Her nakedness made him lose his nerve. Too beautiful. She was too beautiful for his scars to touch. Thankfully she couldn’t see his hands, but if she knew how his sins were touching her purity, she would hate him. And for once, he didn’t want her to hate him.
With a smile, Isabelle reached out and grabbed his wrists, allowing his hands to press against her body. Her head flew back, her eyes closed, and she exhaled a feminine sigh at his touch.
He bent his head to her neck, his tongue reaching out to lick the softness behind her ear. To bite the tender flesh at her shoulder. Her hands gripped his shoulders as his teeth nipped.
Warmth spread across his body; he no longer felt chilled or alone. Rather, he felt a part of something bigger than his sins, bigger than his past.
As his lips pushed against hers, surely bruising her in the process, her hands scratched at his back and her legs wrapped around his body.
With haste he pulled back to remove the rest of his clothing, for he had always slept in his pants to keep the girl from scratching his eyes out.
His scarred hands fumbled and he cursed. Isabelle reached out just in time for him to pull his hands away so she couldn’t feel the hard ridges of his burnt skin.
With ease, she helped remove the last barrier keeping them separate. Her eyes took him in, all of him, and instead of shying away as good virgins were taught to do, she reached up and wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him on top of her in such an erotic embrace, he saw heaven.
He pulled her legs up so she could wrap them yet again around him, and plowed her mouth with his tongue. Her lips pushed equally against his; he didn’t even have time to warn her, to tell her what to expect, his desire was such that his brain hadn’t caught up to the act.
She cried out beneath his kiss. A single tear ran down her cheek. Dominique’s heart nearly burst. She gave herself to him freely, without wanting anything in return. And by all that was great and good, he would die before she regretted it.
With aching slowness, he kissed her cheeks, allowing his tongue to lick away the tears as they rolled down her face, and then his lips met hers in reverence. They danced and pulled tenderly; he worshipped her face as if it was one of the most precious treasures.
She met his kiss with one of her own, moving beneath him; he both wanted her to stop and continue. With a moan he deepened the kiss as she whispered into his neck, “Dominique.”
****
Isabelle tried to focus her thoughts, but it was nearly impossible. Not when she was feeling such foreign sensations all over her body. It had started as a dream. Warm hands had touched her flesh, and then she felt a bite and then a lick across her thigh. Thinking she was surely going mad, she opened her eyes and was shocked to see Dominique’s dark hair spilling over his eyes, his lips carefully dancing across her skin, and she wanted much more than he was giving.
The attraction she had felt for him had been slowly growing into a blazing inferno. But she hadn’t wanted to be the one to give in first. After all, she did have her pride. Yet, in this moment, she cursed her pride, cursed everything, for she wanted the man, broken as he may be, and her desire was that together they could become more than what they were apart.
Isabelle hadn’t counted on feeling so vulnerable, but with Dominique lying across her, both of them in the aftermath of their love-making, slick with sweat and breathing heavily, she realized that she could not have given her heart to anyone else but him. And her hope soared that by doing so, he would finally open himself up completely to her. Finally trust her with everything, rather than shut her out of the darkness he surrounded himself with.
“I’m sorry.” He rolled away from her and pushed away from the bed. Embarrassed, Isabelle began to pull at the blankets so she could hide her body. But within seconds Dominique had returned, and attended to her.
Surely she was blushing all the way to her toes! His strong hands lifted her with little effort as he placed her on the edge of the bed and with a damp towel washed the sweat from her body, and torturously alternated between kissing where he touched and washing.
She closed her eyes again as those same sensations made her desire so heavy that she nearly leaned back across the bed again in open invitation.
Dominique laughed. “Too soon, love. Believe me.” When he was finished, he cradled her in his arms and tucked her into the bed, taking his place beside her.
The air was alive with tension. What was she to say? What was normal practice? Fighting the desire to ask the questions that burned in the back of her mind, she managed to bite her lip to keep from speaking. It was Dominique, after all. Having any sort of uncomfortable discussions was always on the bottom of his list.
“Are you well?” He sighed. The bed dipped with his weight as he moved closer to her and pulled her in the crook of his arm. “Did I…do you…?”
Isabelle burst out laughing. “Are you stuttering?”
Dominique cursed. “Perhaps, but it is only because I do not normally… That is to say, with virgins. This is…this is a first and I find myself worried for your welfare.”
So he was insecure, was he? Never had she heard the man sound anything less than the arrogant fool that he was. Wanting him to suffer, she let out a long sigh, before dipping her head beneath his head to kiss his neck.
He stiffened and then moaned. “I take it that you are much recovered?”
“Much,” she purred, wrapping her hands around his body and pulling him tighter against her.
Isabelle felt him swallow, and then he tensed. “We cannot do that again.”
It was her turn to tense. A mixture of outrage, confusion, and rejection poured through her. “I don’t understand? Are we not husband and wife? And you, you feel for me?”
Dominique pushed away. “What I feel has nothing to do with what we did. What we did was a natural thing, when put together so many nights on end. It was bound to happen. I’m merely saying it cannot happen again.”
“But...”
“Do not argue with me on this, for I doubt I have the strength to deny you anything so soon after seeing you without clothing. I stand by my decision.”
“Your decision?” she repeated, outraged. “And what about me? Am I to have a say in our relationship at all?”
“No.” He didn’t even blink.
Isabelle let out a curse word she often heard Dominique use and pushed away from him, ending up in the cold part of the bed. She began to shake uncontrollably. The man had taken everything from her! Everything she had and he treated it like it was the most horrendous of sins.
“Did I not please you?” Her voice was small, vulnerable.
Cursing, Dominique reached and pulled her firmly against his body. “Love, you would please any male who had the benefit of good sight and youth. Your pleasing me is not the issue.”
“I don’t understand.” A warm tear ran down her cheek.
“Children,” he spouted venomously. “We cannot have children.”
“Is this a choice or an ailment?” she asked, hoping for the latter, because then at least the rejection of him wanting no part of her wouldn’t destroy the beating of her heart.
“A choice.”
“I see.” She moved away though he tried to keep her pinned against him. Dominique reached for her again but she slapped his hand away. “We have nothing more to discuss.”
Dominique’s breath hitched. She knew she had upset him, but she would take upset and irritated any day rather than the heartache she presently had. Why did he constantly reject her? Why was he so set against her? Better to have left her in London even if she was to meet death, than be stuck with a man she could never have, but had to endure the rest of her life.
Again, Dominique reached for her, but as his gloved hand touched her shoulder, she tensed. Immediately, he pulled back and pushed away from the bed, leaving the room with a curse.
Chapter Twenty
Music, I understand. Notes make sense to me. Women? Romance? Love? They elude me and
I fear will continue to elude me until the day I die.
—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov
He promised himself he wouldn’t allow the girl to get to him, and here he was, drinking brandy in the last place he wanted to be. It was more than the idea of having children. For the note he had just written was to her brother-in-law. If he continued to sleep with his wife—and how he wanted it!—he wasn’t sure he could execute perfect control, and if she became pregnant, there was no way for her to go back. She would be stuck with him. Forever. She had proved time and time again that she deserved a life better than he could give her. To trap her, without her consent, would be the worst thing he could ever do to her.
The haunted practice room, still littered with glass and remnants of death, seemed to groan in the candlelight. He figured, after around seven swallows of brandy, that it would make him feel loads better to be surrounded by more darkness. To remember the light he witnessed while making love to his wife, the goodness she brought, the way her heart, her soul seemed to reach out and meet his...
Well, it was fruitless.
Because he would never have children. The idea of passing an heir repulsed him. For it meant that his father would have been proud that he was finally being the leader he demanded Dominique be. And although his father was dead, by his own hands nonetheless, he refused to give him one more thing to boast about in Hades.
Though the idea that any son or daughter would possess his wife’s goodness brought a smile to his face, the smile was quickly removed when he walked into this room.
If he tarried with such thoughts any longer, he would live to regret it. For if he touched his wife one more time, he would be lost forever, and even he knew there were consequences to loving someone too much, becoming obsessed with that very thing until it consumes you and forces you to go beyond all logic, all reason. He knew he had his mother in him, knew that if love ever got a hold of him, it would never relent.
Dominique took another swig of brandy and sat on the piano bench. The melody from his childhood haunted him, its minor notes floating into the air, almost visible in his drunken state.
Candlelight danced off the walls, and the room seemed enchanted. With an exasperated sigh, he placed his gloved hands on the piano. They slipped across the dust. Taking a look around the room, he slowly removed the gloves and poured brandy onto them and then wiped the keys.
He tossed the gloves to the floor and brought his scarred hands to the piano. It was always a magical thing, the way his warm skin used to feel against the cold keys. And then the music would dance into the air and it would consume everything about him. A trance would take over and he would imagine himself floating above, basking in the joy of the music.
Even the haunting song brought him respite. Perhaps being with Isabelle was better for him than he realized. For the first time in fifteen years he was able to play the song without crying.
Or cursing.
Or throwing things, which Miss Ward would truly appreciate.
****
Isabelle awoke with a start.
The room, once bathed in the afterglow of love-making, was cold and lonely. She reached out her hand and ran it across the empty side of the bed where Dominique had just slept. Memories of a few hours before bombarded her brain. A nervous tremble ran down her body as she closed her eyes in remembrance of his erotic touch.
The way his lips pressed against her neck.
His hot breath tickling her ear.
And then she heard it.
Classical music.
The notes reached deep into her soul. An urge, stronger than she had ever known, came over her as she reached for her dressing gown and walked to the door, toward the direction of the music.
It grew louder as she descended the stairs.
A light glowing from the practice room drew her attention. Dominique had told her never to go into the room. But surely after everything they had shared that night, he wouldn’t mind if she listened?
The music stopped. Disappointed she walked to the door and leaned against it. It creaked open, and her feet moved her forward on their own accord. Tingling awareness washed over her as she took a tentative step into the room.
Dominique’s back was to her. His head hovered over the dusty piano. He began playing the same haunting song again, and she fought to keep her eyes open when all she wanted to do was close them and get lost in the beauty of the music. It was bittersweet, just when the melody began to climb, it would fall back down and drown within the sharp notes, making her want to weep.
As he continued to play, she watched as his muscles tensed in his back, stretching underneath his white shirt. His fingers moved so fast, so effortlessly. She could only see a blur of his hands, only the pinkish skin protruding from the cuffs of his shirt.
With a sigh, she looked around the room, only now noticing the disarray it was in. Glass covered the floor. Curtains fell haphazardly across the windows, pieces of material torn and filled with dust. The marble floor had lost its shine. Everywhere she looked there was dirt and debris. Why hadn’t Dominique or at least the servants cleaned up the room? It was obviously still in use, so it made no sense whatsoever that they wouldn’t at least try to tidy it up.
Lost in thought, she didn’t even realize the music had stopped. She looked up and took a step closer to Dominique. A loud crunch was heard, followed by her scream as a piece of glass lodged itself into her foot.
Dominique turned around, a horrified look on his face. Concern washed over his features, softening them just a bit. The edges of his mouth turned downward into a frown, and his eyebrows lifted as he looked at her cut foot.
Isabelle let out a pitiful whimper as it began to throb with pain. Dominique walked carefully over to her and knelt, his hands reached out to pull her foot onto his bended knee so he could retract the piece of glass.
Isabelle’s eyes fell on his hands. White and red scars pinched his skin all the way from his fingers up his forearms where the scars were hardly visible, just slightly discolored. Fascinated, she leaned forward just as Dominique, with a curse, stumbled back; expletives flew out of his mouth as he grabbed his gloves from the piano and put them on.
“So, you’ve come to get a look at the beast?”
Isabelle choked on her words as she tried to get them out as fast as possible. “No, no, I just heard the music, and it was so beautiful and—”
“Beautiful until you saw my scars, is that it?” Dominique roared.
“No!”
“Well, if you want to look, look!” he yelled, stripping off his gloves and throwing them at her feet. “Take in your fill! It wouldn’t be the first time someone was curious. Surely it won’t be the last! You should at least see what type of creature shares your bed, touches your body, and brings you pleasure.”
Isabelle kept her hands firmly at her sides. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. The pain in her foot was intense, but the pain in her heart, the way it skipped a beat when she saw the visible hurt across Dominique’s features, nearly killed her.
“Here! Feel!” His eyes held unshed tears as he gave a mocking grin and pulled her hands into his.
She pulled back, not out of repulsion, but out of fear. He was acting mad, yet after all they had been through the day before, she knew his tactics well.
Hobbling over to him on her aching foot, she took his hands within her own and kissed the jagged scars, allowing her tears to flow freely over the marred white skin.
Dominique shook; his eyes were fixated on her face in a mixture of awe and outrage.
“I kiss the beast, I kiss the man, I kiss my husband, whom I love. Look into my eyes, Dominique. This is not the look of disgust, it is the look of acceptance.”
His eyes closed and a tear escaped his before he could reach up and stop it.
“I cannot keep you,” he choked. “I cannot do this. I—” He jerked away. “This is my life, my burden, my darkness. Isabelle, you do not belong here. You belong in England
, where men will fall at your feet and women will adore you. Eventually your flame will go out. Isn’t that what fire does when exposed to the cold, damp, darkness of the world? I cannot be responsible for it.”
“Am I not strong enough to help us both?”
“It isn’t a matter of strength, love.” Dominique cursed and ran his scarred hands through his hair. “It’s a matter of choice. And I’m making the choice for both of us. I’ve already made arrangements—”
“You’re getting rid of me?” Isabelle cried. “Why, why would you do this? After everything we’ve shared? I don’t understand. After your pretty speech about me staying? Do you even know your own mind?”
“Understand this.” Dominique grabbed her arms, pulling her flush against his body, and kissed her forehead. “You are perfection, but beauty and beast do not mix, they do not pair. The beast will eventually devour your beauty, and I refuse to let that happen. Now run along to bed.”
Despite the throbbing in her foot, Isabelle felt numb. Nodding her head, she limped back to her rooms, but felt nothing at all, not even the pain in her foot. Sleep wouldn’t come, so she changed into her riding habit and went down to the stables.
Hunter was already there, readying his horse.
“Take me with you?” Isabelle asked in a small voice.
Hunter cursed. “What did he do?”
“Nothing.” Isabelle began crying all over again. “He’s—he’s giving me up!”
“To Napoleon?” Hunter asked with eyebrows lifted and an amused grin plastered across his handsome face.
Stupid man! Why did he have to jest at such a time! “No, you idiot! He’s sending me back home! And we, that is to say, I mean, last night...”
“Blast! Did he…” Hunter's face turned a bright red as he cursed and kicked the cold ground with his boot. “Let me speak to him, just, please wait before you do anything…irresponsible.”
Isabelle nodded and patted the horse already saddled and grazing near her.
Chapter Twenty-one
Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales) Page 13
