Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(29)

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Dominique brought his fist back to lay what would surely be a devastating blow to Hunter's head, when Isabelle let out a scream and fell to the ground.

Dominique lurched to his feet and ran to her side. Hunter, however, lay back in the hay, hands behind his head and a piece of straw in his mouth.

“Are you hurt?” Dominique inquired. It seemed the only time he was truly gentle with her was when he thought she was injured. Before, it was when the glass had cut her, and there was the situation with him being afraid that Horse would throw her, and now this.

“My, um, my ankle turned, just a little.” She managed a small voice and looked shakily in Hunter's direction. He nodded his approval and gave another wink before slinking away.

“I—I think he was merely trying to provoke you,” Isabelle stuttered, in hopes that he wouldn’t beat Hunter senseless later. Dominique’s hands glided smoothly over the ankle she had pointed at. Each trail he made with his gloved fingers caused gooseflesh.

“Hunter is a fool.” Dominique helped her to her feet. “But, he’s a smart fool, and he’s my best friend. If he decided to kiss you, I can only imagine he either wants me to shoot him, is bored of country life, or truly is making good on his promise to steal you away. Regardless, you are mine.” The way he said mine was so possessive, so typically male, but she wasn’t offended. No, rather, she felt light-headed and important.

He led her to Horse and gave strict instructions to the groom to place a sidesaddle on the animal, all the while cursing Isabelle under his breath for taking the one horse he didn’t want her touching.

Within minutes they were ready for their morning jaunt, they led the horses out into the open. Isabelle pulled her fur cloak tight over her riding habit. As his hands wrapped around her waist to hoist her up, she whispered. “I am.”

“You are? What?”

Isabelle felt heat rising to her cheeks. Looking down at his curious, chiseled face, she almost lost her nerve but remembered Hunter's words. “Yours.”





Chapter Fourteen


Emotions are fickle. Music, however, is always the same. Notes may change, chords may differ, but the sensation of gliding one's hands over the keys never changes. Exhilarating, provoking, sensual—but music can only play part time lover until you crave the real thing. The real emotions, the real feel of a woman’s flesh in your hands, the taste of her tongue on your lips. I pity the day I begin to crave such things, for nothing will keep me from experiencing it, and I fear my own emotions will be my downfall.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov



Since his ears were obviously playing tricks on him, Dominique had no reason for his hands to still be placed across Isabelle’s luscious waist, or for his body to react so violently, so possessively, to her admission. Merciful heavens, he was actually perspiring over the simple word. “Yours.”

Clearing his throat, he walked away and mounted the horse he thought Isabelle would choose.

“You’re an idiot.” Isabelle’s voice disturbed his dream-like state.

Dominique turned his horse to face her. “Excuse me?”

“If you truly think I would pick that horse over this one, you’re an idiot.” She flashed him a brilliant smile and kicked her heels into Horse so hard that Dominique’s sides hurt.

“Race you to the forest?”

Dominique swore as she took off, but forced his horse to gallop after her, and then felt foolish for even trying.

The impetuous girl was a sure judge of horseflesh. For he had assumed she would choose the oldest, most docile creature in the stables like the one he currently rode. Instead she chose the most dangerous one of the bunch. It was a good five minutes before he reached her. And the horse’s sides were heaving.

“That was not even a race, Isabelle.”

Brown hair spilled from her coiffure onto her shoulders, a bright crimson stained her cheeks. “No, it wasn’t.” Her teeth bit down on her lower lip as her mouth spread into a smile.

Dominique irritated with his own arousal at seeing her bite her lip, dismounted and gruffly pulled her from her horse making sure to tie them to the nearest tree. “Now, for the surprise.”

“I thought the horse was the surprise?”

Dominique grasped her hand. “You thought wrong. Now, try to keep up.” He pulled her closer into his embrace and led her through the edge of the forest, into the tiny clearing he used to retreat to as a boy.

The only happy memory of playing at all had been when his father demanded he take riding lessons to have an hour of respite from playing the piano. But this particular memory was something he knew would forever be etched in his mind.

His mother had told him that elves lived in the forest and often made ice sculptures during the night, casting magical enchantments around the land. Of course, he was always such a sober little boy, he never believed her. Until one day, when he took his daily ride, the only hour he had to himself; he went into the clearing and discovered two ice sculptures as if they had been erected out of pure magic.

Later he discovered it was the doing of Cuppins Port. Apparently he had felt sorry for Dominique as a young lad not being able to experience adventure of his own, so he had created magic for him. He never told his father, for surely he would get into trouble if he was caught doing something other than training to be the leader his father wanted him to be.