Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(27)

“I have a surprise for you.” She felt him step away. His abrupt subject change was welcome. Grabbing an extra piece of toast, she reached for the jam and went to join the men at the table.

“You’re leaving?” She added some jam to her toast and waited for him to bark at her for saying such a hurtful thing.

“If I left, you would be coming with me,” he answered, his words short as if he was trying to keep himself from yelling.

With a sigh, she looked up and into his blue eyes, eyes that were a whirl of so many emotions. Perhaps he was trying to be a good husband. Maybe, he wanted things to be different between them. Music, it seemed had united them in some odd way, though she couldn’t imagine how, considering he was so agitated with her lack of talent.

“What is it?” Taking a bite of her toast, she waited.

Hunter folded his hands and leaned in toward Isabelle. “You mean the actual surprise, not the fact that Dominique is doing such a wonderful job of keeping his temper in check? I take full credit by the way. You may thank me how you see fit.” He winked and stared blatantly at her lips.

The air in the room stilled. Isabelle stole a glance at Dominique, who against all odds still appeared to be calm. Suspicious, Isabelle promised herself that she would sniff his tea to see if there was any sort of calming herb mixed in.

“Finish your breakfast. Take your time.” Dominique rose from his seat. “I will await you in the stables.”

Isabelle nodded at his retreating form then glanced back at Hunter, who merely shrugged and winked at Miss Ward who had just entered the room.

****

Dominique paced back in forth in the stables, watching for a glimpse of Isabelle’s honeyed-brown hair glinting in the sunlight, waiting for her luscious voice to break the silence, or at least keep him from going mad.

“This better work,” he mumbled to himself.

Last night after watching her sleep, which he later admitted was a grave mistake for she slept so beautifully it made his chest hurt, he had decided he would try. The nights had been torturous, but nothing compared to the absolute pain he felt every day that went by that he was stripped of the chance to touch her with his bare hands.

The idea that he could be anything other than what he was hadn’t at any point crossed his mind, that is, until Isabelle entered into his life. And oddly enough, after spending time in her company, he found he quite enjoyed himself, at least enough to want to see her smile, to hear her quick intake of breath when he was close, to smell the scent of lavender floating off her skin.

After all, he had self-control. He had been in control of his baser instincts these last few years. He’d had to be. And now, well, he imagined he would try to keep the walls around his heart firm, for they had to be impenetrable. But, he justified his actions with his wife. After all, she was lonely, and he would be just as bad as his father before him if he left her to her own devices.

Hunter suggested he ravish her, but that would prove difficult, for he could not imagine separating his soul from bonding with hers if he joined her physically. And Hunter always had allowed his body to make choices before his mind when it came to women.

Miss Ward had suggested he dine with her in the mornings in order to familiarize himself with her character.

And Brinks was so besotted with the girl that his suggestion had been to let her have free reign throughout the castle as long as she smiled at him the way she did. In fact, just this morning, Brinks had told Dominique how lovely it would be to allow her to pick out a horse.

Fools. All of them.

He hoped he would trust her, eventually. But it would take time.

As all good things did.

“Dominique?” Isabelle called out his name. The sweetness of her voice gave him pause. Without taking as much as a breath, he peered around the corner and watched, fascinated as she glided along the ground, dancing as she made her way to the stables. Her long, graceful arms tickled the sides of her dress. If he closed his eyes he could almost feel the way the fabric would grace his fingers. It had been ages since he had felt any sort of texture against his hands. Would her dress feel silky? And her hair, would it slide through his fingers? He shuddered as he imagined how her soft warm body would penetrate into the depths of his scars.

He shook the treacherous thought from his head.

It was just an afternoon ride.

Nothing more, nothing less.

“Dominique?” she called again, this time closer as her booted foot stepped into the stables, obviously having changed into a riding habit in record time.

Naturally, he didn’t want to appear the fool that sat about and gawked at her without her knowledge, so he thought the best course of action would be to ignore her altogether.

His brilliant plan proved not so brilliant when she, in a moment of obvious irritation, kicked a bucket in his direction.

“Dominique? Is there a reason you’ve been rendered mute?”

He turned on his heel, prepared to give her a tongue lashing for mocking him, or at least a haughty look.

What he had in mind to do, and what actually happened were two different things.

But what could she expect? When she stood, hands on hips, lip jutting out, and pieces of hair tumbling out of her coiffure.

“Uh…” He prayed for a complete sentence, or words.

Again nothing.

“Well?” she prompted, this time taking a step closer. The smell of lavender practically danced in the air, bombarding his senses, weakening his knees.