Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Must she be such a prude? After all, hadn’t his hands spent the better part of the night running up and down her curves? Thirsty for her touch, hungry for her lips, he pulled his gaze away. Such torture to constantly want something he could not have. His hands clenched at his sides. “I’ll await you on deck. It matters not if your hair is arranged, nor if your dress is beautiful. Wear something comfortable and be quick about it.”

  With that he slammed the door behind him, waiting a good five minutes before he was able to speak to anyone without wanting to bark or rip their heads off. Just being in the same room with his wife was becoming difficult. The sooner they got to his castle, the better, for at least in the castle he could lock her off in her own wing while he spent the remainder of his days writing music and ignoring the hammering of his heart and pounding of blood whenever the woman was in his presence.

  ****

  Isabelle kept her eyes focused on the door that Dominique had just escaped through. What the devil was wrong with him? His eyes held anger, pain, but most surprising was guilt.

  Perhaps he was having second thoughts about treating her like a common prostitute. Though, to be fair he didn’t take advantage of his owning of her the night previous, though she hated herself for wanting him to.

  Slowly, she moved out of bed and dressed for the day. Whatever horrors this morn held for her, it could not be worse than what she had already experienced at the man's hands.

  The sun shone brightly, reflecting off the dark blue ocean. Isabelle inhaled the salty scent of the water. The ship moaned and creaked as it moved toward the docks ahead. Men scurried about trying to ready the ship for arrival. Dominique was nowhere to be seen. Isabelle fought the edge of disappointment creeping around her heart. Why did she care where her husband was? He had made it perfectly clear that they were to have the type of marriage that the ton boasted of. An arrangement where he offered his protection and nothing else save a roof over her head, a cold bed, and no love.

  She shivered, remembering the way his wicked hands smoothly caressed her body. If only he would have taken off his gloves; then again it seemed even his gloves, his clothes, his hair, everything he wore was as a shield. A cage surrounded his heart and his black soul. And she wondered if he had ever let anyone in.

  “Shall we stop at Madame Buchens’ house?” a hoarse male voice asked. Isabelle walked around the corner of the ship and hid behind some boxes. Dominique stood with a few men, a rare smile plastered across his face.

  She had to fight to keep from gasping in outrage. Visit a house of ill repute? “We will not have time,” Dominique answered. “Though it is a pity, wouldn’t you agree, lads?”

  They chuckled in unison. An elderly sailor spoke up. “The pity is that you won’t allow us to visit the Madame without you, sire. Would be kind of ya to let us have our pick of the best whores rather than take them all fer yerself!”

  The sailor smiled, revealing missing teeth, and nudged his friend next to him. “After all, a night with the great prince is a prize indeed. Last time, my girl wouldn’t stop talkin’ about him and the way he brings pleasure to a woman.”

  Dominique rolled his eyes and looked away as the rest of the sailors chuckled amongst themselves. “Fine then, you gents may stay an extra night before bringing in the cargo, but only one night.”

  “And will ya be joining us, sire?” the same sailor asked.

  “I have a wife now.” Dominique answered, though he seemed to be irritated with having to say it. “Though I’m loath to admit it.” He chuckled and threw a pouch of money to the men. “Enjoy yourselves, since you know that I cannot.”

  Blind rage poured through Isabelle. She had thought him sensitive last night, not wanting to take the one thing she had. Instead it was as if he never wanted her in the first place. Could she truly not bring him pleasure? Because of her innocence and looks? He hadn’t said as much, but she figured he found her quite unappealing to leave her alone the night previous. Well, she wasn’t one to allow everyone to suffer, and if this would put him in a more amiable mood, why not? Perhaps she could use this weakness of his as a way to coerce him into letting her return to her family, or better yet, annul the marriage!

  With a huff, she walked out of hiding and into the group of men. Dominique’s features hardened, the sailors around her hushed. “Why husband, if you have such a relentless appetite, why not stay with the men? After all, it seems the whores wait for your arrival with bated breath, we wouldn’t want any of them dying of asphyxiation.”

  Dominique’s cold eyes pierced through her. “Excuse us, lads, my wife is in need of being taught a lesson about spying.”

  The sailors averted their gazes and scattered about as Dominique took purposeful steps toward Isabelle. Frightened, she stepped back only to come into contact with a flat, hard surface against her backside. Stuck, she looked down instead of into the rage-filled eyes of the beast.

  “Look at me,” he ordered.

  Slowly, Isabelle raised her eyes level with his.

  “You will never disrespect me in front of the men again. If you do, it won’t be whores they’ll be spending their evenings entertaining, do I make myself clear?”

  Was he suggesting he would give them use of her? Outraged, she pushed at his chest. “No, you do not make yourself clear! How could you even suggest such a thing? You would throw your virgin wife into the clutches of your crew? Without a second thought? Does my presence repulse you that much, my lord?”

  A smile cracked at the corners of Dominique’s mouth, and his blue eyes looked almost cheerful. “Repulse me?” His hand reached around her neck, drawing her face closer to his. “Hmm, if this is repulsion, I find myself in agreement with your statement.” His lips descended, raining feather-light kisses along her brow before pushing her against the wall behind her. “What’s mine is mine, beauty. Although your assumptions amuse me, I feel the need to correct you.” His teeth nipped her ear as he whispered, “I meant they would be spending their nights entertaining us with dinner and music, not with my beautiful wife. After all, I have quite a talented group of men aboard this ship. I understand you wouldn’t be aware of such things, considering you are so talented at jumping to the wrong conclusions.”

  Unable to speak, she nodded as his hot breath tickled the inside of her ear and his teeth nibbled again. “Now, would you please, yes I said please—and you don’t have to go stiff as a board underneath my touch when I show manners—return to Miss Ward and notify her of our arrival.”

  Isabelle nodded her head.

  Dominique released her and stepped away. Thinking she was free to go, she made haste in removing herself from his presence, but his hand leapt out and caught her wrist, pulling her back firmly against her chest.

  “I do not share,” he barked, then aggressively turned her to face him and took possession of her mouth. His tongue bewitched hers as he drew her mouth open. He grasped her hands within his, pulling her arms around his neck. She fought against his grip and tried to pull away. But he caught her lip between his teeth. The sharp pain made her gasp and then his tongue grazed her tortured lips, plunging her into oblivion. His mouth covered hers and made her so weak, she had no choice but to hang on to him. Her hands gripped his hair. He moaned into her mouth, his tongue arching against hers with such fervor, such passion, that she could do nothing more but grasp at his jacket for balance. As abruptly as the kiss started, he ended it and pushed her away, nearly sending her tumbling.

  “Be gone,” he said softly and turned to walk in the other direction.

  ****

  Horrible liar that he was, Dominique had been grasping at any sort of excuse he could find for his wretched behavior. Truthfully, he had said those words about throwing his wife into the clutches of the sailors without thinking. Apparently another side effect of being with the chit. He was starting to care about hurting her feelings. It was becoming more difficult to be cross when all he wanted to do was ravish her where she stood.

  Confusion b
lurred his thoughts. The trip to the first coaching inn was going by faster than he expected. It was, however, helpful that Isabelle had been asleep most the journey so he was able to try to gather his thoughts as well as resolve not to touch her once they were again alone.

  Hunter found the entire situation most amusing. Unfortunately, he had chosen to ride in the carriage rather than use one of the horses, saying that his back had a dreadful ache that riding in the carriage would surely fix.

  But what he meant was, his back ached and the only remedy was sitting next to Isabelle and irritating the devil out of Dominique each time he leaned in and closed his eyes, breathing in her scent, like the true wolf he was.

  “If you value that nose of yours, cease from sniffing my wife.” Dominique groaned and looked around the carriage for something to hit. Something that wouldn’t give his friend a bloody nose or a bruised eye.

  Hunter just chuckled and crossed his arms. “I’m here to help you, friend, not steal your lady, though the idea of it seems rather exciting. In her current state, it would be too easy and you know how much I enjoy the chase.”

  Yes, Dominique knew his friend's secret past. It seemed the very goodness that made Hunter a loyal spy still wasn’t enough to blot out the darkness that often made itself known within the man. As a friend he was irreplaceable, as a spy he was the best London had to offer, but as a foe, he would be deadly.

  “Control your urges, Hunter.”

  “Fine.” He sighed heavily. “I still don’t know what else you expect me to do.”

  “Help.” Dominique looked out the window at the passing trees. “Support. The usual. I need to know her character. I need to see that she is safe, well, healthy. But I refuse to be the one who looks after her. I cannot allow myself to grow—”

  “Close,” Hunter finished knowingly.

  Dominique shifted. It was becoming increasingly difficult to see to the woman without crossing his own emotional boundaries, never mind the physical ones. He couldn’t see straight when his physical needs were present along with Isabelle. But Hunter, he trusted. His friend would be sure that Isabelle was well-received within the staff, was happy, could find enough to occupy her time, and in the end that she would feel grateful for her position as a Russian princess and English countess.

  So lost in thought was Dominique that when the carriage pulled to a stop, he jumped. Isabelle’s eyes slowly opened. “Get up.” He tried not to issue orders this time, softening his voice as he commanded.

  Dominique groaned when they entered the inn. Apparently someone had notified, not only the patrons, but the innkeeper himself. For the minute Dominique’s boot touched the threshold of the place, a cheer erupted from everyone’s lips.

  “Here, here! To the Royal Prince, may God preserve him!” the innkeeper shouted.

  “Here, here!” The audience joined in lifting their ale to the ceiling. Dominique was always uncomfortable with praise but even more so with Isabelle on his arm. Her shocked expression also didn’t help.

  “Close your mouth, beauty.” He chuckled.

  Her eyes widened even more when the crowds parted for them as they went to the innkeeper to obtain rooms.

  “Your Highness.” The innkeeper bowed low to the floor. “In honor of your return, we have set out a wonderful dinner in your room. Is this lovely lady to be staying with you tonight?”

  Dominique fought back a smile. No doubt she thought he the type of man to throw her to the wolves, proclaiming she was nothing more than a cheap courtesan. “This, my dear fellow, would be Lady Harris, the new countess and, as you all see, the new Princess of Maksylov.”

  “Princess!” The innkeeper's face turned red with excitement. “Another toast!”

  Hunter came up behind them and lifted his ale in the air. “Yes! A toast, to the most lovely princess I have ever laid eyes on. May your smile enchant, your heart captivate, and your lips proclaim the goodness that is our dear prince. And if for some reason he should meet his death, may I be the one to warm your bed during the cold nights!”

  Cheers erupted. Dominique’s hand clenched her shoulder as he sent a seething glare to Hunter, who was already off dancing with a tavern wench.

  Chapter Seven

  It is worse at night. I cannot help it. The melody haunts my dreams until I awake in a pool of my own sweat. So I hardly sleep, instead I play the music until it finally quits, until I have peace. It is harder when I am away from my piano, for it seems every time I close my eyes, the demons of my past threaten to kill me. One day, I fear they will succeed.

  —The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

  Isabelle awoke to Dominique tossing and turning. His thrashing in the bed could have woken the dead, and she was already having a difficult time sleeping knowing that his hard muscled body lay only a few inches away from hers. Dare she wake him?

  She hadn't even known he was in the same bed with her until his thrashing woke her. The minute he had escorted her into the room they would be sharing for the evening, he had grumbled orders about her getting her rest and slammed the door behind him, making it the second night in a row that he refused to touch her.

  Lonely, Isabelle had swallowed down her tears and readied herself for bed, with the help of Miss Ward, who tried to keep Isabelle’s spirits up by chattering about Dominique’s grand castle. If anything, it made Isabelle feel worse to know Miss Ward felt sorry for her.

  Dominique groaned and then his lips moved, he moaned again and then shuddered, the blankets fell from his chest and she gasped. His golden body was evident even in the night. With a tentative hand she caressed the muscles of his lean form. It seemed to relax him, for the moaning stopped. Only, something more dangerous occurred— Dominique pushed closer to her. His body moving slowly toward hers.

  Abruptly, she stopped caressing him, and the moaning began again, this time so painful, so full of sadness that she brought both hands to his back and continued to rub. Within minutes he stopped again, rolled over and pulled her into his arms breathing heavily into her hair. His touch would have been intimate, had his gloves been removed before bed. But when she asked if he was going to remove them, he sneered and looked like he wanted to roar or at least strike something.

  So she quickly pretended to fall asleep all the while wondering why he would need to protect his hands. Being eccentric, it made sense that he would choose to protect something so precious; after all, his hands were his life. Then again, what could be so horrible at night-time to cause harm to the very instruments that brought life to music?

  A low moan escaped his throat as his grip tightened around her body, and then because she didn’t know what else to do. She began to caress not just his back, but his arms, his face, every piece of warm, golden skin that was exposed.

  Just as she was about to fall asleep again, as her hands were beginning to fatigue, she heard him mumble in her hair, “Thank you.”

  The next few nights followed suit. They would eat and go to bed, and eventually she would awaken to his nightmares, only to lull him back to sleep with her touch. And every night just as she was about to close her eyes, she would hear him mumble, "Thank you".

  She never asked him about it in the morning. It didn’t seem necessary. Besides, her own sleep was affected enough that she began sleeping during the day and staying awake during the night to make sure she could chase his demons away.

  Not that he had done anything to deserve it, for he was still just as monstrous during the days as he had been since she’d met him, but he had said "thank you" and for some reason, those words on his lips were enough to forgive a multitude of sins.

  On the final day of travel, Isabelle was awakened by a loud screeching. It sounded of a gate that had not seen the benefits of oil.

  Stretching, she looked out the window and gasped.

  “Welcome, Princess Isabelle, to Castle of Ogan.”

  It was a fairy tale, every bit as dark and dangerous—as well as insanely beautiful—as a gothic horror story. The iron gate squ
eaked as it was forced open, the carriage came to a stop and Isabelle jumped out, craning her neck to see the giant fortress in front of her.

  Hundreds of rooms must occupy this space! It had a moat! And boasted of a maze of gardens before one even entered the door! Magic, she felt magic everywhere she glanced. She didn’t even notice she was smiling until Dominique scowled in her direction.

  “Pay him no mind,” Hunter said next to her as Dominique made great haste entering his home. “It is one of his many summer homes. He rarely goes back to his country, rather he favors rusticating, or as I like to put it, molding away here in Belgium.”

  “It is beautiful,” Isabelle whispered in awe.

  “Might I make a suggestion, my lady?” Hunter hooked his arm around her shoulders and led her into the grand entrance. “Perhaps you should keep your admiration to yourself; my friend despises this house. But as you can see, it is closest to your home. I believe he wants you to feel comfortable.”

  A laugh escaped Isabelle’s lips. “Comfortable? That is his desire? Have you met the man? If anything he has been going out of his way to make me uncomfortable.”

  “Give him time, Princess,” Hunter mumbled.

  Chapter Eight

  What do you suppose a broken man looks like? Is he wealthy but poor of spirit? Does he plunge himself into debauchery trying to make himself whole again? Is he the fellow that laughs in the face of danger and challenges Hades at every turn? He is all of the above, but most of all, he is me. His reflection is the one I see in the mirror, and his eyes are hollow, for the love that once lived behind them was stolen, the day my father took his last breath.

  —The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

  Dominique shuddered as he imagined blood-curdling screams echoing off the walls as if his mother’s spirit was still in between Heaven and Hell. He began to sweat as his boots clicked against the hard marble floors. He knew where this path would lead. It would be the same destination his tiny feet had taken him some fifteen years ago.