Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(3)

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov



Isabelle blinked several times. She told herself to take a breath, or speak, or acknowledge that she had in fact heard what the man had just spoken to her, but she seemed paralyzed.

The music.

He’d said the music changed. What the devil did that mean? And why did his eyes close so often as if he was trying to shut out the world? Pain etched in his brow each time he wrung his hands together and try as she might, she could not figure out the man sitting across from her.

She had heard that Dominique Maksylov was eccentric, a beast, in fact, for he bore some sort of bodily scar given to him by his late father, the royal prince. But everything about the man sitting across from her screamed beauty more than beast.

Oh, with his hair unfashionably long and the overgrowth of beard across his face, he looked like a savage from a foreign land, but he was tall, graceful. Every movement he made seemed as if he was conducting some sort of invisible symphony, even when he lifted his hand to push back the curtains of the carriage. She found her eyes positively transfixed—bewitched by such a simple movement.

It made her wonder what else the man did besides play the piano and write terribly tragic music. There had to be some other purpose for this perfect specimen sitting opposite her. Perhaps she was guilty of reading too many gothic novels, but the way his full lips pursed together, how his hair managed to look wild yet purposefully so, well, he appeared like some fallen angel or a werewolf searching the countryside for his long lost love. Isabelle suppressed a giggle; obviously she was left alone too often. For those were nothing but stories, and her reality sat stone-faced across from her; emptiness and longing was etched on his every feature.

It was said that the Queen cried for two days after one of the court musicians played one of Dominique’s songs. That she, in such a fit of sadness, refused drink and food. Finally, the King himself ordered the doors to her room to be broken down so he could attend to her.

Isabelle had thought it a lovely story, for it showed how moved the woman had been by Dominique’s music, though she had to admit, only someone truly obsessed would go to such extremes. And as much as she loved music, she couldn’t fathom being so moved by it. It was difficult for her to understand how the man across from her could make anything beautiful, haunting. Absolutely.

The carriage jolted.

Isabelle pretended not to watch as Dominique clenched his gloved hands in his lap again, and a scowl of pain stretched across his face.

“Are you well?” she asked before she could guard her tongue from being so impertinent.

His cold blue eyes pierced the air between them. She would not look away, could not back down from such a frigid stare even though it gave her chills down to her toes.

“My health is none of your concern. Believe me, if I desire for a nursemaid, I would have married one, instead of you.”

“Married?” Isabelle nearly choked on the word. The man was mad! He had kidnapped her! The thought had occurred to her that she would be well and ruined, but never did she think she would be saddled to such a man as this! “What do you mean, ‘married’?”

Dominique’s head tilted, like that of a feral cat inspecting its meal. “I mean to make you my wife.”

“Wife?” Isabelle repeated slowly.

“Yes, you do understand the meaning of the word, don’t you? Or are you so young and innocent that I’m going to have to explain every little thing to you? Where we are, why we are going in that direction. Why the trees grow so tall, what is expected of the marriage bed. Truly if you mean to torture me, ask questions now so I can relax in the silence once your speech tires.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened until she was convinced all he could see was white peering back at him. Her fingers reached to grip the seat and she scolded her lip inwardly for trembling so. Yes, her feelings were hurt. So abrupt was he in his manners and temper! He needed a good lesson, or a paddling, or a mother! Truly, to speak to her in such a manner was beastly, and it was in that moment she decided it was no outward scar that marred him. The scars were on his heart, etched with darkness and bitterness. And even though she was sure he had meant to push her away, he did nothing but convince her all the more to play right into his hurtful words.

He had no reason to lie to her, and she did have all her trunks, but her own mother hadn’t even said goodbye to her! Why was she taken away so abruptly?

She told her lip to stop trembling again, carefully folded her hands in her lap and managed a tiny smile as she leaned forward. “It pleases me to no end to discover your ability to read minds, my lord! To think, I was pondering on every one of those questions and was so fearful to ask them. That is, until you so graciously offered your assistance. So tell me, why do the trees grow so tall?”

Dominique flinched as if someone had hit him and, with a scowl, looked out the window as he answered her. “You mock me? Do you truly wish to vex me this entire trip? I save your life and the thanks I get is a nattering woman who wishes to know why trees grow so tall. Lovely. Although I’m quite surprised your virgin mind didn’t first venture to ask the most important question of all.”

“And what is that, my lord?” Isabelle leaned even closer, only a breath away from his face. She meant to challenge him, to notify him of her strength so he wouldn’t focus on her weakness.

“The marriage bed. After all, we shall be sharing it as soon as we get to my estate, and perhaps earlier if fortune smiles upon you.”