Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales 2) (14 page)

Was it so wrong that she wanted nothing more than to be held up against him? Was it terrible of her to want to lean back into his arms? His body surrounded hers, he reached around her and played a single note from the piano, and then another, until three notes were given in unison. “This is your chord,” Dominique whispered in her ear. “Now, I want you to softly hum this chord.”

Knowing she had no talent and that it was quite useless, she had already decided that she would do the lessons to bring them closer, but perhaps he knew something she didn’t. After all, he was a prodigy. So without complaint, she hummed the three notes softly. They weren’t exactly on tune but they didn’t sound like a dog dying either.

“Now, follow me.” Dominique sang a few lines of a song she'd never heard before. He repeated the same verse over and over again. “Join me,” he breathed in her ear. “But join from here.” He touched her stomach. “Not here.” He caressed her neck. And she sang.

Again, it wasn’t beautiful. But it was better, and it felt better, somehow. “I feel like I can breathe. It isn’t as much of a strain as it once was.”

Dominique chuckled in her ear. “Does this mean you’re going to take back all those nasty things you said about me, not five minutes ago?”

“Absolutely not. You’re still a cad for asking me to take off my dress. What type of man asks that of his wife?”

“A human one.”

“I thought you were a beast.”

His chest shook with laughter behind her. Large arms pulled her even tighter against his body. “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint, or make you a liar.” His tongue licked her earlobe and then traced down her neck. Pulse racing, she tried to focus on anything, but the thrill his touch sent to her toes.

Breathing.
She could focus on breathing, and counting to ten and, oh heavens, his hands were moving slowly down her arms, causing chills. And then his teeth grazed her shoulder. With a growl, he bit her, then pulled away.

Beast, definitely a beast.

“Now,” Dominique said, voice steady, sounding irritatingly nonplussed by the interaction they just shared. “Would you care to—”

Thunder interrupted his words. Glancing at the window his brows furrowed, and then he shook his head. “As I was saying, would you—”

The thunder boomed, shaking the practice room. Dominique cursed and marched over to the windows. Lightning streaked the sky.

He cursed again as the thunder shook the windows and then seemed to retreat behind Isabelle.

“Am I to understand that the beast is afraid of a silly storm?”

His eyes turned murderous. “I’m not afraid.”

“So you make a habit of hiding behind women when you want to show acts of extreme bravery? How very brave of you.” Isabelle reached out and touched his arm. “We can always continue the lessons elsewhere.”

“No.” Dominique backed away from the window, nearly tripping over the sofa behind him. “It will be loud everywhere in the house except—”

“Except?” Isabelle prodded, a chill running down her arms. She really did need to put on her dress.

“Never mind.” Dominique gave her a tight smile. “Lessons are done for the day, you can read, or sew, or do whatever a woman does to keep her hands from idleness and I’ll just run along and...”

“Drink yourself into a stupor?” Isabelle reached for her dress and began the task of dressing herself.

Dominique scowled. “I was going to do nothing of the sort.”

“He lies,” a voice said from the door. “Apologies, Dominique, when I heard the impending storm I rode as fast as I could to get here. Are you well?”

“Merciful heavens! What is going on?” Isabelle nearly shouted. “Why wouldn’t he be well?”

For once, Hunter was silent, which is something she would normally comment on in order to bring out his usual biting sarcasm, but his eyes seemed haunted, fearful almost.

Dominique was visibly shaking.

Fortunately, Isabelle had managed to fasten her dress in time for Hunter to enter the room. Both men were now talking in hushed voices. Hunter had his back to her and Dominique held his head in his hands.

Something was wrong, but the only cause she could find was the storm. Why would a man, so fearsome to behold, a beast, be afraid of a little thunder?

Chapter Seventeen

I can still remember the storm as if it was yesterday. It broke a window in the house. Terrified, I ran downstairs to my father. He may have been a monster, but he was still my father.
Even after everything he had done to me, I still wanted his approval, needed him to say I was growing into a good man, even though I was only a young lad. Upon entering the room, I noticed another window had been broken. He was standing in the glass, barefoot. I remember because the blood stained the carpet. He stared at the rain pouring down and then lightning flashed. I noticed the pistol in his hand. Would the violence never end? The music started again, and I couldn’t bear it. I still can’t describe the pain a child feels when he sees his own flesh and blood blatantly reject him. He lifted the gun toward me, pointed it directly at my chest and snarled. Instinctively, I moved away from the gunshot and plowed into him. He lost his balance. In the span of two years, I lost my parents. But not just my parents, my future, the meaning of life, my contentment, my soul. To say I hate thunderstorms would be a gross understatement, for every time one is upon me, I feel possessed with hatred and sorrow. I fear, that one day, I will die the very same way my father did. The thunder, just like the music will come for me, and I’ll leave this world as the same sad little boy
who
entered it.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

Dominique felt the familiar chill run down his spine. Hunter’s words seemed to be pouring from his mouth at a slow pace. The room spun, and his chest clenched with terror. The thunder rolled again, and Dominique tried to swallow, tried to calm himself, but it felt like his throat was closing, that air could not get through from his lungs to his lips. He choked and coughed. Air released, but only a little. His vision blurred as he glanced at Isabelle.

Beautiful Isabelle with her golden-brown hair and bright blue eyes. Innocent of the evil done in this very house. Blast him to Hades for forgetting that minor inconvenience. The world wasn’t fair. The last thing he wanted was for her to see him in such a weakened state, or God forbid, for him to harm her as he had harmed his father. Like it or not, his father's blood ran through his veins and as much as she tried to cleanse his body of the hatred at being related to such a terrible man, it seemed to only fan the flame.

“Leave!” Dominique yelled. “Leave me!”

Hunter slapped him on the back. “Right, then, I’ll just be on my way.”

“Where are you going?” Isabelle chased after him. “You cannot leave him here like this! Do something!”

“What would you have me do?” Hunter gripped her arm tightly. “Erase the past? Hmm? Tell him to forget the horrors of his life? Knock him on the side of the head? Believe me, none of it works.”

Isabelle looked back to Dominique, her eyes full of compassion. “What should I do?”

“Love him,” Hunter whispered so softly Dominique nearly missed it. “You must love him.”

Dominique closed his eyes as the room continued to spin. He needed to gain control of the fear, but it suffocated him, made him want to scale the walls of the room he was sitting in, yet at the same time he couldn’t move. He didn’t even have a sound enough mind to be embarrassed.

Isabelle walked over to him. Her fingers brushed his forehead, and her smile made him want to weep.

“It is such a fortunate turn of circumstances that you have taught me how to sing.” Isabelle began taking off her dress again, which truly should have been enough for him to snap out of his stupor. Instead, he began to sweat. Which was quite uncomfortable considering it was a cold sweat and he was still in his jacket and wearing his gloves.

The dress fell to the floor in a heap.

Dominique swallowed. Odd, but his throat seemed to be releasing the tension it once held.

“I know exactly how to keep you focused. You are a man, after all, no matter how many times you may bite me, Dominique. Now, pay attention.”

Isabelle walked over to the piano and played a few notes. “By your silence, I’m guessing you didn’t know I could play piano. I’m not completely without my uses. Didn’t want to tell the great prodigy that I knew how to play. I imagine it would be like a small child showing a man his muscles. And you would have surely laughed at me.”

No. Absolutely not. He would have embraced her, might have kissed her. But he wouldn’t have laughed.

As she lightly played the notes, his heart did indeed clench, but not out of fear. Admiration? Lust? Appreciation? Shock? He wasn’t entirely sure. For the song she played was one he had written. An older song, one of the happier ones he could remember.

His throat constricted. It was the song he wrote in his mother’s memory.

Her voice, the same voice he had hours ago compared to a dying dog, began to hum the tune. His eyes closed and he leaned his head back against the sofa.

The music stopped.

Disappointed, he sighed, ready to open his eyes and yet again face the storm.

But delicate feminine hands interrupted him, cupping the sides of his face and moving carefully over his features down to his shoulders. Isabelle’s strong fingers kneaded his muscles. Wafts of lavender danced around her hands. He felt his body relax.

Eyes heavy, he gave into the sleep that beckoned him.

****

Dominique had been sleeping for close to two hours. She had left him in the room once the thunder had stopped, and then readied herself to talk with Cook about the menu this week. She still had so much to do when it came to running Dominique’s giant estate, not to mention hiring more help. It was shocking how few staff he had, but they were all loyal and wonderful in helping her.

“Cuppins?” Isabelle went into the kitchen where she knew the old man would be sitting with his brandy-laced tea. “I know you are living out your best years without working, but would you mind terribly if I had you help me in getting Dominique a present?”

The cook had let it slip that Dominique would be nearing his birthday in a month and Isabelle wanted to do something special. After seeing the fear in his eyes from the thunderstorm, she knew there was more to the story than just his physical scars, though she doubted they were anything but a myth considering she saw no evidence of physical deformities. Something in his past haunted him, and if she could bring even just a tiny amount of joy into his life, she would try.

Cuppins looked into his teacup and sighed. “The master of the house despises gifts of all kind, my lady.”

“Yet that does not keep a certain man from trudging through the snow and making ice sculptures, now, does it?”

Cuppins swore. “Who told you that?”

“Never mind who told me. Will you help me?”

“Don’t know what I can do.” Cuppins took a swig of tea. “You’ll have to make it look like an accident.”

Was she killing him now? What was he talking about?

“The gift, I mean,” Cuppins explained. “He won’t accept it if you wrap it up all nice and present it to him. Sneak attack works best.”

“We aren’t spies, why do we need to sneak?”

Cuppins shifted in his seat. “The master has never received a birthday present before, at least not publicly. His mother bought him his first piano. It was the first and last present he ever received. His father was a cruel man, and thought that gifts would soften the young lad.” Cuppins shook his head. “What are you aiming to do for him? The man’s richer than Croesus. Don’t know what you could possibly give him that he doesn’t already have.”

Isabelle searched her thoughts. There had to be something! They were husband and wife! It was necessary that she give him something. Immediately she thought of a child. Wanting to laugh aloud, she merely smiled and told herself to push that notion away. They hadn’t even consummated their marriage yet. And she often wondered if it would ever happen. Each night, when they went to bed, always in the same bed, he would scoot away from her.

The mornings were an entirely different story. Several times she woke up in his embrace, only to be pushed away the minute his eyes opened. His hands were always gloved. She sighed and looked back at Cuppins. Mouth gaping open and head lying across the table, he let out a large snore.

Knowing he wouldn’t be much help to her in his sleep, she went to ready herself for dinner. Hunter had said it would be one of his last nights with them, and she had decided to make it special for him. Dominique still didn’t know that his friend was leaving, but perhaps it was for the best. It would force them to get even closer than they had over the past week and a half.

Sighing, she left Cuppins to his snoring and went back to her rooms.

Chapter Eighteen

The music was so important; I frequently didn’t see things happening around me. Often times I would forget to eat meals because I was so obsessed. But one cannot be totally blind to everything. I saw the way she looked at him, the way he laughed with her, and it made me sick to think that I could have prevented what happened, had I just confronted her. But in the end, I doubt it would have worked.
She was a stubborn woman and she was blinded by love. I refuse to suffer that same fate.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

Dominique awoke to laughter. The room was pitch black except for one tiny candle looming across the room on the table.

What happened? He felt sluggish and drugged. Thank goodness the storm was over. A smile crept across his face. Isabelle was full of surprises. Who knew the girl could play the piano? And so beautifully.

He shook the sleepiness from his head and made his way toward the door. Laughter echoed the halls again. Feminine laughter. Smiling to himself and wondering what was making Isabelle so happy, he followed in the direction of the noise, stopping in front of the dining room.