his lungs and looked up. "Alistair. Take her to the guest room."

Alistair stepped forward and gently pried Georgiann's fingers from the jacket. Georgiann let out a soft whimper. She dragged her feet, twisting her body to look back at Charlton like a frightened animal being pulled toward a cage.

Charlton's brow furrowed. The fear in her eyes made his stomach twist. He waved his hand impatiently. "Put her in the room next to mine."

Alistair nodded. He led Georgiann up the grand sweeping staircase.

As they reached the second-floor landing, Georgiann stopped. She turned her head and looked down at the foyer. Charlton was still sitting there, his back to her, staring at his empty lap.

The vacant, childish look vanished from Georgiann's face. Her eyes darkened, cold and calculating.

Down below, Charlton slowly brushed his hand over the fabric of his trousers where her cheek had rested. His fingers trembled slightly. "Who are you?" he whispered to the empty room.