Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(24)

He reached out to cup her chin, and with a smile he leaned down and kissed her across the lips. Quickly, he ended the kiss but was surprised when the girl who had every reason in the world to hate him pulled him flush against her body and opened her mouth to him.

Unable to quench the burning fire of temptation her lush lips and beautiful form presented, he could do nothing as his hands reached from her chin to her hair, diving into the luxurious golden brown tresses.

Dominique cursed his beard. For he couldn’t kiss her as he wanted to; it would rub her perfect skin and he had no desire to scar her beautiful face with his roughness. He decided right then and there to do something about his appearance, for no other reason than he wanted to be able to feel her soft skin across his face.

“Will you—” He cleared his throat as he pulled away from her, struggling for the correct words— “do me the honor of joining me for dinner?” Fighting for a breath and swallowing the curse words that threatened he added, “Please.”

One would have thought he had just promised her a unicorn or perhaps a castle of her own. She threw her arms around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. “You said 'please'!”

Dominique bit back a retort. “Yes well, it was difficult for me and now I find I’m completely exhausted, so don’t expect any fancy words at dinner tonight.” Trembling, he walked away from the bed, away from the girl that threatened to destroy every wall he had fought to erect around his heart, and muttered, “Dinner will be served at eight as usual.” He paused at the door remembering Hunter's words. Awkwardly he turned on his heel and gave a curt bow before quitting the room, all the while thinking of ways he could strangle his friend without anyone being the wiser.





Chapter Twelve


Manners? They escape my notice, for what good are manners when one lives in solitude? Now, rules, I understand. I exist on the bread of notes and the water of my piano; to practice manners for the very society that failed me seems fruitless. After all, when would I need them?

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov



Dominique paced in front of the fireplace, no doubt ruining the rug he had placed there for Isabelle’s enjoyment. “She’s late,” he roared when Miss Ward presented herself to him.

“She is getting dressed, my lord, try to have some patience.”

He lifted an eyebrow. So now his staff was arguing with him. He opened his mouth to speak just as someone cleared their throat. He turned to see Isabelle entering. A gold dress draped off her shoulders, his mother's diamond necklace plunging between the curves of her breasts.

Mouth completely dry, he struggled for any sort of reaction but all he could muster was an awkward hand gesture for her to take a seat. Blushing, she curtsied and went to the far side of the table.

“My, my, what have we here? Hmm?” Hunter floated into the room, took one look at Isabelle and fell to his knees in front of her. “Oh, thy beauty is so great, it pains my eyes to look upon—”

“Hunter, if you value your life, you will refrain from finishing that sentiment.” Dominique glared.

Isabelle tilted her head, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Does that mean you will compliment me, since you’ve taken away Hunter’s privilege to do so?”

Hunter grinned cheerfully.

Miss Ward crossed her arms.

Isabelle leaned forward in expectation.

“You, um.” Curse Hunter for setting him up! “You look…agreeable.”

Miss Ward rolled her eyes and left the room. Hunter shook his head. “Perhaps while this young bird practices singing, I’ll give you a lesson in the art of seduction. Or perhaps compliments. Women do so love them. Shall I show you how it is done?”

Hunter opened his mouth. In a fit of rage, Dominique charged him but was stopped suddenly when Isabelle stood in front of him with an icy glare. “You may fight like a beast after I’ve had my dinner. Now, mind your manners, take a seat, and we are going to have a nice meal.” She turned on Hunter. “And you! Stop provoking him! It’s like living with children!”

Hunter hung his head and walked to his seat, playfully defeated.

****

Honestly! Never had she been in the presence of such immature gentleman. They actually enjoyed provoking one another. And it was driving her to Bedlam! This was the first meal she had agreed to. Looking across the table, she couldn’t quite figure out why she had been so against it in the first place.

Dominique was still cross and more often in a bad mood than a good one, but tonight he seemed different, changed in a way. And that’s when it dawned on her.

“You shaved!”

Dominique dropped his spoon; it splashed soup onto his neatly tied cravat. Hunter’s laughter echoed through the room.

“And your, that is, your hair, it’s, it’s…”

“Quite glossy, don’t you think?” Hunter interjected. “Apparently all of the Russian princes can boast of such a thick mane. I used to be envious, that is until I discovered I had the larger—”

“Fortune!” Dominique yelled as he turned bright red. “And that has yet to be proven, friend.”

Something in their tone told Isabelle it was not fortune they spoke of, but she was too focused on her husband’s beautiful face to form a question. Perfectly sculpted lips so full they looked painted. His hair, now with tighter curls, hung loosely around his eyes, dark shadows of his cheekbones poked out, drawing a perfectly symmetrical line. If she were an artist and in need of the perfect male specimen, she would have chosen Dominique, for he didn’t seem real. Her eyes must have betrayed her interest, for it wasn’t until Hunter cleared his throat the third time that she managed to look away, a burning blush heating her cheeks.