Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales 2) (16 page)

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.

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.