Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Sitting at the far end of the table were Hunter and Isabelle leaning toward one another. A single candle lit their end of the table. Blind rage poured through him as he stepped farther into the room and crossed his arms.

  “Apologies, am I interrupting something?” he said roughly.

  “Oh!” Isabelle rose from her chair. “You’re awake! We were just—”

  “Flirting? Yes, I know,” he finished for her. “So my dear, it seems you’ve taken Hunter up on his offer. Tell me, how do his kisses compare?”

  Isabelle flinched and stepped away from him, her face a mask of hurt and confusion. “We were just eating dinner. I allowed you to sleep, you were so exhausted and—”

  “Do not tell me what I was! You—you tricked me into sleeping so that you could have time with him! Do not lie to me!”

  “I tricked you!” Isabelle repeated, marching toward him with her finger pointed at his chest. “How the devil do you imagine I did so? Did I have sleeping oils on my hands when I touched you? Did I put you in some sort of trance and speak incantations over you? No. I merely helped!”

  Dominique heard the words she was saying but refused to believe it, the pain he felt in his chest was too real, too raw. His own mother had betrayed his father and he was just like his father. In the end it made perfect sense. “You helped, selfishly, to get close to Hunter, is that it?”

  A single tear slid down Isabelle’s cheek. “After all this time? Our conversations? Our lessons? Is that what you think of me? That I would lie to you in order to obtain your best friend? Very well.” Isabelle began to pace in front of him. “I’ll give you the benefit that you do not know me as well as him. But to accuse your own best friend of such betrayal is ridiculous. You need not look any further than the mirror to see who the real liar is in this room.”

  “What the devil is that supposed to mean?” he yelled, grabbing her arm and yanking her toward him.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You are the liar. You lie to yourself, which is worse than lying to others. The betrayer is you. You’re a walking contradiction, projecting all your insecurities onto others until you push everyone who loves you away! I won’t stand for it.” Isabelle pulled away and walked over to Hunter. “It has been a pleasure knowing you, Hunter. And thank you.”

  “You are not leaving!” Dominique bellowed at Isabelle.

  Her head turned just slightly, acknowledging him. “I’m quite aware that I’m stuck here, Dominique. Your friend, however, is not. If you would take a moment to think and stop acting like a fool, you’d realize that Hunter is the one leaving, on assignment.”

  She stormed out of the room leaving the scent of lavender in her wake.

  Hunter groaned into his hands. “I swear to you, it’s like breast feeding a small child. I give you all the nurturing and care you need and you still can’t suck from the tit.”

  “What?” Dominique roared. “Did you just compare me to a—”

  “Yes, yes I did. Now before you get angry and start throwing things, allow me...” Hunter rose, slowly from his seat and walked calmly toward Dominique.

  It was the worst sort of waiting. Hunter was never one to mince words when he was well and truly angry. Dominique hated the silence; he much preferred when his friend acted the fool rather than the predator and killer he truly was.

  Hunter lifted golden-flamed eyes toward Dominique and smiled coldly before pulling his hand back and punching him in the face.

  Falling to the floor in a thud, Dominique swore up and down as the throbbing intensified on his right eye. “What the—”

  “Listen.” Hunter grabbed the lapels of Dominique’s coat and pulled him to his feet with one big swoop. “I swear by all that is holy, if you don’t go fix the damage you just did, I will not only take her away from your bitter presence, I’ll marry her myself. Anything would be better than being constantly vulnerable and then betrayed over and over again. As a gentleman, I refuse to stand by and watch. And as your friend, I cannot allow you to kill the one good thing in your life. Now go before I lose my temper.”

  Speechless, Dominique nodded his head and walked out of the room. What was happening to him? One minute he felt a slight moment of happiness and the next was filled with so much fear and anger he thought he might explode. And it all had to do with Isabelle. She made him feel things, she made him...

  He stopped dead in his tracks.

  She made him feel.

  He didn’t like it. Too unpredictable and terrifying. At least when he was a recluse he could pour himself into his music and cut himself off from the world. But now, now he found himself wanting things.

  Silly things, like more light in the practice room.

  A rose garden for Isabelle.

  His past continued to pull him into the darkness, but Isabelle, she was his future. Her goodness pushed him into the light, but the light represented vulnerability. He wasn’t so sure he would survive what she represented. For it was hope.

  ****

  Isabelle threw her first vase, much like Dominique had demonstrated over the past few days.

  It didn’t help alleviate the pain in her chest, nor did it make her feel any better about her current situation. She felt hot and cold all at once, as if she couldn’t make straight lines with her emotions. One minute she was blissfully happy just being near Dominique, the next she was so angry at him she could kick him in the shin.

  Repeatedly.

  She tried swearing, but all that did was sound silly on her lips. She never was good at cursing. Finally, she sat in the middle of the gallery and cried.

  Quietly at first, and then her sobs grew louder. She missed her sisters, needed her mother even though something told her that her mother would never be the same, considering she had been having continual fits of illness and madness when Isabelle was given to Dominique.

  At a total loss, she could only continue to cry and pray for strength. Each time she thought she was making progress with Dominique, he would shut her out, or worse, yell and accuse her of things she never entertained in the first place.

  “She was beautiful,” Dominique said behind her.

  Isabelle lifted her eyes to the paintings on the wall, the gallery of his ancestors. She just so happened to be sitting near a picture of a woman with striking dark hair and blue eyes.

  “Go away.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Yes you can! Just move your feet back toward the door and close it.”

  Dominique sighed. “I do not lack the intelligence, just the will to do so.”

  “Then be silent,” Isabelle sniffled.

  “As you wish.” Dominique took a seat next to her on the floor.

  Tears continued to stream down her face. He handed her a handkerchief, and then pulled her tightly into his arms. Odd, that the same one who had hurt her would be the one to comfort her. The only one who could right the wrong.

  “What do you want?” Her voice was muffled by his coat.

  Dominique tilted her chin toward his face. “Are we speaking now?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?” His eyes held pain and remorse, a hint of a shadow was visible on his cheekbone.

  “What you want to speak about.” She shook in his arms, unable to stop herself from the emotional response she felt.

  “I cannot bring myself to say everything that needs to be said, but I will say this…” He paused.

  She waited, anxiety pricking her neck.

  “I am sorry. For my temper, for my behavior, truly there is no excuse for it. I cannot even blame the circumstances of my upbringing, though I try to use it as a crutch. I imagine it is because it is much easier to justify one's actions when they are wrong than it is to be responsible for them.”

  Isabelle sniffled. “And…”

  “And I apologize, for my own actions, for not taking the necessary steps to make you feel safe and secure, and finally for my race.”

  “Your race?” Isabelle blinked.

  “Men in gen
eral. We are loathsome creatures. Those of us who embrace emotions are considered dandified fops. Those who refuse to acknowledge the presence of heart and soul are labeled rakes and cads of the first order. It’s confusing, for I don’t wish to be either.”

  At that, she felt herself smile even though she didn’t want to give in. The pain was so fresh, still too deep.

  “How do you plan on making amends for your sex?” Isabelle braved a glance into his piercing eyes.

  “In every possible way. Starting with telling you how beautiful you are. From the tips of your fingers—” he held her hand lightly within his palm and drew circles in her wrist, “To your delicate arms—” he traced a line all the way to her elbow and continued upwards toward her shoulder. “To your collarbone...”

  “My collarbone?”

  “It’s alluring, the first thing a man sees before looking lower, the vast expanse of a woman’s gown is open, revealing just a tease of what treasures lay beneath. But I would be quite happy just to touch here.” He traced her collar bone with his index finger. “And I would be delighted to ravish you just there.” His fingers moved to hold her neck, his thumbs massaged down the front causing a shiver to run through her body. “And then your lips. Promises drip from your lips. Promises of pleasure, as well as pain.” He tugged her bottom lip with his teeth, then dipped his tongue into her mouth. Pulling away, he whispered across her lips, “On behalf of men everywhere, but especially on behalf of the same cad who’s lucky and selfish enough to keep your kisses, I do apologize.”

  “You’re good at that…”

  “Kissing?”

  “No, apologizing.”

  “Funny, that was my first.” He chuckled, then sobered. “Why do you stay?”

  Isabelle wasn’t prepared for his question, nor was her heart ready to answer. She had always been one to bring all kinds of stray animals to the manor. Not that he was a stray animal by any means. She looked up at his ruggedly handsome face. Perhaps he was a type of animal, and maybe a little lost.

  She shrugged. Dare she say what she’d been feeling this whole time? That when he touched her, it was like experiencing life for the first time? Everything seemed brighter, but with his touch came his scorn and oftentimes his anger. And she was left wondering at night, if the benefits outweighed the costs, for she wanted nothing more than to love what he deemed unlovable. To save what he said could not be rescued, to redeem what was once damned.

  She tried to think of a simpler answer. "I am your wife.”

  “So you stay because we had a ceremony aboard a ship, performed by a captain?” He brushed her hair away from her face, his touch searing her skin where his fingers had lingered. “We have not yet consummated the marriage, there is nothing keeping you here.” His eyes were hopeful, rimmed with tears and pain.

  “You keep me here. If I left today, my body would be in England, but my heart would be with you.”

  “I’ve done nothing to earn your affection, your compassion, nor even your kindness, yet you are loyal to an absolute fault.”

  “Love does not always make sense, Dominique. Sometimes it asks great tasks of us, asks us to sacrifice everything in hope of finding the one true thing in this life. Love makes us bleed; it makes us fight, for if we did none of those things, how would it ever be worth it? And how would we ever deserve its rewards?”

  “A philosopher as well as a poet.” Dominique brushed a kiss across her cheek. “I cannot give you love. You must know that.”

  Isabelle’s heavy heart sank even further, not that she expected him to be capable of such a choice, such an emotion. “I only ask that you respect me, that you cease from talking down to me, that you try to control your temper instead of making snap judgments. I ask that you do as you promised.”

  “As I promised?” Dominique’s eyes flickered with confusion.

  “To honor and cherish…in sickness and in health…for as long as we both shall live. But your punishment will be that I haunt you even if I die first, for you will honor and cherish me until your soul leaves the earth.”

  “I imagine I can do that.” He looked down at his hands and sighed. “Tell me, has every man been as difficult as me?”

  “There have been no other men.”

  His head snapped up.

  Isabelle felt herself flush and was suddenly grateful that the gallery was shadowed in darkness.

  “Not even one stolen kiss at a ball?” Dominique murmured into her hair.

  “Not one.”

  “Perhaps a secret embrace?”

  “Never.”

  “And any offers of marriage?”

  “You were my first, that I know of.”

  Dominique’s smile lit up the dark room, his white teeth against olive skin. Black hair fell over his blue eyes. “Good.”

  His mouth came crushing down across hers. A guttural moan erupted from deep within his chest, and the room began to spin as Isabelle felt herself being lifted into the air by strong arms.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going to show you. I may not be able to give you what you need in every capacity, but I’m going to give you everything I know I have.”

  “Why?” She choked out as she told herself not to cry again.

  “Because despite obvious reasons why you should leave…you don’t.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  At times I hate my gift. If I had been born normal, then my life would not be as such. It seems with great gifts comes great opposition. A better man should have possessed the music, for a better man would have known what to do with the life he was given.

  —The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

  Dominique had always waited until Isabelle was asleep, for if she was awake he would have to look into her eyes, and if he looked he was afraid he would see his own desire reflected back, and he hadn’t the strength to be a gentleman.

  Thinking back on the night's festivities, he had to laugh. Isabelle had been so distraught and tired, she fell asleep in his arms the minute he reached their bedroom. A maid had helped her ready for bed, only waking her when she needed to get Isabelle out of her dress.

  Dominique had waited in the study. His control was at the point of snapping. Every kiss, every touch, made him crave her more and more. Until he could do nothing but think about what it would be like to be her first lover, the man who made her scream with pleasure, the man she looked at with passion-filled eyes.

  He had nearly ruined everything. She gave and gave, until nothing was left, and he took, yet was never satisfied or content in his taking.

  The quill on his desk seemed to be staring at him. He knew what he had to do. Somehow during the past few weeks in Isabelle’s presence, he had found a semblance of honor as well as a conscience, which was quite inconvenient, all things considered.

  With a curse, he grabbed a piece of fresh paper and addressed it: “To his Grace, The Duke of Montmouth.”

  Hours later, he was utterly exhausted; he pulled off his boots and shrugged out of his dinner jacket once he reached the bedroom. Going to bed late meant he had no use for his valet, not that he found much use for one in the first place. Trying to tip toe around the room, he finally found the softness of the bed and reached down to pull the blankets back.

  Shock was an adequate word to describe his thoughts as his hand touched Isabelle’s bare arm. Apparently she had fallen asleep sprawled across the bed in a diagonal manner. Her sleeping habits amused him; he'd thought he was the only person alive that slept so fitfully, but Isabelle tossed and turned just as badly, if not worse.

  Biting back a smile, he pulled her into his arms and tried to set her on her back, but the blankets were tangled within her legs, making it near-impossible for her body to move comfortably without being twisted.

  Letting out a frustrated sigh, Dominique reached down and gave the blankets a tug. Eventually they came free, but as they did so, they pulled up Isabelle’s nightgown, giving him a view of her creamy legs. Even in the dark he could see
their perfect outline, could almost taste their sweetness on his lips.

  Without thinking he bent down and bestowed a kiss on her exposed thigh, but found his thirst—his hunger— was not quenched.

  Cursing, mainly because his wife was sleeping through his assault, his lips met her leg again. This time his tongue drew circles around the tender flesh. Instantly aroused beyond all logic, he placed his hands on her hips in hopes to memorize their feel.

  “Dominique?” Her feminine voice was thick with sleep and so blasted arousing, he had trouble thinking straight.

  “Y-yes,” he stammered.

  He hadn’t stammered since he was a lad.

  “I had a terrible dream.”

  “What was it about, love?”

  “A beast was attacking me…”

  Dominique bit back a laugh. “Did he harm you?”

  “Irrevocably.” She sighed. “And then he stopped.”

  “Did you want him to continue?”

  Her eyes flashed open. “That depends on the beast.”

  Dominique hovered over her, noting her face in the moonlight as her eyes blinked rapidly back at him. “Does it?”

  She nodded and then stretched beneath him. The light cast from the moon revealed her perfect silhouette against the darkness of the room.

  At the same time, as if planned, they reached for one another, and Dominique knew there was no going back this time. Because he had waited for this moment it seemed, his entire existence.

  With great effort, that of a god no doubt, he pulled back to gaze upon her face. He didn’t deserve any sort of affection, but how his body craved it, needed it. More than he could have ever imagined.

  Her warm hand touched his chest, drawing circles with her fingers until finally trailing down to his hips and pulling him tighter against her. Sadly, her actions pushed the last rational thoughts from his mind.

  And in their place…

  Need. Hunger. Craving—like he had never before known.

  With a guttural growl he slipped his hands beneath her nightgown and pulled it over her head. He tossed it to the floor.