Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales 2) (5 page)

“You’re—you’re bluffing!” Her eyes welled with tears.

He tilted his head and paused directly in front of her. “Care to try me?”

Her lower lip trembled as Dominique inwardly cursed again. He had to give her credit where it was due; she was stronger than any woman he had ever come across.

So lost was he in admiring her spunk that he almost didn’t hear her answer.

“Do it,” she whispered.

“Pardon?”

“I said,
do it
. You wouldn’t touch me, not when you worked so hard to steal me away from everything I’ve known. I’m not stupid. You wouldn’t touch me.”

Alarmed, Dominique struggled to hold firm to his threat. The cold blade touched her neck. Her sharp intake of breath gave him pause.

“Oh, believe me. I may not kill you now, but I’ll touch you.” He growled into her ear as he slowly traced the knife down her cheek. “I’ll touch everything. I own you, body and soul, love. And I’ll have it tonight or you’ll see why they truly call me the beast.”

Her bosom rose and fell so rapidly he was afraid she would pass out. Saints alive, he was an absolute cad! The most horrible of men! Whatever happened to asking politely? Or courting a woman instead of threatening to cause her bodily harm? He watched her lips purse into a thin line. Right, well, politeness was surely lost to him the minute he realized how dangerous the girl truly was.

“When do we wed?” She swallowed slowly, drawing his eyes to the expanse of her beautiful neck. A neck, that although he had just touched it with a dagger, he would much rather kiss than threaten.

“Immediately,” Hunter chimed in from behind them. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt this obvious lover's quarrel, but the old captain here said he can marry you straightaway. Isn’t that fortunate?”

“So convenient,” Isabelle agreed in a monotone.

“Splendid!” Hunter clapped his hands. “Now if you just stand here, Isabelle. Oh, merciful saint of my mother, do you bathe in lavender? Well, it’s positively delicious drifting from your skin. I have half a mind to take a small nibble just below your ear there to—”

“Enough.” Dominique pushed Hunter away. “Get on with it, captain.”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes at Dominique but said nothing.

The captain cleared his throat. “Do you take this woman—”

“I do.” Dominique interrupted.

“Um, yes, well.” The captain turned to Isabelle. “And do you take this man—”

“Beast. Do I take this
beast
, and yes I do. Unfortunately.” She continued to glare.

An exhale of relief from both Dominique and Hunter followed as the captain finished the small ceremony and announced that they could kiss.

Throat suddenly dry, Dominique wasn’t sure if he should kiss her or merely give her a pat on the head and apologize for being the condescending monster that he was.

Instead, he decided on kissing her hand. As he lifted it to his lips he suddenly felt quite wicked, and although he wouldn’t truly harm a hair on her head, he felt the need to give her another reason to fear men like him.

Closing his eyes, his warm lips met her cold hand and he bit, just slightly, then suckled, and nipped until, with a gasp, she pulled it away.

“Well done!” Hunter slapped him on the back. “Champagne for everyone!”

Chapter Five

I find that I cannot entertain a woman without feeling the betrayal of their entire race. It is for that reason alone that I have chosen to keep my heart protected. My mistress will always be music, my love will always be for myself, and my heart will never be in jeopardy again.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

Isabelle waited in the captain's quarters. After the ceremony, she was escorted to the room and told in no uncertain terms that it would be shared with Dominique, considering it was their wedding night.

Lovely. A nightmare to accompany everything else that had gone horribly wrong. She wasn’t necessarily afraid he would force himself on his own wife.

No, despite all of his beastly habits, he didn’t seem the sort to harm a woman, regardless of what he had just threatened to do to her. Fear pooled in her belly for an entirely different reason.

Isabelle was afraid he would be kind.

And a kind man would be so much harder to hate. A passionate lover would surely break her heart, and if she wanted to escape the beast without heartache, he must continue to be horrible to her.

His kiss spoke of passion.

His touch ignited fervor within her.

And his smile was wickedly delicious.

Those weapons were much scarier to behold than his silver tongue.

The door slammed. Dominique stormed into the room like a raging lunatic. Nostrils flaring and hands gripped into tight fists, he didn’t even acknowledge her. Instead, he poured himself some brandy and threw back the contents before turning his blue eyes onto her.

So, he was to play the beast tonight, was he?

Isabelle had lived her entire life with her mother, a woman who, in her mind, would scare even Dominique out of his dark humor. She could handle him being threatening.

As long as his warm hands didn’t touch her.

And his lips didn’t caress hers.

“Well.” He poured another glass, sipping it slower than the first. “Let’s get on with it.”

Isabelle felt herself pale. Get on with what? Did he want some sort of performance? “I’m no courtesan, as you so blatantly stated earlier this day. I find myself confused. What are we to get on with, my lord?” she asked, buying herself more time, for the look in his eyes, a look of pure hate, seemed to billow from him in waves.

Perhaps she should throw up her countenance again to gain some sympathy. Then again, sympathy was more dangerous than hate.

“Take off your clothes. It is, after all, what women do, is it not?”

Isabelle rolled her eyes; he truly was dramatic with his moods. “I only undress when it is time for a bath, husband. I know no other type of undressing unless it’s to ready for bed.”

“Which is exactly what you are doing now, my love. I need you to ready for bed.” He loomed over her, gloves still on his hands.

“After you,” she challenged with a tilt of her head. “After all, it is my understanding that a husband and wife are to share the marriage bed.”

“Indeed.” He growled, making quick, awkward movements with his gloved hands as he tried to take off his fitted jacket.

The task would truly be impossible without someone to help him; anyone could see that it was tailored specifically for his large muscular form.

With a sigh, and the last bit of patience Isabelle possessed, she slowly walked toward the man and touched his shoulders, just slightly.

His muscles tensed, but he indeed froze in place as her other hand trembled and moved across his shoulder to help him remove his jacket.

She must be losing her mind, for what woman would willingly help a man disrobe when the result would be her on the receiving end of his savagery? Yet, she moved to help him and noticed that the minute her hands touched his body, Dominique calmed.

So, the beast it seemed had a weakness for touch, which she found quite odd. Once the jacket was removed, her hands lingered, their warmth pressed against the giant expanse of his muscled back. One could see the dark skin underneath and again it reminded her of his heritage. What, she wondered, would this beast of a man look like if he was to take care of his appearance? If he shaved his beastly overgrowth and cut his hair?

Devastation, it was the obvious choice, for his form, everything about him was perfect. Perhaps his one boon to women everywhere was that he kept his perfection hidden beneath a scowl and a devilish amount of hair.

“We shall begin,” he said stepping away from her touch, his body giving an involuntary shake as he did so.

Isabelle lifted her eyebrow. What the devil did he want to commence? Truly, she was ignorant and had no idea what mood Dominique was in other than he was surprisingly sure on his feet after drinking the brandy.

A small gasp escaped her lips as he removed his crisp, white shirt. Turning quickly so she wouldn’t see him in a state of undress, she shook her head and closed her eyes, but the visions of his hard-planed stomach and tanned skin were burned into her memory.

Suddenly, she felt heat behind her, and then Dominique’s gloved hands were on her shoulders, slowly pulling down her traveling dress with the ease and knowledge of a man who had stripped many a woman in his lifetime.

Although his touch sent chills, it was distant and cold, merely because he kept his gloves on. But the heat from his chest began to spread across her back, and then his breath was hot on her face as his tongue reached out and trailed a design on her neck.

Hot desire pulsed through her in the most wanton of places. His grip tightened on her shoulders and then she heard a rip of fabric. Was he ripping her dress from her body? So he truly meant to rape her?

His touch sent a nervous tremble through her body—she refused to believe it was fear of any kind. A sick feeling swirled in her stomach as she felt those same gloved hands move to her corset strings and begin tugging away; almost desperately he pulled until she thought she would topple forward, and then his arm was bracing her, pulling her body against hard masculine flesh. As the corset was finally loosened, his hands, with agonizing slowness, moved it and the dress down to the floor. Warm lips and that silver tongue of his licked and bit trails down her body through her chemise, until the clothing was a heap at her feet. Isabelle stepped out of the dress and corset and immediately covered her body with her hands. She didn’t need to look down to know that her chemise was nearly transparent.

Every girl dreamt of a moment when her husband-to-be gazed upon her, gave her the pretty words she craved to hear, and walked down the aisle with such fervor as to claim his prize. With each strip of clothing removed, her vulnerability increased and the dream became harder to believe in.

But nothing was so horrible as when, Dominique her husband, her protector, and soon to be lover, sneered at her near nakedness. “As I said before, a cold English fish. At least you have curves. I’ll give you that much. Now hop into bed before I change my mind about taking the only valuable thing you possess, your virginity.”

The tears that Isabelle had been holding in burst. Unable to even see which direction the bed was in, she stood and cried like a small child. Bitter tears choked her throat threatening to close it.

And then Dominique was there, cradling her in his arms. “Shh,” he said softly in her hair. “Believe me, it is better this way.” He tucked her into the bed and wiped a tear from her face and scowled. “I do not take kindly to tears.”

“Well, I don’t take kindly to being insulted and forced into marriage, then threatened to be killed!” Isabelle jerked her head away from his touch.

“Regardless of your feelings, Isabelle, I mean to protect you from evil men like the man who sold you to me, to keep you from the darkness, so you may possibly mature into a young woman without vanity and selfishness. And my protection must be firm with you, for I must protect you from the biggest threat at present.”

“And what threat would that be?” Isabelle sniffled.

“Myself.” Dominique gave her a sad smile and moved to the hammock on the other side of the room.

Confused and hurt, all Isabelle could do was watch.

****

He was going to Hell.

At least he would be in good company. Hunter's many sins weren’t doing well to earn him a spot in Heaven.

Dominique wanted to break something. He was no better than the man Isabelle left, but he couldn’t find the balance between keeping her fearful and leery of him, and wanting to protect her from everything.

The truth of it was she reminded him of when he was a small boy. When he wrote music about princes slaying dragons. His mother told him stories at night about such things; she said that since he was a prince, he would one day need to find a princess and rescue her.

Apparently he had found his princess.

Unfortunately, he treated her as a nuisance.

It wasn’t just his mistrust of women. No, it was the absolute loss of control he felt in her presence. What had he been thinking? To bite her? And lick her milky skin? His thoughts had been initially to shock her into submission so she wouldn’t cry. Instead, he had gotten entirely carried away, almost following through with his urge to bed her.

But as his hands moved down her supple body, his eyes caught a glimpse of his gloves and he remembered. Everything.

The blood, the scars, the pain, and the betrayal. But most of all he remembered the monster he was, and realized that he would rather hurt her beyond saving and have her hate him than have her pity, for if she pitied him, his heart just might break, and he hadn’t the strength to put it back together again.

For how could a Beauty such as she ever hope to love or care for a Beast?

Chapter Six

The melody haunts even my dreams, it seems every time I write it down I never allow myself to play it. I merely throw it in the fire and pray that God sent my father into the very fire he dipped my hands in. For I would give my soul, my gift of music, I would give my life, just for a chance to go back…

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

The following morning did not start off as Dominique hoped it would. For one thing, the sheet on the bed had fallen completely off, leaving Isabelle draped across the mattress looking like a goddess emerged from the sea. Temptation to take his wife, because after all, she was his, was so strong that he poured himself another brandy and then another.

Hunter chose that unfortunate time to barge into the room. His golden eyes fixated on the goddess in question before turning an amused expression to Dominique. Laughter soon followed when he approached the woman and watched as she dozed, looking completely untouched. Dominique scowled as Hunter motioned to the drink in his hand.

He had half a mind to throw it at his hateful friend. Hunter shook his head in merriment and made a motion for Dominique to follow him out to the deck.