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

It was said that the Queen cried for two days after one of the court musicians played one of Dominique’s songs. That she, in such a fit of sadness, refused drink and food. Finally, the King himself ordered the doors to her room to be broken down so he could attend to her.

Isabelle had thought it a lovely story, for it showed how moved the woman had been by Dominique’s music, though she had to admit, only someone truly obsessed would go to such extremes. And as much as she loved music, she couldn’t fathom being so moved by it. It was difficult for her to understand how the man across from her could make anything beautiful, haunting. Absolutely.

The carriage jolted.

Isabelle pretended not to watch as Dominique clenched his gloved hands in his lap again, and a scowl of pain stretched across his face.

“Are you well?” she asked before she could guard her tongue from being so impertinent.

His cold blue eyes pierced the air between them. She would not look away, could not back down from such a frigid stare even though it gave her chills down to her toes.

“My health is none of your concern. Believe me, if I desire for a nursemaid, I would have married one, instead of you.”

“Married?” Isabelle nearly choked on the word. The man was mad! He had kidnapped her! The thought had occurred to her that she would be well and ruined, but never did she think she would be saddled to such a man as this! “What do you mean, ‘married’?”

Dominique’s head tilted, like that of a feral cat inspecting its meal. “I mean to make you my wife.”

“Wife?” Isabelle repeated slowly.

“Yes, you do understand the meaning of the word, don’t you? Or are you so young and innocent that I’m going to have to explain every little thing to you? Where we are, why we are going in that direction. Why the trees grow so tall, what is expected of the marriage bed. Truly if you mean to torture me, ask questions now so I can relax in the silence once your speech tires.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened until she was convinced all he could see was white peering back at him. Her fingers reached to grip the seat and she scolded her lip inwardly for trembling so. Yes, her feelings were hurt. So abrupt was he in his manners and temper! He needed a good lesson, or a paddling, or a mother! Truly, to speak to her in such a manner was beastly, and it was in that moment she decided it was no outward scar that marred him. The scars were on his heart, etched with darkness and bitterness. And even though she was sure he had meant to push her away, he did nothing but convince her all the more to play right into his hurtful words.

He had no reason to lie to her, and she did have all her trunks, but her own mother hadn’t even said goodbye to her! Why was she taken away so abruptly?

She told her lip to stop trembling again, carefully folded her hands in her lap and managed a tiny smile as she leaned forward. “It pleases me to no end to discover your ability to read minds, my lord! To think, I was pondering on every one of those questions and was so fearful to ask them. That is, until you so graciously offered your assistance. So tell me, why do the trees grow so tall?”

Dominique flinched as if someone had hit him and, with a scowl, looked out the window as he answered her. “You mock me? Do you truly wish to vex me this entire trip? I save your life and the thanks I get is a nattering woman who wishes to know why trees grow so tall. Lovely. Although I’m quite surprised your virgin mind didn’t first venture to ask the most important question of all.”

“And what is that, my lord?” Isabelle leaned even closer, only a breath away from his face. She meant to challenge him, to notify him of her strength so he wouldn’t focus on her weakness.

“The marriage bed. After all, we shall be sharing it as soon as we get to my estate, and perhaps earlier if fortune smiles upon you.”

He was bluffing. For the first time since their journey she saw doubt in his eyes; either he wasn’t used to talking of such things and therefore was not as wicked as he wanted her to believe, or he in his own way was afraid of marriage and the love that came with it.

“Then tell me—” she challenged — “After all, I am such a curious sort. Innocent of the ways of the world. Regale me with stories, my lord. I wait with bated breath. After all, I grow bored and you won’t even tell me how far we are in our trip to your estates.”

****

Dominique kept his face impassive as he watched the whirlwind of emotions cross the beautiful Isabelle’s features. The minx was bluffing, but he hadn’t the heart to be so cruel to her in such short time. Granted, he wasn’t sure he had a heart to begin with, but for some reason she tugged at him, which truthfully irritated him all the more.

And the blasted music rolling off of her was the most soothing sound he had heard in years. The chit would probably think him unhinged if she knew that every time she smiled he heard the trickling melody played in the key of G.

Swallowing, he slowly scanned her face, taking in every plane of her soft features. One such as he should not be rewarded with the perfection sitting across from him. Not after doing what he did.

“We, of course, need to cross the channel, then it is only a days’ ride to my estate. I imagine we have at least a few days worth of travel with one another.”

“You ignored my other question.”

“What other question?” He lifted his eyebrow trying not to be amused at her bravery, stupid as it was.

“About the marriage bed.” Her blush was becoming and he found a smile trying to crack through his stony features. Blast, it had been years since he felt a genuine smile.

All it took was reminding himself of women’s deceit, folly, and finally, of his mother and the worst betrayal of all. It was as if a bucket of cold seawater had been thrown over his head. With a grimace he answered, “Ah yes, the marriage bed. I’ve half a mind to show you rather than tell, after all, you will soon be my wife, and if anyone needs a lesson in silence, it is you, my dear.”

“I dare you.”

“Pardon?” Was the woman mad? Did she not know who he was? What he could do to her? The absolute power he had over her tiny, insignificant life? “You dare me?” At that, he did laugh, good and hard.

Isabelle’s chin tilted up, her eyes challenging his.

He must be cursed, or mad, or dreaming, for he had never met a woman who would willingly dare him to do anything, especially when it included ruining her so thoroughly.

Before she could change her mind, he slipped his hands behind her head, jerking her closer. Warm, innocent lips met his with confusion, and then fear as they trembled under his touch. And he meant to make it worse, to make her loathe him, for it was the only way to keep himself safe.

He plundered her hair, wildly pulling the lush golden-brown strands as his mouth accosted hers. However, when she gasped against his lips, his blood roared, and he found that he couldn’t stop the challenge even if he wanted to. With what felt much like a grunt or beastly roar, he drove his tongue into the ecstasy of her mouth. Desire shot through him at alarming speed when her tongue met his, carefully at first and then as wrapped up in passion as he. Her hands went to cup his face, softly rubbing his beard, his jaw, not once repaying his savagery with scorn of her own, but tenderness.

Enough to shatter the walls around his heart.

Her taste was sweet, but the need to protect himself was survival, so with great force he pushed her back against her seat and left her.

Her cherry-red lips stood out in contrast to her bright blue eyes as she stared back at him. Her hair was undone to her waist, wavy and thick, glistening in the carriage as if it was merely reflecting off her glowing face.

“I imagine that was your first kiss,” he said.

“You imagine correctly.” Her voice was slightly shaky. Dominique refused to feel guilty.

With a mocking laugh he tilted his head, trying to appear patronizing and cruel. “I could tell that it was your first kiss and I no longer feel guilty.”

“Guilty? I’m surprised a man of your reputation even understands the word.” Isabelle’s scowl deepened.

“And to think, this whole time I was feeling guilty that I had stolen a London treasure and was being beastly in coveting you for myself, but now I see the truth. You’re just like every other debutante—a cold English fish with no ability to drive a man wild with lust. Take your form...” He lifted a gloved hand with a flick of his wrist and shook his head. “You’ve no beautiful curves to speak of, plain brown hair, and frankly, the skill of the worst of courtesans. So, you see, I don’t feel guilty. If anything I should be commended for taking you off their hands.”

Chapter Two

Music feeds the soul much like food feeds the body; starve your body of food and it will surely die. Starve your soul of music and I fear the ending would be catastrophic.

— The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

His ridiculous speech was met with a slap so hard he could do nothing save curse for several minutes as the stinging continued to throb across his face. The chit had attacked him! Surprisingly, he hadn’t seen it coming, though he deserved it and more.

When he opened his eyes, the look on Isabelle’s face haunted him, for it was the exact look he’d seen daily on his own mother’s face after she’d fought with his father.

Memories came flooding back though he fought to keep them tucked away and, in that instant, he wanted nothing more than to be shot.

He deserved worse.

Perhaps to be trampled by the horses drawing his carriage.

Or poisoned by the woman sitting across from him.

But apologies were foreign words on Dominique’s lips; they sounded gruff and awkward and, well, if he were being honest with himself, it would only be half-hearted. Yes, he had hurt her feelings, perhaps crossed a line. He grimaced as her face flushed a deeper hue of red. Perhaps he crossed several lines, but the truth of the matter was, by hurting her, he was doing her a favor. By causing her a short amount of pain he was keeping her from a lifetime of agony, for no woman would ever desire to be given false hope.

He could not love.

Would
not love.

Had nothing to offer save his title and wealth and even that came at a great cost.

In an epic battle of right and wrong, he decided to change the subject. “We should be arriving at the ship within the hour. You should rest.”

Isabelle glared, but did as she was told.

Dominique thanked God, for if the woman found this particular time to fight him at every turn, he would be half-tempted to give in to her. And that would prove dangerous for everyone, especially her. She had no idea the monster she was riding with, the sins he had committed, nor the blood that stained his hands.

Stains that refused to wash away.

Because they were scarred onto his very person.

With a scowl, he turned to look out the window, all the while convincing himself he’d done the right thing. His soul was still as black as ever, but at least he’d saved one woman. One innocent creature from certain Hell. Though one good deed was hardly enough to cover the darkness that consumed him.

****

Isabelle lurched awake as the carriage came to a stop.

“Out you go,” Dominique, said as the door opened. The nighttime air was crisp and damp. Would winter never end? Perhaps it was the cold that made her shiver, surely it wasn’t the fact that Dominique’s touch still lingered on the small of her back as he helped her out of the carriage.

Abruptly, he removed his hand, and her body gave another involuntary shiver. Mortified, she looked away from his piercing gaze.

“Are you chilled?” he asked, though it would be a stretch to say any hint of concern laced his deep timbre. Icy blue eyes studied her boldly.

“No, merely repulsed,” she answered, sweetly refusing to give into the treacherous feelings his touch gave her. Her once-innocent lips burned with the memory of his scorching kiss. Again, she turned away and began walking.

“Where are you going?” he asked, behind her.

“To the—” Isabelle looked around her. Where the devil was she?

Dominique chuckled. “I believe, my lady, that the ocean is in the opposite direction. That is, unless you plan on walking all the way back to London? I know I may be beastly, but believe me when I say there are wolves about. I daresay I’m not the most dangerous creature here.”

Another shudder overtook her. “Wolves?”

“Oh yes.” Dominique’s white teeth glowed in the night. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the tale of the wretched wolf that hunts innocent women with his charm and manages to lull them into a deep sleep before killing them?”

“Ah, so the wolf is you? Self-fulfilling prophecy, my lord?” She stomped by him, hating that he was bringing out the worst in her with every turn. Isabelle had never spoken in such a way to any person and it broke her to do so, but how else was she to keep her wits about her?

“Self-fulfilling prophecy?” Dominique fell into step beside her. An amused smile broke across his face.

Heavens, he was beautiful when he smiled.

“No, my little Belle, it is merely an old tale told by fishermen’s wives and those who are too ignorant to know the truth. The Wolf is, after all, a close companion to the Beast, didn’t you know? Of course you didn’t,” he mocked. “At any rate, I’ll protect you as much as I’m able.”

“What are you going to do, growl at him?”

Dominique stopped in his tracks and with the ease and skill of the most cunning of predators, pulled her flush against his body. “If I have to. Though it seems my growl doesn’t even scare you, does it, my lady?”

“I believe the
growl
you’re referring to, and the purr that escaped your lips earlier when kissing me are one and the same.” She pushed at his chest and stumbled over her own feet as she made her way toward the boat.

“I assure you it was a purr of disgust.” Dominique sneered as he caught her arm before she truly did topple over, head first.

“So you say.” With a jerk she pulled her arm away and continued to march toward the boat.

“Your Highness.” A tall broad man with a Russian accent saluted Dominique and ordered the rest of the deckhands to grab their luggage.