Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(20)

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Isabelle sat in silence, and watched as Dominique’s form disappeared. She still had no idea where her rooms were, nor in which direction to go. Within minutes, Miss Ward came up the stairs that Dominique had just exited and led her to a bedroom on the second floor of the castle.

By the time Miss Ward had helped her dress for bed, she was a bottle of nerves. The house did not boast of any lady’s maids, something she was told to take care of whenever she was ready, so Miss Ward took it upon herself to regale her with stories of the enchanted castle, all the while Isabelle had to fight to keep her teeth from chattering.

He would stay with her tonight.

He would be in her bed. Yes, he’d stayed with her before, but there had been something in his tone earlier that lead her to believe that things would change…and soon.

When Miss Ward left, Isabelle’s shaky legs took her to her side of the bed. She extinguished the candle and dove under the covers. The minutes went by with agonizing slowness, until finally she heard the unmistakable click of boots against the marble floors.

The bedroom doors opened in a rush.

Dominique stepped inside, though she could only see his shadow, nothing more. With jerky movements he pulled off his clothes, making Isabelle’s face heat even though she couldn’t see his form. She could imagine it, and an involuntary shiver ran down her spine. Soon, his weight forced the bed to dip almost causing her to topple towards him. And then, he exhaled and was still.

How in the world could he be still? How was it possible that the man wasn’t the least bit affected sleeping in the same bed as her?

At the Inn, they had both been exhausted, but now, here, in their bedroom, in the castle they would share…

He was sleeping.

And her body was refusing to relax.

Every muscle was clenched tight. She tried to breathe evenly but her breaths came out in short gasps, and then something touched her.

His leg moved next to hers, body heat radiating from his person. Her stomach tumbled and tightened. The feeling was foreign as if she was almost weak or exhilarated from his touch.

As she scooted to the farthest edge of the bed, a thought occurred. How was she to survive sleeping in this bed every night for the rest of her life?





Chapter Ten


Those who cannot carry a tune should not attain to try, for they try in vain and my ears can only take so much torment before I contemplate removing them with a blunt object to rid them of the ringing horrid music brings. If society stopped teaching young girls to sing and play piano when they showed no true talent, I would be much obliged. Yet, every year it seems a new debutante finds a way to torture me with a note not yet found on the scale.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov



Dominique winced. “What the devil?”

“Ah, so you hear it too then. I was wondering how long it would take for you to catch on to the little lady bird.” Hunter smiled and folded his broad arms behind his head as if readying himself for sleep.

How was the man even closing his eyes at such a time?

“Hunter? What the blazes is that noise?”

“Your lady bird.”

Dominique paced in front of him. “Do you truly think that pet name fits at this point in time?”

On cue another ear splitting noise broke into the room. Apparently the lady bird had discovered a new note that hadn’t yet been sung. Brave of her.

“I believe,” Hunter kept his eyes closed, “That she was trying to reach for a high C?”

“I believe,” Dominique mocked with a curse, “that she was trying to kill us off. That blasted noise has been waking me from sleep every single night this week! I thought it was—”

Hunter opened one eye. “A badger in heat?”

Dominique forced himself not to smile. “Yes, well, apparently I was wrong.”

The shrill voice continued to try at higher notes until Dominique was sure he was going to have an apoplexy.

And then an expensive vase, one purchased by his mother in France, chose the opportune time to shake and fall to the floor.

“Did you know?” Hunter slapped his knee and laughed. “I thought that only happened in books and plays! But her voice truly just made a vase commit suicide. Pity. It was such a beautiful vase.”

“Family heirloom.” Dominique grumbled, looking at the glass shards on the marble floor. “At any rate, we simply cannot have her continue to sing like this. My entire staff will quit!”

“Oh they’d never do that.” Hunter sobered. “They’re in love, every last one of them. Lucky sods, just yesterday I saw the groom nearly fall prostrate in front of the woman.”

“What the devil did she do? Offer him his weight in gold?” Dominique cursed and took a seat next to his nosy friend.

Hunter grinned wolfishly. “No, dear friend, she smiled, and I believe she said 'thank you'. Though I couldn’t be sure, you asked me to spy and make sure she was comfortable and adjusting to castle life, not make myself known as to her exact wording in every conversation. Say, would you prefer I take notes? I imagine it would be in my best interest to follow her around and write down every beautiful word flowing from her mouth.”

The voice heightened.

“Care to retract that last statement, friend?” Dominique smiled this time and then covered his face with his hands. He hadn’t slept in days. Make that weeks! The woman was impossible!