Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales 2) (26 page)

Apparently that was the one thing that would cause both of her sisters to lose their merriment immediately. Rosalind was the first to answer. “Quite mad. Tried to kill me. It was all very exciting, but that’s another story, dear. All that matters is Stefan and I are enormously happy, and so thankful to have found both of you again.”

“And Gwen, why ever would you run after me alone!”

“Adventure?” she offered.

“Go to the park to find your adventure. Read a book. You do not go gallivanting around Belgium while we are at war!” Isabelle grabbed her sister’s hand and kissed it. “What if something would have happened to you?”

Her sister looked up, her clear blue eyes boring through Isabelle. “And who’s to say something didn’t?”

“Gwen…” Isabelle said in warning.

A blank stare washed over Gwen’s face; she shrugged and gave a tight smile. “I assure you, I am just fine!”

But Isabelle knew her sister better than she knew herself. Something was amiss, but Gwen was never one to offer information freely. Isabelle would just have to bide her time until her sister was ready to talk about whatever transpired over the past few months.

A few months? Had it only been that long? Truthfully, Isabelle felt as if she had been in this castle for years! So much had happened, and so much more was in store. She closed her eyes and placed a hand over her stomach. Truthfully, it hadn’t been a white lie on Dominique’s part when he was confronted by Montmouth. It was, in fact, the truth. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Tonight. She would tell him tonight.

Chapter Thirty-three

Can a man be more than he was born to be? Or will he be constantly haunted by the past? By what he was born into? Are we simply copies of those who bore us? Or can we live past that, can we exceed expectations. Can I exceed the consequences of my birth?

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

Dominique slowly trudged up the stairs to his rooms. Dinner had been quite the fiasco, what with all three women chattering at once. It was impossible to get a word in edgewise. Stefan, which was how he was now to address the duke, simply watched and drank his wine in large gulps, clearly using the alcohol as a way to numb the pounding in his ears at the volume of talking around the table.

Hunter, however, crossed his arms and scowled the entire time, as if the wine was too sour, the food cold, and the company lacking. Never before had he seen his friend in such a foul mood, and that included the time Dominique set his coat tails on fire.

He smiled at the memory.

Whatever the issue, Hunter would never come out and say it. No, Dominique needed to bide his time until his friend was ready to discuss what was plaguing him. And Dominique had a sneaking suspicion that it had everything to do with the raven-haired beauty who sent equally murderous glares toward Hunter the entire meal.

Life had certainly taken a drastic change over the past twenty-four hours, and he was eternally grateful that he still had a wife to hold tonight, or in his case, make love to until the wee hours of the morning.

He knocked quietly, alerting her of his presence, and swiftly let himself in the bedroom.

Isabelle stood facing the fire, her brown hair trickling down her back like a blanket of dark honey. He wanted her so badly it hurt.

Slowly, he joined her and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into the warmth of his body.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Isabelle said nothing.

“I should have told you that I wrote the letter, but after I was ill, I had forgotten doing so and then when I heard back, I panicked. I should have gone straight to you, explained to you that I would die before letting you go.” He took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest, surely she could hear it. “I love you.”

For a moment, she said nothing. Then finally Isabelle whispered, “Say it again.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” He ran his fingers through her hair; a shiver of delight slammed into his chest as she turned and kissed him hard across the mouth.

“Oh, Isabelle.” His hands reached around to grab her waist, thrusting her against himself as his tongue plummeted into her mouth, searching, grasping, tirelessly winding with hers.

“Stop.” Flushed, Isabelle pulled away. “Before we…” She motioned to the bed, little did she know that the activity he had in mind was much more adventurous.

“Before I strip you naked, you mean? Before I kiss every part of your body that’s exposed and parts that are hidden. Before I gaze upon your feminine beauty, the lush curves of your hips, the way your skin feels against my palm. Before I possess you with every ounce of my—”

Laughing and blushing profusely, Isabelle placed a hand over his mouth. “Yes, before a-all that. I have something exciting to tell you.”

Taking a seat, he pulled Isabelle into his lap and played with her hair as she seemed to be struggling for words. Whatever it was, it was important.

“I have reason to believe...”

Devil take him, she was gorgeous. Brown wavy hair taunted and teased him until he wanted nothing more than to plunge his hands into its endless length.

“…I am carrying your heir.”

“Pardon?” His stomach lurched, his heart nearly stopped beating.

“I think I’m increasing. I missed my last courses and it seems that—”

“Stop.” Dominique pulled his hands back from her hair. It was as if she had poured cold water over him., He gently pulled her off of his lap and rose to his feet. So many emotions were swirling within him that he could not, dare not, say a thing lest he ruin something that by all accounts should be good news.

“A-are you upset?” Isabelle’s voice was weak. He closed his eyes and prayed for patience, for strength, and turned around.

Large blue eyes gazed back at him, vulnerability rolling off of her, but also protectiveness, a fierceness that he’d never seen her possess. A mama in the making, no doubt.

“I do not know what to say.” Dominique looked down at the floor. “I need some time, I need… I need to think.” With that, he left the room, not stopping once. Not even when he heard his wife break down into sobs, or the painful whisper of his name on her lips as glass hit the floor.

Pregnant? How was it possible! He paced the damaged practice room like a caged animal. What the devil was he to do?

He cursed aloud in every language he knew, which was quite a lot of cursing to be honest. He only stopped when his voice was hoarse from shouting.

“Impressive, tell me, do you know Finnish?” a male voice asked.

“Stefan, this is none of your concern.”

“Oh, when a man shouts in that many languages you can believe it is my concern. My poor ears will never be the same. I also have it on good authority that your wife is ruining what would have been a nice sensual moment with my own wife upstairs in our bedroom. In short, I have been ousted.” He cursed, though not as loud or fluently as Dominique had.

“So yes, when a man gets kicked out of his own room, it’s his concern. Now, what the devil did you do this time?”

“She’s carrying my child.” There, he'd said it.

“Ah, congratulations are in order then.”

“I don’t know how it happened... I don’t...” Dominique ran his fingers through his hair, cursing again.

“Blast. Didn’t think I’d have to give a biology lesson. All right…” Stefan took a seat and propped his feet up on the sofa. “When a man and woman find each other attractive, or in some cases, available, they begin a mating ritual I like to call—”

“Please, no further. I don’t imagine I’ll ever recover if you explain to me your sordid view on sex.”

“Yes well, there was once a time when an innkeeper felt the need to have the talk with me. In a room full of patrons, no less. Imagine that, and you’ll know just part of the traumatizing moments I’ve been exposed to.”

A smile cracked through Dominique’s tough exterior, though he made great pains to hide it from Stefan. “I know how it happened. I just… I took precautions so it wouldn’t.”

“Don’t all young men?” Stefan said indifferently. “But, you are married, are you not? Why, with your own wife?”

“I cannot have children.”

“Evidence proves otherwise—”

“I know,” Dominique interrupted. “What evidence proves and such. I should word this differently. I am able to have children, I do not wish to bring any into the world, not into my world, not of my seed.”

“Is your seed particularly bad? Does it not do the job?” Stefan asked.

Dominique poured whiskey into two cups and handed one to Stefan. “I cannot be my father.”

Stefan threw back the contents and grimaced. “Of course you cannot, because you are not your father. Just because you are his son does not mean you must be his copy.”

“What if…” Dominique could not even bring himself to say it.

Stefan leaned forward, hands folded. “Go on.”

“What if I cannot help it?”

Stefan laughed.

Dominique wasn’t sure if he should feel insulted or just stupid.

“Everyone has a choice. By saying you cannot help it, you are saying that you are choosing not to fight against it. I cannot help but have my hair color. I was born with it. But when it comes to actions and behavior, you can always help it, you can always choose to do good despite your upbringing.”

Dominique wanted to believe him, truly wished that he didn’t feel so helpless and cynical about what Stefan was saying. “I wish I could believe that. But my past proves...”

“What? That of the weak line of men in your family? Did any of them possess backbone enough to go against their father? Did they have the strength you have? Did they even try?”

“No.”

“Did you defy your father?”

Dominique gave a hollow laugh and shook his head. “At every turn. I even pushed him to his death.”

“Yes, well…” Stefan reached for the whiskey, obviously in need of more to steel himself against this particular conversation. “I’m sure he deserved it.”

Was it so terribly wrong to agree with him? To say out loud that his father was a monster? That he would do anything not to become him?

And then a thought occurred. So brilliant, so clear and truthful in his mind that he had no choice but to believe it. To test the theory by speaking it aloud.

“I will not be him.”

“By Jove, I think you’ve got it,” Stefan muttered. “Of course, you will not be him. It isn’t possible to be the same person he was, because you were made differently. You have been given the same type of choices that every human being has been given. Yes, we cannot help who or what we are born to, but you can help how you respond to your environment.”

“I can.”

“Yes.” Stefan moved away from the sofa and put a hand on Dominique’s shoulder. “You truly can. Dominique, you’re a good man. I’ve no doubt in my mind you can make Isabelle happy. But you must let it go, everything. Just like this room.”

Stefan sighed and looked around. “Do you see the mess around you? It has been kept this way, as a trophy in honor of the violence of your upbringing. But, it is time, don’t you think? To sweep the floors?”

“How do you even know of my pain? My past?”

Montmouth shrugged. “That Hunter fellow told me quite a lot. He thought I should at least know why you were so disagreeable.”

Dominique smiled then looked around. A weight lifted from Dominique’s shoulders as he looked down at the glass beneath his boots. The blood stains, just to the left of the piano, the tattered curtains and finally the dust particles amidst the furniture. Why had he left it this way? Truly, he had used it as a reminder of what he was capable of.

Everyone was capable of darkness, but why glorify it? Why preserve it as he had? Revenge was never truly his to bestow, and justification for his actions was merely another poor excuse to live in solitude, to keep himself protected.

Truthfully, he had lived as the most selfish of men. Keeping his heart safe from the world, his mind safe from the hauntings of his music, and in return a part of him had died.

Until her.

“I need to speak with her.” Dominique hastily walked to the door.

“Wait,” Stefan called out. “I may not have the best expertise with the fairer sex. After all, I do believe it took me at least twelve times before I got my proposal right, but perhaps you should wait until the morning. Allow her the comfort of her sisters, and speak to her when she has slept. Nothing good comes of two people discussing their feelings in the wee hours of the night.”

“Hmm…” Dominique let out a laugh.

“You think my advice amusing?”

“No.” Dominique turned and purposefully walked to the sofa where Stefan still stood. “I just cannot believe I went through an entire conversation being scolded by an Englishman without drawing my pistols.”

Stefan smirked.

“You’re right, you know, I should wait.” Though he hated to do so, he saw wisdom in allowing Isabelle her rest. After all, if she was correct, then she needed to take care of their baby. At the thought his heart leapt with joy.

“And you’re smiling like an idiot because…?” Stefan asked.

“I’m going to be a father.”

Stefan hit him across the back. “A toast! To the best father my little nephew could have.”

Scales fell from Dominique’s eyes. The walls around his heart all but crumbled, and for the first time in fifteen years, he was able to celebrate in what he had always thought of as his mother’s grave. Where life was taken, life was now restored.

So they raised their cups, drank of the fine whiskey and toasted, to life, to family, but most of all, to true love.

Chapter Thirty-four

When you have lost your way,
when the world
appears
as if it is crumbling around you,
perhaps, just maybe, you should close your eyes. By looking outward we forget the strength that is given inward. We can only see part of the picture with our eyes open. But, when they are closed, we see as a whole. We concentrate not on what we can see, but on the faith of what we know to be true.