Keeping her body pressed to his own, he swung her into the scandalous waltz dance. Her small fingers curled around his bicep as he lifted the other hand in midair. He swept her across the smooth marble floor, twirling her body, his large hand securely on the center of her back, his footwork extravagant and exact. Cords of muscle bunched and slid beneath her fingers, and light from the candelabras flashed over the mismatched sides of his face.
Isabelle felt clumsy—as if she had sprouted two left feet. She’d spent her youth traveling the countryside and coastline with Papa—not blushing behind a lace fan or dancing in lavish ballrooms. Adam, however, danced with a haunting grace; his movements executed with a fine, cultured polish. He clearly hadn’t been raised in the back of a wagon, she mused. Prince-like and regal, he’d danced this dance many times before; maybe it had been in another place and another life, but his confident, masterful steps gave the truth away.
Isabelle struggled to keep up with his graceful strides, though she knew she was making a fool of herself. She stumbled as Adam swept her into an unexpected twirl again; he reeled her back to his side, so they stood intimately close, then chuckled in her ear with the audacity of a pirate. The decadent sound rippled through her veins and mingled with the wine. His lips pressed against the shell of her ear, and the whisper of his warm breaths sent chills thrumming down her backbone.
I am falling for him—falling fast and hard.
Indeed. She’d been falling for him for some time.
“You’re a dreadful dancer,” he murmured against her ear. Paired with the husky baritone of his voice, the insult sounded rather like an endearment.
Regardless, she returned the blight with a swift and playful vengeance. “Perhaps my partner is to blame.”
She cocked her head back and captured his bright gaze. He offered no retort aside from the arch in his thick brow.
Her face reached the height of his shoulder and not a centimeter more. She curled her head against the security of his chest and inhaled his essence with a reverent breath. A tangle of emotions welled in her gut, blurring everything but the moment... everything but the exquisite feel of Adam holding her. As he swept her across the smooth marble floor, the world whirled by in a dreamlike mosaic.
She felt like she’d fallen into one of her fairy tales.
“Oh, Adam... I never want this moment to end,” she heard herself whisper against his coat.
“It doesn’t have to.”
Adam shifted back and forth in a tantalizing rocking motion, slow dancing to a melody only he could hear. As she melted into his embrace, the candelabras crackled and seductively flashed, accompanying each of their steps. Then he bowed his chin and hummed a beautiful tune against her forehead. It sounded achingly sweet, like a tender lullaby from the depths of a dream world. The force of his vocals resonated deep inside her, massaging Isabelle’s body with delicious caresses. Her heart resembled a drum—and she trembled in time with its beat. That immaculate baritone stoked her imagination, igniting an inferno deep within her soul.
Closing her eyes, she rubbed her cheek against his coat’s rugged material and sparkling buttons, abandoning herself to his rhythmic sways and husky baritone. Drawing her into its sultry, comforting depths, his voice surrounded her like liquid velvet. With increasing pressure, his palm swept up the length of her back, down and up, tickling her spine with each soothing movement. Heated breaths wafted against her hairline, stirring the curls about her shoulders. His every gesture felt numbingly gentle, executed with a startling grace. Isabelle had to remind herself to breathe, lest she faints from the pleasure of it all.
Emotion claimed the best of her. Isabelle exhaled a shaky breath as tears singed the corners of her eyes.
They danced like that for close to an hour, moving in perfect unison to the calming melody of Adam’s voice, the slick medallion floor sliding beneath their feet like some magical carpet. The marble ground reflected their waltzing images with the ease of a looking glass.
Indeed, everything felt dreamlike. Peaceful. Beautiful.
A rare contentment—a true happiness—swelled inside her and drew the tears from her eyes. Something stirred in her heart... an emotion that felt remarkably like true love.
The grandfather clock struck the new hour and pulled Adam from the magic floating between them. He pressed his lips against her hairline, whispering the words against her flushed skin, “Do you trust me, Isabelle?” She nodded, unable to find her voice. “Good. Then follow me.”
Adam slipped into the darkness of his East Tower as he’d done for twenty-five years. For the first time, however, he was no longer alone.
Isabelle stood beside him, her small, pale hand clasped in his own. Her skin felt soft, supple, reassuring. Shafts of moonlight twisted through the sweeping windows and set her wonder-struck expression aglow. His heart beat a manic staccato; never had he beheld such beauty, such gentleness, such goodness—and his soul burned with affection for her. The blue silks of her gown appeared to drink in the moonbeams, and the glittering tiara caught fire. Tonight, she resembled a princess. And how he ached to worship every part of her body. He watched, transfixed, as a memory of his mother in that same gown materialized and caused a shudder to tear through his body.
Isabelle had changed everything; she’d pulled him from the unquiet waters of his past and resurrected his belief in humanity. In goodness and love. Second chances and the beauty of hope.
Adam held tighter to her delicate hand, his thoughts reliving the last few hours again and again.
Snapping into present time, he hesitantly surveyed his East Tower. A scene of total devastation burned his eyes and severed his trancelike state. Dark reality surrounded him, filling his vision. Broken furniture and torn tapestries littered every corner; a coat of dust cloaked the hulking pieces like ashes from a past life. His thoughts traveled back to that night so long before, when he’d frightened Isabelle half to death.
How far I’ve come since then... and all because of her.
Adam exhaled a long breath and stared at the vaulted ceiling looming overhead. Dust motes floated in midair, drifting through the moon’s iridescent light. From this perspective, they resembled small fairies fluttering amid a sea of black. A howling wind swept through the cracks in the castle’s walls, filling the room with a bone-chilling draft.
Isabelle’s hand slipped free of his own; she hugged her body while her teeth audibly chattered. Adam’s reaction was automatic. He removed the coat from his shoulders and swept the material over her body. The fabric appeared to swallow her whole. It was more than several sizes too large, and the bottom of the coat fell past her slender knees. She clutched the material with her gloved hand, sealing it against the castle’s drafts.
A small smile lit her face. Every fiber of his being softened at the vision. She gazed at him from beneath a lush curtain of lashes, her lips parted in imminent speech, the diamond-studded tiara sparkling like crystallized tears. Before she could utter a word, however, he wheeled in front of her body and pressed a finger to her mouth. Her lips felt softer than rose petals, and he burned to devour their honeyed taste. He inhaled a steadying breath and willed himself to quit shaking like a damn fool.
Adam paused, wandered farther inside the circular room. “Come closer... I want you to see. I want you to know...” He observed Isabelle from the corner of his eye, watching as she froze in front of a hanging portrait. The dusty frame was askew, and a deep dent marred the image. She stole a glance at Adam, then gently righted the tilted frame.
The painting depicted a bright-eyed adolescent of eleven years.
The boy he’d once been.
“Is... is this you?”
Adam hesitated. Then he stepped forward until he stood behind her. “It was. Many years ago.”
Isabelle’s hand trembled in midair as her two silk-clad fingers swept over the portrait; Adam could almost feel that touch upon his skin. He observed her in stony silence, watching as she shook her head and her eyes glint
ed with unshed tears.
The sight unnerved him, even filled him with a tinge of anger. He wanted nothing of her pity.
I want only her love, he realized in the unquietness of his own mind. Mon Dieu, how I love her. Look around yourself, you fool: You’re nothing more than a beast. A beast who’s drowning in the waters of a past life...
Adam stormed away from the portrait and shoved open the pair of French doors, which led to the circular balcony. The crisp night air wafted against his face and swelled his lungs.
“You’re the crown prince,” she breathlessly said, following him onto the balcony, half speaking to herself. “A part of me already knew. You’re the son of King and Queen Delacroix. The revolt—the siege, the fire... you survived.”
“That’s debatable, I’m afraid. I’m not the boy in that portrait. Not any longer.”
“But you are, Adam. I saw that boy—that man—in the ballroom. I danced with him, felt as he held me close and embraced me against his heart.”
Adam released a long-suffering sigh and stared at the enormous moon. “When you first came here, and I saw you with your father... saw your connection, how close you were... it tore at me. A part of me yearned to rip you two apart, to sentence you to the same fate I’ve known for twenty-five years. Your father died that night because of my jealousy and resentment.”
“No, Adam, you mustn’t say that. I—”
“I should have never kept you here with me. Not after you lost your father. I never fulfilled my end of the bargain. A decent man would have admitted that fact.”
“But, Adam. I know—”
“You know nothing,” he murmured, standing at the edge of the balcony, his gloved hands resting on the banister. “I am not a good man. I wasn’t a good child, a good son... a good brother. I watched as traitors, servants whom I believed were my friends, massacred my entire family. I watched—and I lived.” Adam spread his arms wide, gesturing to the contents of the East Tower. “Don’t you see, Isabelle? This is my reminder, my constant purgatory. This pain... it’s all I have left of them.”
Isabelle stood in between the two French doors. The tears that had glazed her eyes minutes ago now streamed down her snow-white cheeks. They glistened in the moonlight, and Adam fought the urge to wipe them away and draw her against his chest. “I refuse to sentence you to my despair any longer.” He turned away again, unable to bear the sight of her sorrow. He looked down at the sweeping gardens and swaying roses. Overhead, the clouds opened without warning, and a light drizzle curtained the world. “I care for you too much. I love you, Isabelle. More than anything in this world. And so I must let you go.”
Her heart close to bursting, Isabelle slipped forward as his beautiful words washed over her.
I love you, Isabelle. More than anything in this world...
Half in a trance, she moved past the French doors and near the edge of the balcony. Standing beside Adam’s silent and still form, her breath hitched at the sight of the lush gardens below. She gently laid her hand over his own and entwined their fingers.
“Yes... I admit you were cruel and hostile when my papa and I first came here. I could see the hatred in your eyes, hear it in your voice. But you changed when I lost everything that mattered. Your true spirit emerged. Your gentleness and compassion. You were there for me, Adam, when I had no one else.” She squeezed his fingers to help emphasize her declaration. “Now listen to me: I’ve known real monsters. You are not a bad person. You must believe that. But you’ve had bad things happen to you. As have I...” She hesitated and inhaled a breath for courage. “I haven’t been completely honest. When I stumbled upon your castle, I was running.”
“From what?” Adam’s voice was a cropped whisper, nearly swept away by the wind and puttering rain.
“I know you saw the ring,” she said, her words slow and cautious. “You must have. I... I was engaged to Vicomte Dumont. Still am, I suppose.”
Isabelle tore her gaze from the gardens and locked on to Adam’s stunning blue eyes. She grasped his scarred hand tighter still, then drew his knuckles against her lips. He edged closer until their bodies nearly touched. His warmth enveloped her, wrapped around her soul, and solidified her affection for him. Her love. “Listen, Adam... Raphael Dumont—he is a monster. A true monster.”
“He assaulted you. Molested you.” Rage laced Adam’s words together. He visibly shook from his fury, and a terrifying anger flamed in his eyes. She felt more than a little startled—and protected.
“As I said, Raphael is a real monster. Someone to fear. Someone who deserves to live alone and in shadow. Not you, Adam Delacroix,” she whispered, drawing her mouth against his own. “Please... make me not afraid any longer...”
The air shifted.
He grasped her waist, turned her full circle, and pushed her body against the stone banister. The rush of movement caused his coat to fall from her shoulders and onto the ground. Between soul-deep kisses, he murmured into her mouth, “I want to. I burn for you... more than anything. But I don’t know if I can...”
She paused, digesting his words, relishing the feel of his hands in her hair, on her hips, riding over her breasts. “Have... have you been with a woman before?” He stiffened, and his hands momentarily stilled in midair. The heat from his gloves caressed her bare shoulders and made her skin tingle for his touches. “Forgive me. I should not have—”
“Don’t—no, you have every right.” Adam sighed. His tentative hands returned to her skin, those large palms cupping each of her cheeks. Smooth, satiny silk brushed across her flesh and drew a shudder from her chest. His heated stare joined with hers, whispering a thousand unspoken secrets. “As you can see, I am not a handsome man. I haven’t been handsome since I was an adolescent.”
Isabelle swallowed the lump in her throat. Thinking of the East Tower’s portraits, she reached out and gently caressed the scarred half of his face. Adam dipped into her touch as his eyes shuttered closed. “But you are, Adam. You are to me. I need you to believe that... to believe in yourself again.” Her hand slid from his cheek and came to rest on the center of his chest. His heart thumped against her palm, strong and sure.
“I am trying, ma belle. I am trying.”
Isabelle felt a smile grow on her lips. Her hand glided up his chest... over his throat, where she grasped his neck and pulled him closer. His throat undulated beneath her searching fingers, and she felt a sharp intake of breath pass his lips.
“You don’t even realize your own allure, do you? The enticing beauty of your voice... the wondrous, seductive way you move...” Her hand continued its ascent, slipping through his dark, thick hair... descending back down his neck, over the curve of his shoulder and arm. She grasped his hand in her own, entwining their gloved fingers. “Many nights, I’ve laid awake, restless and aching... At the time, I didn’t know what I craved. Now I know. I crave you.” Isabelle’s words faltered while a burning flush crept across her cheeks. Adam responded with his touch. He seized either side of her body and hurled her forward. Their lips collided once more and resumed that erotic, age-old dance. She gasped inside his mouth, and he chased the sound with his tongue, filling her with slick, promising heat.
“Wait, Isabelle,” Adam choked out. “Let me tell you everything.”
Adam’s voice cut off mid-sentence. Emotion constricted his throat, making it difficult to speak, to think, to draw breath. How he ached to no longer hide within himself... to no longer live alone and ruled by the shadows of his past. He’d known this moment would come. But was he ready?
“Your past doesn't frighten me. Please... I want to fight it with you.”
Isabelle’s gentle words and caresses empowered him. Her grip on his hand was a simple gesture, though infinitely powerful. The comfort and acceptance she offered sent his heart racing and turned his blood to fire. And how beautiful she looked, the moonlight kissing her dark curls, the tiara glinting within the night.
Adam drew on her strength.
I am ready.
<
br /> Seated beside her on a long stone bench, he tensed, tightened his hold on her hand, and squeezed both eyes shut. Her exquisite touch counterbalanced the pain in his heart. She was his anchor, his light, his hope.
The memories blazed behind his eyes. He swallowed and focused on Isabelle’s reassuring caresses, the music of the falling rain, the caress of the moonbeams, and the sound of the wind’s low hum. Silk gloves wrapped her slender hands, yet the heat of her skin radiated just the same. Promising warmth seeped through the luscious material and inflamed his soul. Long fingers caressed his flesh, drawing invisible shapes along his knuckles. He felt himself grow stronger from her touch, felt the icy barrier he’d forged around his heart thaw and melt away. With a deep inhale, he opened his eyes and forced the words.
He revealed everything over the next hour—waking to the sound of the cannons, sneaking through the castle’s halls as rebels stormed his home, his vain attempt to save his baby sister... witnessing his mother and father’s executions...
Everything.
Isabelle drew off his gloves, then removed her own pair. With each word, she wept silent tears, clasped his scarred hands, and encouraged him with sensitive touches and warm embraces.
He brushed a fallen curl from her cheek. His fingertips lingered against her skin for several weightless moments. The need to consume her was almost too great; it took every gram of his restraint not to sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Instead, he leaned forward, reached out, and caressed her silver cross. The metal felt cool beneath his touch as it drank in the shifting moonbeams.
He lifted his gaze and studied her exquisite, heart-shaped face. Shafts of moonlight bathed her cheeks, and a subtle smile tugged at those rosebud lips. Loose curls cushioned her porcelain features, awarding her with an ethereal quality. She pressed their palms together so their pulses united; his callused hand was much larger than hers, and when he curled his fingers they covered her own completely.
Beauty of the Beast (Fairy Tale Retellings Book 1) Page 27
