Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales 2) (27 page)

—The Diary of Beauty and her
Beast
Prince

Isabelle wasn’t one to pout or cry, yet she sat in her room for the remainder of the night doing exactly that. Either she truly was increasing or she was mad. Eyes puffy and tired, she wanted nothing more than to throw a hairbrush at the mirror for reminding her why her heart felt like breaking all over again..

In all fairness, he hadn’t rejected her. But, his behavior had been less than thrilled. All because she carried his heir, and yet, she couldn’t find it in herself to be sorry or even guilty.

Instead she felt a fierce protectiveness, and a need to fight until she was the victor. So she sat in her chair as the sun rose over the horizon, and when the pink light began to shimmer into her room, she still did not move.

When the pink turned into a yellow, a knock came on her door. Again, she did not move, but waited as it opened a crack and then fully revealed her husband.

Would it be too much to ask for him to look at least partially as frightened as she was? His hair was perfect, his skin refreshed and rejuvenated as if he had the best night’s sleep and was a different man.

And then, she saw it.

The light behind his eyes.

The glow in his skin.

The absolute joy in his smile as he slowly walked toward her.

But truly, she was never the patient type.

So, in true Isabelle fashion, she met him halfway, stumbling into his arms until he caught her and fell with her gently to the floor, both of them on their knees, embracing one another.

“I—” Dominique’s voice trembled. Merciful heavens, she hardly recognized the man in front of her, it was as if he had been reborn.

His scarred hands tenderly caressed hers as he continued to struggle for words. His clear blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

He bit his lip and closed his eyes as if needing to regain his strength, and when he opened them, he stopped trying to talk.

But then again, Dominique was the type of man who didn’t need words. Actions meant so much more to him.

Isabelle watched in unspeakable joy as his hands slowly dropped to her flat stomach. His head soon followed, and then his lips pressed against her belly as he whispered, “I love you.”

Naturally, she thought he meant her, but his eyes, his focus, his artist's gaze was not on her, but the gift they had been given.

“I love you,” he repeated again. “I hope you have your mother's heart.”

“And your father's talent,” Isabelle added, pressing a kiss against the top of his head as he held her.

“What if I’m wrong?” she said, suddenly frightened. After all, it was quite early.

Dominique slowly lifted them both to their feet. “Then we will just have to keep trying. In fact—” His eyes turned predatory. “To be sure, we should probably engage in some illicit activities now, don’t you think? I for one, want to be certain that my child is growing within you.”

Isabelle giggled. “And are you fearful that you were not doing a good job the first few times?”

“I wasn’t,” he said bluntly. “I was making love to you, but I wasn’t possessing you. I wasn’t drinking you in while simultaneously opening myself up. I wasn’t giving you what you deserve, but with God as my witness, I’m going to do that now.”

With a rip, her dress fell to the floor.

“Are you entirely sure you should mention God's name in the same sentence you are using to explain how you plan to ravish your wife?”

Dominique chuckled as his lips met hers with a hot blaze of fire. “I don’t think he’ll mind, love…”

His wicked hands cupped her bottom and thrust her across the bed as he lay out on top of her and plunged his hands into her bodice and continued ruining all the clothing she had so carefully put on earlier that morning when she had nothing more to do then carefully choose her dress and wait.

“No.” Dominique growled when Isabelle grasped the tattered clothing in her hands. “I’ll buy you more. But for now, I’m going to lose myself in you. I’m going to ravish you. Lay claim to you, and most likely cause great scandal in this house.”

“Scandal?” Oh heavens! How was she to concentrate when his hands were doing such wicked things?

“Yes.” His hands moved higher, his kiss was deeper. And then he pulled back to look into her eyes. “For when you scream my name, over and over again—when you tell me how to please you, what feels good and what makes you go insane—it will be music to my ears. But I believe our guests may be utterly scandalized.”

“To be fair…” Isabelle was near panting, she just didn’t want him to stop. “They do know your reputation as a beast… so surely it won’t come as a shock.” His lips moved to her ear as he breathed into her neck and began nibbling on the sensitive part that drove her wild.

“So really,” he whispered. “I have a reputation to live up to. Now, let us make music.”

“Music?” Perhaps being married to a musician would be odd, but it would also be magical and… Isabelle never finished her thought. She was too busy screaming her husband’s name.

Epilogue

“My ears are actually bleeding,” Hunter said dryly as he sat at the breakfast table wishing for the third time that morning that someone would have done him the favor of an early death. Anything so he wouldn’t have to listen to Dominique’s sexual prowess in the bedroom.

It wasn’t doing anything for his appetite, and to be quite honest, it was deuced hard not to constantly think of enjoying the same blasted activity, what with
her
sitting across from him.

At yet another loud noise from the upstairs, Stefan cleared his throat. “Would someone please pass the sugar?”

Rosalind burst out laughing. “I believe it’s been passed, and passed, and p—”

Stefan glared at his wife. “There are unmarried women at the table, cease from your vulgarity and—”

Rosalind stretched her arms above her head. “Do you know? I feel quite sleepy. I think I shall retire for an early morning nap.”

“Yes.” Stefan nodded seriously. “Wouldn’t want you getting fatigued. I’ll just, er, join you then. After all, you look much too sleepy to climb those stairs on your own, wouldn’t want you to take a tumble.”

Tea spewed out of Hunter's mouth. “Apologies.” He wasn’t that sorry. After all, they did just say "tumble" and Stefan looked ready to ravish his wife on the table where Hunter was trying to break his fast. He needed to get away from this place before he challenged himself to a duel.

Stefan and Rosalind left in quite a hurry for being so tired.

Hunter yawned, because truly he was fatigued. His eyes honestly just happened to fall on Gwen.

“Don’t even think about it.” She glared.

“I have no idea what you mean.” But he kind of did. Was it so wrong to want her writhing beneath him? After all, upon their first meeting they had—

“You know exactly what I mean,” she all but yelled, interrupting his glorious memory of her pale skin. “Eat your food, and wipe that ridiculous grin off your face.”

Never one to say no to a lady, Hunter did exactly as he was told, though he did pay special attention to the way he held his goblet in his hand, and how he closed his eyes in ecstasy when he took a bite of eggs.

Truthfully, he was having a devil of a time not jumping across the table. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt this tempted.

Gwen cleared her throat. He looked up.

She dropped a piece of jam on her chest. Purposefully. Her eyes, innocent and wide, looked shocked. And then she grinned, took her ungloved hand and wiped the jam with her finger, slowly dipping it into her mouth. A moan escaped her lips as she closed her eyes.

Lust pounded through Hunter. With a jolt he stood up, with every intention on demanding she stop teasing him, though to be fair, he had deserved it.

But she beat him to the task, meeting him in the middle of the room. She sidestepped him and left.

Hunter swore and glared at her empty seat, as well as the jam that sat next to her plate.

He would never look at jam the same way again. Ever.

****

Dominique exhaled as Isabelle giggled beneath him. Their limbs were tangled.

“I believe we’ve scandalized the entire countryside.” Isabelle sighed.

“To the devil with them all,” Dominique growled. “I love you, my beauty.”

“And I you,” she answered.

They lay in silence for a few minutes before Isabelle asked, “What do you hear now?”

Dominique chuckled. “The most beautiful music I’ve ever heard in my existence.”

“Can you sing it to me?”

Dominique kissed her cheek. “I’ll do better. I’ll show you.”

They quickly dressed and tiptoed down to the music room.

Dominique walked to the piano, the instrument that had been a part of him his entire life, took a seat at the ivory keys, and began to play.

It was a slow melody at first that turned into a ferocious blend of the most beautiful song he had ever played. The music was no longer haunting but life-altering, so beautiful that he knew it had to be a representation of the completeness he felt.

When he was finished, he turned to his wife.

Apparently, all he was good for was making people cry when he played. A little defeated, he walked to her side and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry it made you sad.” Could he do nothing right?

“I’m not sad.” Isabelle sniffled. “I’ve just never heard anything so beautiful! What’s it called?”

“Isabelle.”

He didn’t think it possible, but she cried harder.

He kissed her hair. “It is what I hear with every breath you take, every sigh that escapes your lips, every little moment I share with you.”

“It’s perfect.”

He smiled. Yes. It was perfect.

The Wolf’s Pursuit

London Fairy Tales Book 3

His mission was dependent on his obsession.

Prologue

1805 London, England

She loved flowers; the pink frilly ones that made a man roll his eyes in disgust. Yet Hunter could not bring himself to deny her anything. She was his soul mate, his love. And after being married for a year, he could no longer manage being away from her. The life of a spy was unapologetic. Hunter would be gone for weeks at a time, spending many sleepless nights tossing and turning, aching for Lucy, the Royal Duchess of Haverstone.

Knowing he lacked the maturity of romance given his young age of one and twenty, he had poured countless hours into this meeting, into her surprise.

He crossed the street and smiled thinking of the way she would throw her head back in laughter, and jump into his arms. Never a conventional bride, she didn’t care a whit about propriety and often kissed him in public, much to the
ton's
dismay.

He wanted one of her kisses now. Needed to taste her lips.

Hunter pulled out his pocket watch and examined the numbers. A tad late, he had spent a ridiculous amount of time picking out her favorite flowers and daydreaming on the way to their meeting place.

As he crossed the final street to Gunther's, he watched as Lucy waved wildly in the other direction. She raised both hands high above her head, frantically aiming for someone’s attention. He picked up his pace. Excitement overtaking him, as he watched his tiny wife begin to jump up and down. Something must be truly exciting her for her to be acting so rash. Truthfully, her behavior was reminiscent of when she saw him for the first time after being away for weeks.

And then, she stomped her tiny foot, and began marching across the street.

Alarmed, he began to run.

But it was too late.

The carriage was moving too fast. She looked to her left just in time for the carriage to jolt out of the way, but not enough.

She fell to the ground.

Hunter swore, his legs feeling like lead as he screamed and ran to her side. Blood trickled from her mouth; her petite body was bent at an odd angle. Tears streamed down his face into his mouth, the taste of salt revolting, for it reeked of her death.

“Lucy, love, can you hear me? Everything is going to be fine, just fine.” He grasped her lifeless hand. She tried to shake her head. “Don’t move, just lie still. I love you. I love you so much.”

A single tear ran down her face. “I l-love you.” Voice hoarse and weak, her lips trembled as she tried again to speak. Her breath came out in short gasps.

“No, stay with me, you can’t leave me, Lucy! Do you understand? You can’t, you just can’t.” Hunters tears clouded his vision but not enough, for the last thing he saw was her blue eyes turn lifeless as her chest heaved her last breath.

“No, no!” Hunter wailed, not caring that he was still in the middle of the street. His body trembled. Surely this was a nightmare that he would wake up from! The flowers in his hand, the anniversary flowers, were never meant to cover her grave.

Strong hands grasped his chest, pulling him away from the street. He heard a voice barking orders and looked up into the eyes of his twin brother.

Eyes that held guilt, shame, and remorse. “She thought I was you, I didn’t know, I didn’t...” Ash’s eyes held unshed tears. “I was too late, I didn’t know. Oh no, what have I done?” Ash’s face was pale and haunted as he embraced his brother.

Hunter was unable to say anything. No words would come, nothing. He felt lifeless, an empty void. And he knew, without a doubt, that he would forever remember this day, not purely because the love of his life had died in his arms, but because in her death she had taken his very soul with her.

Never would he be the same.

Available this winter from Astraea Press!

About the Author

Rachel Van Dyken
is the USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she’s not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.

She keeps her home in Idaho with her husband and their snoring Boxer, Sir Winston Churchill. She loves to hear from readers! You can follow her writing journey at
www.rachelvandyken.com/
.