Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Dominique forced himself not to smile. “Yes, well, apparently I was wrong.”

  The shrill voice continued to try at higher notes until Dominique was sure he was going to have an apoplexy.

  And then an expensive vase, one purchased by his mother in France, chose the opportune time to shake and fall to the floor.

  “Did you know?” Hunter slapped his knee and laughed. “I thought that only happened in books and plays! But her voice truly just made a vase commit suicide. Pity. It was such a beautiful vase.”

  “Family heirloom.” Dominique grumbled, looking at the glass shards on the marble floor. “At any rate, we simply cannot have her continue to sing like this. My entire staff will quit!”

  “Oh they’d never do that.” Hunter sobered. “They’re in love, every last one of them. Lucky sods, just yesterday I saw the groom nearly fall prostrate in front of the woman.”

  “What the devil did she do? Offer him his weight in gold?” Dominique cursed and took a seat next to his nosy friend.

  Hunter grinned wolfishly. “No, dear friend, she smiled, and I believe she said 'thank you'. Though I couldn’t be sure, you asked me to spy and make sure she was comfortable and adjusting to castle life, not make myself known as to her exact wording in every conversation. Say, would you prefer I take notes? I imagine it would be in my best interest to follow her around and write down every beautiful word flowing from her mouth.”

  The voice heightened.

  “Care to retract that last statement, friend?” Dominique smiled this time and then covered his face with his hands. He hadn’t slept in days. Make that weeks! The woman was impossible!

  “She likes music,” Hunter pointed out.

  “Yes, well, music doesn’t like her,” Dominique retorted.

  “Teach her.”

  Dominique froze, hands still covering his face. “You cannot be serious? Please tell me this is just another one of your jokes you say to amuse yourself at everyone else’s expense. She is unteachable!”

  “You don’t know that,” Hunter argued.

  “Yes, yes I do!” Dominique shot out of his chair. “She refuses to dine with me, she scowls at me at every turn, and her voice makes me want to cut off my own ears!”

  “Only her singing voice. Her conversational voice is quite pretty.” Hunter let out a besotted sigh.

  “The devil you say!” Dominique kicked a chair. “She converses with the great Wolf of Haverstone and refuses to even greet me in the morning!”

  Hunter laughed and shook his head. “It does help to be polite. You do know what being polite is, correct? Perhaps it would help you to teach her. Mayhap it will help both of you to build some semblance of a relationship since you’re stuck together in holy matrimony.”

  It was aggravating to say the least, that his friend had conjured words from the very woman that Dominique shared a bed with every night. She refused to acknowledge him in the morning, and often took her dinner in her room claiming she was sick.

  Admitting defeat, Dominique took another seat and cursed. “I have no idea where to start.”

  “Hello.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Start with hello, or perhaps sorry. You do offend her with every other word pouring forth from your mouth.” And with that Hunter stood and began walking toward the door. “Oh, and Dominique?”

  His head jerked up.

  “Do try to write a song worthy of the woman you’re teaching it to. It wouldn’t be right to have her throw herself from the highest balcony because your music depresses her very soul.”

  “They couldn’t prove that!” Dominique argued.

  With a laugh, Hunter waved him off and exited.

  The cur! It had been years since anyone had brought that up! And it wasn’t his fault that someone found his music so moving that they wanted to promptly float into the afterlife! Or in the gentleman’s case, plummet into the eternal.

  Though that cursed note he left gave Dominique pause. Perhaps Hunter was right. Not that he would ever say anything of the sort aloud, and to Hunter nonetheless, but the girl did like music, even if it despised her.

  Perhaps it would be the only thing that would put them on common ground. With a sigh, a few curses and ten minutes of senseless pacing, Dominique had made up his mind. He would go to her, he would ask politely, and he would face rejection—again.

  ****

  “My lady?” Miss Ward knocked on the door. “The master wishes an audience.”

  “Perhaps he can pay some servants to listen to him roar and bellow orders. I’m busy.” Isabelle shifted the book between her tired hands and sighed. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could sit and read. Not that she hated reading, but only three books were in her room and though Miss Ward had hinted that Dominique had an expansive library, the last thing she wanted to do was ask him if she could see it.

  He’d probably demand she see it at a certain hour and then blame her if for some reason all the books weren’t returned promptly the next day. Blast, he’d probably charge her too.

  The man was a conundrum. Nothing and everything seemed to faze him. Yet, a shiver ran down her spine. When he smiled, which had only been twice since she’d met him, the world seemed to fade away.

  If only he would shave that blasted beard! And at least try to pull his hair back! He looked like a beast! A Russian ruffian!

  “My lady?” Miss Ward's voice was now more urgent. “He says it’s of the most importance. It is in regards to your instruction on how to be a proper wife.”

  Furious, Isabelle tossed the book aside, leapt from her chair ran for the door and threw it open. Miss Ward was waiting on the other side, wringing her hands within her apron. “Just this way, my lady.”

  Miss Ward was silent, which truly was a first, as she led Isabelle down the long hallway into the East Wing of the large castle.

  She was ushered into the spacious room and waited for her husband to make his appearance. Isabelle tried her best to appear bored, but it was impossible. The room was built for movement. A large piano lay in the corner and giant windows lined the far wall. And everywhere she looked were places to sit and enjoy music, including an elaborate fireplace that seemed to take up an entire side of the room.

  The room itself seemed to sing, giving her the all too familiar urge to belt her favorite songs from her lungs. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t sing, or even whistle for that matter. Passion ignited within her every time she was moved in such a way and the only way to express such passion was to make a joyful noise.

  With a giggle she opened her mouth.

  “If you value your life, you will refrain from making any sort of noise from those delectable lips of yours,” Dominique said from behind her. How had he snuck up on her? His breath was hot on her neck. Trembling, she clenched her jaw.

  Dominique seemed to relax behind her. “God be praised, at least you listen to reason.”

  Isabelle took a deep breath.

  His large hand covered her lips with such haste her mouth was still wide open when he clamped it shut.

  “Shh...” Dominique mumbled in her ear. “One cannot appreciate music if one is constantly blocking it out with a voice.”

  Enraged, she fought to kick him, but he embraced her even harder.

  “Listen, love.”

  Listen? Love? Was the man insane! He made demands of her day and night, didn’t as much as ask how she was doing, and he was calling her love? And ordering her to listen? Her, of all people? The man couldn’t listen if he was ordered by royal decree.

  And then Dominique began to sway behind her. “Shh, just listen.”

  Defeated, Isabelle stopped struggling and did as he said. Only there was nothing to listen to, save her own treacherous heart as it slammed against her chest.

  Insane, yes he was insane, but she continued to listen, and again all she could hear was her own heart. It sped up, slowed, and then sped up again like she was taking flight in the air with the birds.

  �
�One, two, three—” he breathed in her ear and moved his hand down her throat to her chest. “One, two, three.” He repeated this time, lightly patting her chest with his hand in perfect cadence with her heart. “Feel it, Belle, feel the music.”

  Her eyes closed of their own accord and she began to concentrate on her breathing as Dominique’s hand grew warm on her chest.

  “One, two, three.” His other arm encircled her waist, leading her toward the far end of the room where the piano stood.

  “Listen to the rise and fall of your own breath, the rise and fall of the music of your heart. Do you hear it?”

  “Y-yes.” Isabelle stumbled on the word all too aware of the warmth his body gave her. Of the way his touch burned her skin. Though he still wore his gloves, his fingers blazed a fiery trail of need into her flesh.

  “Now, keep your eyes closed,” he whispered, leaving her body aching, wanting, and alone.

  A single note was played, followed by another, as her heart kept perfect rhythm with the music, perfect timing. And then more notes flowed forth.

  A deep male voice penetrated the music, so beautiful, so achingly beautiful. She opened her eyes to see Dominique hovered over the piano, singing. The song was unlike anything she had ever heard.

  Or Dominique had ever composed.

  It was heart-breaking and beautiful at the same time.

  “Merciful Heavens!” A female voice burst into the room. “I thought—”

  Miss Ward promptly dropped her tray onto the floor and began hopping on one foot. “Oh dear me, I’ve ruined everything. My apologies, master, I thought you were—”

  “Killing her?” he offered with an amused smile.

  “Well.” Miss Ward crossed her arms and turned slightly pink. “You have to know we haven’t heard such glorious music in an age! What else was I supposed to think?”

  Isabelle gasped. Dominique’s once cheerful face turned hard as granite. “Yes, well, I won’t make the same mistake again. Apologies.” He turned to Isabelle. “I will expect you tomorrow at the same time for lessons.”

  “Lessons?” Isabelle squeaked.

  “Yes. Lessons,” Dominique ground out. “So vases cease from breaking and stray animals stop arriving at my front door in hopes of mating with one another.”

  “Dominique!” Miss Ward stomped her foot. “Of all the asinine things to say!”

  Isabelle felt hot tears at the back of her eyes, forcing themselves forward and down her cheeks. The knot in her throat increased until, with a cry, she quit the room and ran up the stairs, away from the insufferable man. It wasn’t until she slammed the door that she remembered the reason for going down to the practice room in the first place.

  Were lessons his twisted idea of wifely duties? And why did it leave her feeling even emptier than before?

  Chapter Eleven

  Where words fail me, music never does, for its very essence explains what I cannot, yet not everyone understands the language of a song, so I am brought back to words. And I am loath to admit, I do not understand how to use them.

  —The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

  “Bravo!” Hunter clapped. “Magnificent performance, wouldn’t be surprised if the girl was at this moment trying to scale the wall in hopes to escape you.”

  “Glad I amuse you...” Dominique had been sitting in the practice room for two hours since Isabelle’s hasty departure.

  “She’s not coming back down here,” Hunter observed. “Perhaps you should seek her out?”

  “Seek her out?” Dominique repeated. “I’d rather stay in here without food or drink.”

  “No you wouldn’t.” Hunter scowled. “Admit it, you like her, even if her voice reminds everyone why women would be best to be seen and not heard.”

  Dominique couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Go after her. Rumor amongst the servants is she likes books.”

  Dominique’s head snapped up. “Truly?”

  “No, I’m lying in order to see you more depressed, if that were possible. Yes.” Hunter shook his head. “Now go after her. You do realize I’m only giving you a few more weeks before I seduce her and steal her away from you, right?”

  “Remind me why we’re friends again?” Dominique cursed and rose to his full height. “What do I say?”

  Hunter tilted his head. “Good to know you’ve forgotten my instruction after being in her presence only an hour. I believe my earlier suggestion was hello and sorry. You would do well to remember both of those words considering they will be put to good use with the girl.”

  Dominique wanted to tell his friend several things; sorry was not one of them, but he listened to his advice and found himself standing outside Isabelle’s door without a clue as to how to proceed.

  He thought of bringing flowers but as it so happened, it was winter, and everything was dead, just like his heart. He hadn’t even kept the orangery up to standard, meaning all he was left with was himself.

  He was nothing, no gift suitable for an apology.

  Harsh words habitually flew out of his mouth before he was able to stop them, and spending time with Isabelle made it worse than usual. Her happy demeanor, beautiful body and captivating smile threatened his very existence.

  The Royal breeding of his ancestors ran thick within him, even though he despised himself for it. His training shaped his actions even when he didn’t want it to: he’d been taught to treat women with courtesy even though he knew from experience they rarely deserved it.

  Cursing under his breath, he knocked on the door.

  “Who is it?” the sweet voice asked.

  “Dominique,” he snapped and then winced at the gruff sound of his own voice.

  “Go away!” Her shout was followed by something breaking against the door. Great, not only her voice was causing things to shatter, the girl herself was now destroying his property.

  “See here—”

  “Ouch!” Isabelle screamed.

  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Using all his strength he slammed his body against the door. His shoulder throbbed with the impact. The door remained unmoved. He backed away and hit it again, this time bellowing profanity. Finally, it opened.

  Isabelle sat in a heap on the floor, holding her hand out in front of her as blood began trickling down her arm onto her dress. Face pale, she looked fit to swoon. Luckily she was already sitting.

  Dominique’s heart lurched at the sight. Blood reminded him of his mother, of her death, it was as if the red substance could conjure up memories he’d rather keep trapped in the darkness inside. His mouth went dry as he fought with his conscience; he wanted nothing more than to pull away, to fight the dread that wrapped around his heart, the smell of death as it permeated his nostrils.

  But, Isabelle whimpered and he knew he needed to help despite his horrifying reaction.

  “Let me see.” He reached out and grabbed her hand within his glove. “Hold still.”

  Isabelle swayed toward him. He picked her up off the floor and laid her across the bed. Blood trickled down her finger.

  “I-I threw something,” Isabelle mumbled.

  “Yes, but that something seems to have bitten you, hmm?” Dominique smiled. “Choose carefully when destroying my property. Might I suggest throwing a chair next time? No shards of glass on the floor. On that note, if Hunter is near you next time you feel the need to take out your anger, please feel free to throw him out the window. It would save me from having to do so, you understand.”

  Isabelle giggled through her tears.

  Relieved, he felt the weight on his chest lighten, just a little, even though her tears shone brightly.

  “Ah, there it is,” Dominique examined her finger. A bit of glass poked out from the top. Carefully, he tried to pull the infuriating piece out, but the blood began to trickle, making his gloves slippery against the piece. Isabelle moaned.

  His stomach lurched. How he hated to see her bleeding and all because he couldn’t find the words to be polite. It was h
is fault, just as everything was always his fault. Would he never learn?

  “You must take off your gloves so you can grasp it,” Isabelle urged.

  Dominique swore, dropping her bleeding hand. Shaking, he walked a few paces away from her and returned. “I cannot do that.”

  “They’re just gloves!” she wailed. “Surely you have more to replace them?”

  “It isn’t the gloves. I dare say what’s beneath the gloves would cause you to swoon in earnest. Now, hold still.” He grabbed her hand again and lifted her finger to his lips and into the warm encasing of his mouth. Gently, his teeth nipped the piece of glass out of the wound, spit it in his gloved palm and placed it in his pocket. He continued to suckle, cleaning the wound so he could wrap it in fabric and have Miss Ward take care of it.

  At Isabelle’s sharp intake of breath, he stole a glance at her eyes. Wide, innocent blue eyes peered back at him through dark, sooty lashes. His heart began hammering inside his chest as the music surrounding her aura picked up.

  A single tear ran down her cheek. Reaching out, he caught it with his fingers. Slowly, he finished suckling the wound. Without thinking, he pulled his shirt loose and ripped off a generous piece of fabric, carefully wrapping it around her finger.

  “T-thank you.” She looked down. Her face flamed red.

  Not wanting to embarrass her further or impose on her any more than he already had, he nodded. Making a move to leave, he stopped when her hand reached out and caught his arm.

  “I’m sorry I broke another vase,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry I yelled.”

  Isabelle’s eyes snapped up to his.

  All calming thoughts flew out of his mind when her tongue peeked out to wet her lips as her breathing continued to hasten.

  He reached out to cup her chin, and with a smile he leaned down and kissed her across the lips. Quickly, he ended the kiss but was surprised when the girl who had every reason in the world to hate him pulled him flush against her body and opened her mouth to him.

  Unable to quench the burning fire of temptation her lush lips and beautiful form presented, he could do nothing as his hands reached from her chin to her hair, diving into the luxurious golden brown tresses.