Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales 2) (11 page)

“Foxed,” she guessed.

“I do not drink in the mornings.”

“Perhaps you are in good humor because Miss Ward snuck some herbs into your morning coffee?”

Suddenly Dominique’s hands were on her shoulders, and she nearly dropped her plate. She stood, rigid, as he whispered in her ear, his voice sounding like music. “Or, perhaps I’m overjoyed at seeing you first thing this morning.”

“Impossible,” she breathed. Never had he taken his breakfast with her. His only demand had been dinner. If anything, he had been avoiding her for the past week. But everything changed last night. She felt it, felt the way his touch sent a shiver down her spine. It seemed he was actually trying to be agreeable.

“I have a surprise for you.” She felt him step away. His abrupt subject change was welcome. Grabbing an extra piece of toast, she reached for the jam and went to join the men at the table.

“You’re leaving?” She added some jam to her toast and waited for him to bark at her for saying such a hurtful thing.

“If I left, you would be coming with me,” he answered, his words short as if he was trying to keep himself from yelling.

With a sigh, she looked up and into his blue eyes, eyes that were a whirl of so many emotions. Perhaps he was trying to be a good husband. Maybe, he wanted things to be different between them. Music, it seemed had united them in some odd way, though she couldn’t imagine how, considering he was so agitated with her lack of talent.

“What is it?” Taking a bite of her toast, she waited.

Hunter folded his hands and leaned in toward Isabelle. “You mean the actual surprise, not the fact that Dominique is doing such a wonderful job of keeping his temper in check? I take full credit by the way. You may thank me how you see fit.” He winked and stared blatantly at her lips.

The air in the room stilled. Isabelle stole a glance at Dominique, who against all odds still appeared to be calm. Suspicious, Isabelle promised herself that she would sniff his tea to see if there
was
any sort of calming herb mixed in.

“Finish your breakfast. Take your time.” Dominique rose from his seat. “I will await you in the stables.”

Isabelle nodded at his retreating form then glanced back at Hunter, who merely shrugged and winked at Miss Ward who had just entered the room.

****

Dominique paced back in forth in the stables, watching for a glimpse of Isabelle’s honeyed-brown hair glinting in the sunlight, waiting for her luscious voice to break the silence, or at least keep him from going mad.

“This better work,” he mumbled to himself.

Last night after watching her sleep, which he later admitted was a grave mistake for she slept so beautifully it made his chest hurt, he had decided he would try. The nights had been torturous, but nothing compared to the absolute pain he felt every day that went by that he was stripped of the chance to touch her with his bare hands.

The idea that he could be anything other than what he was hadn’t at any point crossed his mind, that is, until Isabelle entered into his life. And oddly enough, after spending time in her company, he found he quite enjoyed himself, at least enough to want to see her smile, to hear her quick intake of breath when he was close, to smell the scent of lavender floating off her skin.

After all, he had self-control. He had been in control of his baser instincts these last few years. He’d had to be. And now, well, he imagined he would try to keep the walls around his heart firm, for they had to be impenetrable. But, he justified his actions with his wife. After all, she was lonely, and he would be just as bad as his father before him if he left her to her own devices.

Hunter suggested he ravish her, but that would prove difficult, for he could not imagine separating his soul from bonding with hers if he joined her physically. And Hunter always had allowed his body to make choices before his mind when it came to women.

Miss Ward had suggested he dine with her in the mornings in order to familiarize himself with her character.

And Brinks was so besotted with the girl that his suggestion had been to let her have free reign throughout the castle as long as she smiled at him the way she did. In fact, just this morning, Brinks had told Dominique how lovely it would be to allow her to pick out a horse.

Fools. All of them.

He hoped he would trust her, eventually. But it would take time.

As all good things did.

“Dominique?” Isabelle called out his name. The sweetness of her voice gave him pause. Without taking as much as a breath, he peered around the corner and watched, fascinated as she glided along the ground, dancing as she made her way to the stables. Her long, graceful arms tickled the sides of her dress. If he closed his eyes he could almost feel the way the fabric would grace his fingers. It had been ages since he had felt any sort of texture against his hands. Would her dress feel silky? And her hair, would it slide through his fingers? He shuddered as he imagined how her soft warm body would penetrate into the depths of his scars.

He shook the treacherous thought from his head.

It was just an afternoon ride.

Nothing more, nothing less.

“Dominique?” she called again, this time closer as her booted foot stepped into the stables, obviously having changed into a riding habit in record time.

Naturally, he didn’t want to appear the fool that sat about and gawked at her without her knowledge, so he thought the best course of action would be to ignore her altogether.

His brilliant plan proved not so brilliant when she, in a moment of obvious irritation, kicked a bucket in his direction.

“Dominique? Is there a reason you’ve been rendered mute?”

He turned on his heel, prepared to give her a tongue lashing for mocking him, or at least a haughty look.

What he had in mind to do, and what actually happened were two different things.

But what could she expect? When she stood, hands on hips, lip jutting out, and pieces of hair tumbling out of her coiffure.

“Uh…” He prayed for a complete sentence, or words.

Again nothing.

“Well?” she prompted, this time taking a step closer. The smell of lavender practically danced in the air, bombarding his senses, weakening his knees.

He shook his head, breaking her penetrating gaze. “Pick one.”

Unfortunately, he hadn’t noticed that he was in fact in front of an empty stable, not anywhere near the other side of the stables where several horses stood eating hay.

“You have a mind to put me in the stables now? Am I to pick my room? Is that why you’ve dragged me out here in the blistering winter? So we aren’t to go riding?”

So many questions and assumptions in that beautiful head of hers. “No, Isabelle, it seems I’m out of sorts today. I meant for you to pick a horse, but if you’d rather a night tossing in the hay with yours truly, by all means, don’t let me stop you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Fine. I want that one.” She nodded in his direction, to the horse directly to her left. His horse.

“Any horse but that horse.”

“But I thought you said I should just pick one?”

Dominique let out an irritated breath. “I meant for you to pick from the available horses, over there.” He pointed to the long row of stables that held the rest of the horses.

“Then you should have made that clear before you ran your mouth and got yourself into a pickle. You said to pick a horse, and I fancy the black one.”

“You’ll get yourself killed.” Dominique knew it was a losing battle, trying to fight with her. She was just as stubborn as he, though she tried to shield her streak with a quick smile and easy manner.

Isabelle placed her hands on her hips, jutting out one and leaned provocatively close to him.
Curse her inability to back down
. He could roar, growl, and throw all sorts of tantrums and she’d most likely smile and ask if he were done. And the worst of it was that he would have be to be standing within her vicinity the entire time, nearly dying from having to keep his hands away from her body.

“Fine.” He moved out of the way. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when Horse throws you.”

“Horse?” Isabelle walked toward the animal and laid a hand across the shiny coat. “Is that truly the beast's name?”

“My name or the horse's?” Dominique tilted his head.

“The horse.”

“Is named Horse.”

“I’m confused.” Isabelle furrowed her brows.

“Yes well, it isn’t too hard to understand. The horse is named Horse. Lovely name. Descriptive, straight to the point, no confusion as to what the animal actually is…”

Isabelle leaned across Horse. “Yes, it’s also boring and ridiculous. Tell me, were you drunk when you named her or merely practicing the art of stupidity?”

“Both.” Hunter interrupted. “Though, to be fair, I believe it was my own fault that he was so inebriated. The stupidity, however, is all his own doing.”

“Thank you, Hunter.” Dominique felt himself manage a small, irritated twitch of his mouth, which could be mistaken as a smile if one looked hard enough. He shook his head. “Are you suddenly under the impression you’ve been invited?”

Hunter grinned and peered around Dominique to wink at Isabelle. He gave a little wave and returned his attention to his friend. “It seems our dear Isabelle has forgotten her hat. And I thought to myself, what lady, what princess, could possibly go for a morning ride without her hat? Truly, it would be a travesty! An error of gigantic proportions! So I steeled myself against the morning mist and cold temperatures, to save the day.”

“How very heroic,” Dominique said dryly.

Hunter looked genuinely pleased that Dominique had even acknowledged him. “Thank you, I thought so. Now, here you are Isabelle. Let us attach this magnificent piece of…er, hat. And get you on to your delightful morning.”

****

Something wasn’t right. Hunter wasn’t truly the idiot he was portraying himself to be. If he was, he would be the worst spy the Crown had to offer.

He walked forward and gave her another wink, just as the groom entered the stables to speak with Dominique.

“He needs a little push is all.” Hunter placed the hat on her head, in perfect fashion.

“Pardon?”

Jolly façade gone, Hunter took a step back, and she nearly gasped. She had always thought he was an attractive man, but his silly attitude made him seem so harmless. She realized it was a mask, merely one of the disguises he wore to keep his true self as well as his real intentions hidden. Humor drained from his face as Hunter leaned forward and whispered, “He needs you.”

Isabelle swallowed and looked down at her hands. “I’m not sure I’m doing a good job.”

Hunter’s hand touched her chin, lifting her gaze upwards toward his face. “Then I’ll just have to remedy that. Oh, and if you could take the sting out of your slap I would be eternally grateful.”

“Whatever do you mea—”

Before she had a chance to finish her sentence, Hunter was upon her. All of him. Raw masculinity poured out of him as his lips forcibly moved across hers. His hands moved to the sides of her face. And in a moment of sheer madness, his tongue plunged into her mouth. Truly, he was insane!

She pushed against him, beat at his chest, and finally when he pulled away, slapped him across the cheek.

“If that was you taking the sting out of your slap, I pity poor Dominique. How many times have you slapped him, anyway?” Hunter rubbed his cheek just before Dominique charged him, knocking them both into the hay.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Dominique brought his fist back to lay what would surely be a devastating blow to Hunter's head, when Isabelle let out a scream and fell to the ground.

Dominique lurched to his feet and ran to her side. Hunter, however, lay back in the hay, hands behind his head and a piece of straw in his mouth.

“Are you hurt?” Dominique inquired. It seemed the only time he was truly gentle with her was when he thought she was injured. Before, it was when the glass had cut her, and there was the situation with him being afraid that Horse would throw her, and now this.

“My, um, my ankle turned, just a little.” She managed a small voice and looked shakily in Hunter's direction. He nodded his approval and gave another wink before slinking away.

“I—I think he was merely trying to provoke you,” Isabelle stuttered, in hopes that he wouldn’t beat Hunter senseless later. Dominique’s hands glided smoothly over the ankle she had pointed at. Each trail he made with his gloved fingers caused gooseflesh.

“Hunter is a fool.” Dominique helped her to her feet. “But, he’s a smart fool, and he’s my best friend. If he decided to kiss you, I can only imagine he either wants me to shoot him, is bored of country life, or truly is making good on his promise to steal you away. Regardless, you are mine.” The way he said
mine
was so possessive, so typically male, but she wasn’t offended. No, rather, she felt light-headed and important.

He led her to Horse and gave strict instructions to the groom to place a sidesaddle on the animal, all the while cursing Isabelle under his breath for taking the one horse he didn’t want her touching.

Within minutes they were ready for their morning jaunt, they led the horses out into the open. Isabelle pulled her fur cloak tight over her riding habit. As his hands wrapped around her waist to hoist her up, she whispered. “I am.”

“You are? What?”

Isabelle felt heat rising to her cheeks. Looking down at his curious, chiseled face, she almost lost her nerve but remembered Hunter's words. “Yours.”

Chapter Fourteen

Emotions are fickle. Music, however, is always the same. Notes may change, chords may differ, but the sensation of gliding one's hands over the keys never changes. Exhilarating, provoking, sensual—but music can only play part time lover until you crave the real thing. The real emotions, the real feel of a woman’s flesh in your hands, the taste of her tongue on your lips. I pity the day I begin to crave such things, for nothing will keep me from experiencing it, and I fear my own emotions will be my downfall.