Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales 2) (3 page)

Well, that was odd. He was an earl, not a prince. The idea that this man, this
beast
standing next to her was anything related to royalty was almost laughable.

Unfortunately, she choked on her laugh the minute she stepped onto the most beautiful ship she had ever seen, one of ten that her new husband owned. The
Lullaby
boasted of beautiful intricately carved wood that took her breath away. She barely had time to register her surroundings before Dominique roughly grabbed her arm and escorted her below deck, pushing her into the first room they came to.

“You will join me for dinner,” he said, slamming the door in her face and leaving her no option in the matter.

Isabelle wasn’t sure if she wanted to stick out her tongue or have a good cry. Wouldn’t her sisters be worried about her? And her own mother? What had happened to everyone? Before Dominique had taken her, the family had been in an absolute uproar. Her mother had said that if her sister, Rosalind, didn’t marry the Duke of Montmouth, people would begin dying in both of their families. It was believed that a gypsy had cursed them, making it impossible to marry outside the boundaries of both powerful families. The night she met Dominique for the first time, he had been arriving to take his rightful place as the only heir to the Hariss Earldom. Little did she know that the same night she met the beast, would also decide her fate for eternity. For the following morning she found herself in his carriage being escorted out of London, away from her home, her family, and everything she had ever known.

She only hoped that whatever hazards had befallen her two sisters and her mother—that Montmouth had still married Rosalind, and things were as they should be. One of them deserved the fairy tale ending, and since she knew it would never be her, Rosalind was the only logical choice.

Would Dominique even let her contact her family? Isabelle may have been a dreamer, but she wasn’t stupid. There was no way this man could have taken her without her family’s knowledge. Perhaps that was what hurt the most.

That she’d been sold off to the highest bidder.

One only had to look around to see the obvious wealth of the man, regardless of the money and title he inherited from her father’s estate. The Russian beast had no need for an alliance of any kind. Besides, she had no dowry, nothing to offer the man save herself, and he had made it perfectly clear what he thought of her.

A cold English fish.

And although his music was quite famous, she had no idea it could bring the obvious profit she was seeing around her.

Sighing, she took a seat on the bed and looked around the dimly lit cabin. Gold casing covered the wardrobe in the corner. A small writing desk was nailed to the middle of the floor but it was adorned with gold plating on the front. A beast was carved out of the gold and would have normally given her a fright to look at it, but she had just spent hours in the carriage with one.

A mere portrait of one did nothing to her nerves.

A soft knock sounded at the door. Obviously it wasn’t the brute coming back to order her around.

“Who is it?”

“Miss Ward.” The reply was soft.

“Who are you?”

“I’m to help you ready yourself after such a long journey. Would you prefer me to come back later, my lady?”

Isabelle looked down at her wrinkled dress. It probably would be best for her to be more presentable, not that she was entertaining the thought of dining with that horrible man. But still.

“You may enter.” She rose from the bed to greet the lady. Her eyes nearly fell out of her head when a short, plump woman of at least sixty and five bounced into the room.

“Thank you ever so much, my lady. I despise being out near all those scoundrels. To think! Having me travel this whole way by myself, without a chaperone!” The elderly lady patted her coiffure. “I could have been accosted! Or ruined! They stare at me with heat in their eyes. And I do not care for it at all! I cannot stand it!”

“Right.” Isabelle tried not to smile, failing miserably. The woman was old enough to be a grandmother. To think that a man would willingly ruin her was the most amusing thing she had heard all day.

“What are you smiling about?” Miss Ward put her hands on generous hips and tilted her head. “Has the master put that lovely smile on your face then?”

Isabelle scowled. “The master, as you so lovingly call him, has locked me in my room and demanded I join him for dinner.”

“He’s used to people following his orders, my lady.” Miss Ward made quick work as she lit candles, making the room immediately feel warmer and more inviting.

Isabelle snorted. “I’m sure he’s used to a lot of things. But I am not one of his servants to be ordered about.”

Miss Ward smiled. “No, my dear, you’re to be his wife, and as his wife you are to mind him regardless of how beastly he can be.”

Isabelle exhaled and punched the pillow next to her.

“There, there.” Miss Ward took a seat on the bed. “Why don’t I help you dress into a new gown, and we’ll see about joining the master for dinner?”

“I’m not hungry,” Isabelle argued, though her stomach chose that exact moment to growl. What was wrong with her? Never had she acted the part of a spoiled child, but the man had to understand. She had no idea how her family was faring and no way of communicating with them. And to make it worse, she was traveling with strangers to some unknown land.

Miss Ward raised a plump hand to Isabelle’s face. “Things always seem easier to handle when you have a warm meal inside you.”

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Isabelle nodded.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve agreed! I have the perfect dress! I sewed it myself, I’ve just been in absolute rapture these past few weeks, in hopes that a lady as beautiful as you would be the one to wear it!”

“I would be honored.” Isabelle gave Miss Ward a hug and began peeling off her gloves.

Chapter Three

In my darkest times, music has been my lover, and for that I owe music all of my devotion, for when it counted, music lifted me up, whereas women let me down.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

“Where is she?” Dominique paced the creaky floorboards of the captain’s room for the hundredth time. Didn’t she know that punctuality was next to godliness? To keep him, of all people, waiting? Did she think she was the Queen?

A throat cleared.

He turned, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Oh…it’s you.” Cursing, he merely waved his friend off to the nearest seat and continued his pacing.

“Apologies. By the look on your face, I can only imagine you hoped I’d be wearing a skirt that you could later lift with those gloved hands.” Hunter Wolfbane, Royal Duke of Haverstone, smiled and took a seat, plopping his Hessians onto the chair in front of him. “I have to admit I’m used to more swooning when I enter a room.”

“Yes, but the rooms you often enter are filled with women.”

“Can’t you at least pretend to swoon?”

“No.”

“Mayhap you’ll stumble a bit? It’s so dreadfully hard on my ego when I’m not given the praise due to my infamous name.”

Dominique let out a hearty laugh. His friend was as mad as ever. “You’re nicknamed ‘the wolf’ for more than just your ability to sniff around women’s skirts at court.”

Hunter smiled. “Yes, that’s true.”

Dominique rolled his eyes. To think that the man sitting across from him was none other than the most feared spy in all of England. The smile on Hunter’s face seemed careless and simple, yet Dominique knew the horrors that his good friend had seen over the years.

It irked Dominique that the man could be at such ease when seeing pain and death all around him. But he was the best money could afford. A more trustworthy man Dominique had never come across, which is why he needed him here, now.

“By your scowl, I take it I’m not here for a social visit?” Hunter asked, dropping his feet on the planked floor and leaning forward, all traces of a smile gone. His dark features gave him the obvious look of danger when he wasn’t smiling. He stared at Dominique with his amber-colored eyes.

“Those blasted eyes could make a man confess a multitude of sins.” Dominique swore.

Hunter laughed. “Or a woman confess a night full of pleasure.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Dominique gave a hollow laugh. The idea that he’d soon have his bride in his bed to confess her pleasure passed through his mind and darkened his thoughts. “I seem to have bought myself a bride.”

“Well, leave it to you to just come out and say it. Never were one to mince words, eh, old friend? So, what do you need me to do? Kill her? Find her long lost family? Seduce her dress right off her curvaceous body and—”

“No,” Dominique said tersely. “I need you to help me… er... That is...”
Blast.
Why was it so difficult to ask for help? “As you know, I’m not currently in a position to… ahem.”

Hunter burst out laughing, “Devil take it! You want help with the chit! Don’t even try denying it! You’re blushing!”

“I am not—” Dominique roared and ceased his pacing at once. Desperation had made him send ahead for his good friend, but he hadn’t thought asking for help would be so blasted difficult. He just wasn’t sure how to treat a lady, and not just any lady, but one that represented so much goodness that he could hardly look into her eyes without drowning in the essence of her music. It was the first time in so many years, perhaps his entire existence that he felt at peace. She was the cause, and he could not help but think that perhaps he would be her downfall.

Dominique cleared his throat. “I figured of all my friends, you being the dearest—Cease puffing your chest before I throw you into the sea! As I was saying, you being the most honest, would be able to help me in my pursuit.”

“Of what?”

“Getting her to marry me, of course.”

Laughter was not the response he expected, though he should have. He had nothing to offer her save money, a title, and a royal lineage that could be traced back to the Czar himself.

But women didn’t want such things. After all, his mother had been given everything. And look what happened? Still, it wasn’t enough. He could offer her nothing of value, nothing that a girl with such presence could possibly crave.

She would desire children, and a warm bed filled with a man who could bring her pleasure beyond her wildest imaginations.

What pleasure could he possibly bring with hands such as his? At first glance, Isabelle would despise his deformity, and if she truly knew the reason for it, she would flee.

And no matter how dangerous having her near was… He desired her more than he’d desired anything in his entire existence. But she could never know that. No one could ever know.

“Curious.” Hunter cleared his throat. “Why would you obtain a wife in the first place? Don’t take me wrong. I’ve always been a firm believer in using the fairer sex to get through lonely cold nights, but you’ve never shared that same sentiment.”

Dominique wasn’t sure how much he wanted to reveal to his friend; then again, perhaps if he knew the reasons it would help his cause.

“She was in danger.”

Hunter leaned forward. “How so?”

“I don’t know.”

Hunter paused, his face a mix of confusion and calculation. “Care to explain?”

“I heard it.”

“Insanity calling your name?”

Dominique itched to punch his very smug friend but tempered his irritation. “No, the music, the same music I heard the night my mother died. It followed the girl around the ballroom, and when she looked at me, I knew.”

“That you were insane?” Hunter suggested cheerfully.

“No,” Dominique growled. “That she was in danger.”

“So you took her?”

“Bought her is more like it.”

“From?” Hunter examined his nails and waited.

“You see, this is where the part turns into some sort of gothic horror story. Her father died, or at least the man she had known as her father all her life. But, he was truthfully never her blood relation. The man who sold her to me, the valet to be exact, had an affair with her mother. So you see, it was legal.”

“I was worried you were going to say you killed him.”

Dominique gave a humorless laugh. “Yes well, too many loose ends and all that. Regardless, I saved her from a fate worse than death, and she should be thankful.”

“Yes, I’m sure she’s this very moment tracing your name with her hand and imagining what your children will look like,” Hunter said dryly.

Dominique cursed and ran his hand through his hair. “It does not matter! I have her, and she is mine!” His fist pounded the table in front of them. “Will you help me or not?”

“I’ll help you,” came Hunters swift reply.

“Truly?” Dominique jerked his head up. “How?”

“Lie, of course,” Hunter answered, examining his hand as he slowly withdrew one of his expensive gloves.

Dominique growled.

“Easy. It was a joke.” Both gloves fully removed, Hunter swiftly took off his cloak and popped his knuckles before he pulled the dagger from the sheath strapped around his waist and stabbed it into the table.

“You have more than your music to offer the world, Dominique.”

“Are you getting sentimental in your old age?”

“No.” Hunter shrugged and flashed a smile. “Just telling you the truth. You do value honesty above all things and I value being honest to a man who I would rather die for than see hurt. If the woman cannot see what value you hold, then I pity her lack of heart.”

Dominique shifted nervously on his feet not sure what to say after his friend’s bold outburst.

A soft knock came at the door. It was her!

“Yes?” He cleared his throat and tried to force his face into a smile.

The door opened, slowly at first, then burst forth so hard he thought it would come off the hinges.

Miss Ward had her hand pressed over Isabelle’s. It wasn’t difficult to deduce that Isabelle had been too slow in opening the door and Miss Ward found it irritating. The blasted woman always did treat him like a child, poking her nose in his business when he could take care of things on his own.