The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1)

and hope Mrs. Walsh would be nice enough to give me some spare crumbs for dinner.
I collected the notes, papers, and books, not wanting to risk leaving them for someone to rifle through. Especially if the random stranger returned tonight to the library.
I must’ve not been paying enough attention, though, because it was right before I was about to go to sleep that I realized I must’ve left the book of poetry in the library. It was just before midnight.
“Hopefully I won’t have another run-in,” I murmured to myself as I made my way back to the library. I’ll admit, every creaking sound I heard made me nearly jump out of my skin. I nearly picked up a vase to throw at a dark corner, only to realize the sound I was hearing was the wind whistling outside.

Chapter Five
The library was large enough that it had more than one entrance. The entrance where I’d worked that afternoon was closer to my bedroom. Opening the door slowly, I peeked my head inside, but it was dark. I strained for any sounds, but once again, all I could hear was the wind.
I blew out a breath. I needed to calm down, clearly. I flipped on a lamp on a nearby desk and went to grab the book. It had somehow fallen under the table I’d been working at. I crouched down to retrieve it when I heard a sound.
This time, it wasn’t the wind. It was a door opening, but not the one I’d just gone through. As I listened, I heard footsteps and the faint creaking of boards.
My heart was hammering. I realized I’d left the desk lamp light on, but if I turned it off now, it would alert the intruder to my presence.
And because I was an idiot, apparently, I was too slow to slip out the door, because the footsteps were getting closer to my hiding place. I was now hiding behind an armchair as I watched the shadowy figure make their way to a chest of drawers on the opposite wall. The person’s back was turned, but I was pretty sure it was a man. And that man was now trying to open one of the drawers, muttering under his breath when it proved to be locked.
So much for my theory that he was probably harmless or a servant looking for a book to read. Anger spiked within me. How dare he try to steal from my grandda? From me? 
I was torn between calling the police and just staying hidden until the man left when he began moving closer to where I was hiding. I had no escape route now. Panicking, I jumped from my hiding place, raised the book I’d retrieved, and hit the intruder upside the head.
“Merde!” The figure staggered backward, clutching at their head. Something thumped onto the floor.
I was sweating and panting, wishing I’d been smart enough to return to my room. I turned to run, but it was dark enough in the room that I didn’t see the person’s foot right next to me. I went tumbling, landing on top of them. Based on the low voice, they were most likely male.
“Let me go!” I was saying, pushing at his hands. “I’ll scream—!”
He somehow maneuvered both of us so that I was underneath him. He clapped a hand over my mouth before I could scream. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm. “Let me turn on a light.”
I knew that voice: the Golden Man. I was still as he rose, and then I was blinking like an owl when he turned on a light. He stood over me, a rueful smile on his handsome face. I could see the edge of a large bruise forming at his hairline from where I’d hit him.
“You!” I got up before he could offer me his hand.
He curled his fingers into his hand, an amused smile on his face. “You say that so accusingly.” He rubbed at the spot on his head where I’d hit him. “What the hell did you hit me with? And why did you have to hit me so hard?”
“What do you think I hit you with in a library? A book.”
“It felt more like a brick.”
“I don’t generally carry bricks around to hit people with as I’m exploring my grandda’s house in the middle of the night.”
“Now that’s genuinely shocking.”
I snorted, but as Golden Man rubbed at the bruise on his head, I felt guilty, too. I hoped I hadn’t given him a concussion. It would just be my luck that I’d injure one of the staff before I’d even been here for twenty-four hours.
I swallowed my pride. “I’m sorry I hit you. Is it bad?”
“Hard to say. I should probably go to hospital all the same. I’m feeling rather dizzy, if I’m honest. Should I be seeing spots in my vision? Oh dear.” He lurched forward toward a nearby chair.
I froze. “The hospital? Are you sure? Shit, I’m so, so sorry. Let me help you sit down—”
Golden Man started laughing, and his pained look disappeared in an instant. “You should see the expression on your face,” he said, still laughing, hard enough that he was wiping tears from his eyes.
I stiffened my spine. “You—are you fucking serious right now?”
“About what, precisely?”
I growled. Grabbing the book of poetry, I lifted it threateningly. “I swear to God, do you need to go to the hospital or not? If you lie to me, I’ll hit you again.”
“What a vicious girl you are.”
“Tell me!”
I was so focused on his answer that I didn’t feel him pluck the book from my fingers before it was too late. “Yeats? Very appropriately Irish of you.” He flipped through the pages, as if he had all the time in the world to choose a poem. He then began to read:
A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed: and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even